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om
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Joined: 5/28/2006
Msg: 51 | |
| where will you be? right there VVV see
Posted: 9/8/2006 12:16:08 AM | Hey, pickles, Scarborough fair was/is deeeeelightful! ( pssst, I won't tell them it's mostly strip-malls roads and burbs..K ) *smiles
Salty, you know how to have fun! Onya
And Ray, I really dug both of them! You luc-eee **stard you..:)
ok, meastro, I figured less is more, and it's ok, I had a god lunch--oops, gud lunch, oops, well it was bloody alright what ever it was..I'll let you know how it turns out in the morning.:/
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Jacks Fondness
Jack tries, sidling-up to that Gentle Giant.
But each time, he picks him up
With his gentle fingers
And carries him back
To his cell. | |
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| uh oh
Posted: 9/8/2006 3:00:43 AM | Ray: THE most significant relationship I ever had, I often said
"You're everything I never wanted and I have no idea at all why I love you, but I do"
That was a huge learning curve for me. Thank you for that one.
And Pickles? I agree. That was an excellent write of yours and congrats on being accepted 
Om: Jack was kewl! But I really dont want to know about your lunch tomorrow  And hey ya picked up on ONYA!  Or is it universal?
A quick one
digits playing
lightly
over keys
they stroke and parry
with
minds words
and yet they
fleetingly
do fly
typos and
the odd mis-sync
spelling eros
wrought in ink
and me
I think
I need a drink!
goodbye.. 
salty  | |
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| To the Gang of Four
Posted: 9/8/2006 4:12:30 AM | Ray: "I was your voice" You're getting better and better, Dude! That newest one was so clean, so UN-show-offy. Not that your others were show-offy, but you seem more and more to be mastering what to me is one of the supreme arts of poetry, which is to write it as if it were NOT poetry but just unvarnished, spontaneous utterance. Did you see my poem "Passing the Salt" under that name? You seem to be answering the last line:
"Which of us has learned already to speak?"
OM: I second your enthusiasm for the Pickle-kid's Scarborough poem.
Salty: "Where will you be" is you at your often best: free-flowing, saucy, off-the-cuff and joyful!
Pick-a-dilly:
The group you're about to enter
may not be sycophants
but I betcha there's not one of them
who wouldn't like to get into
your, um, good-graces! | |
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om
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Joined: 5/28/2006
Msg: 54 | |
| To the Gang of Four
Posted: 9/8/2006 11:54:10 AM | ^^eloquently said Vicar
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I read it in the paper
All members of the share holders comity
Held firm in their hopes
To contribute large sums
To the relief program.
Talks broke down after 13 hrs.
Diner ran late.
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an om-silly-pom..:/
Sorry, salty got me thinking how things can turn out sometimes..lol | |
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| What? What?
Posted: 9/8/2006 1:15:58 PM | Sometimes you pass a person on the street
and she gives you a look that kills you half dead.
You’ve never seen each other before - or
have you? Were you the one who devised
exquisite tortures in her dreams? Who sneered
at her every opinion, cooked
the foulest food for her or pronounced
her cooking inedible? What? What?
Why do you hate me so, Madame? Is it because I,
and how many others, never loved you?
J. Newman 08Sep06 © 2006 | |
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| You asked what I think...
Posted: 9/8/2006 3:52:41 PM | I think you haven't got the hang of unrhymed poetry yet, that you are still more comfortable with the crutch that end-rhymes often provide.
I think this is too long, too rambling, too raw... I think it would both be more powerful and more of a therapeutic aid to you if you could distill it down to just a few verses and colder, more detached ones.
Keats wrote somewhere (approximately): "We hate poetry that has too palpable a design on us" as this one seemed to do. You were out to make her (and vicarously us) feel lousy and I resist any effort to MAKE me feel lousy. I prefer to choose when to feel lousy or not.
You had your heart broken, but who has not? I'm sorry to sound callous here, but where's the "news" in that? It's misguided to choose that as a theme because a) when one is in that state of feeling, practically all one's powers of judgment go out the window, and b) it's going to be several long centuries before anyone can say anything new about heartbreak. | |
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| You asked what I think...
Posted: 9/8/2006 4:40:02 PM | Oh I think that was a bit rough. Love, being in love, falling in love, falling out of love, has been the timeless theme woven through the ages. As long as man (and woman) draws breath and regardless of the age they are. If they have love 'in' them, they will write about it. It never goes out of fashion and is THE most powerful emotion in existence.
You'd think that people would have had enough of silly love songs
But I look around me and I see it isn't so
(Sir) Paul McCartney
Heartbreak Hotel
THE King (Elvis Presley)
He who hath not love in him
Finds it hard to speak in terms
not scathing in it's brutality
About that fragile precious thing
That brings most others'
Eyes alight
Its raw apparentness
And that which seems
Most obvious
To most
Is missed by those
For whom love
Has escaped
Or
Indeed
Has never been captured
For one who
HAS been loved
Knows love
Is able to
BE loved
Knows how to
LOVE
There is
No other thing
So worthy
Of his words
(me)
For I have known great love
And so in me
It lives
Om: Loved that last one LOL
I actually picked up the second one on the second read :)
Learning I am | |
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| You asked what I think...
Posted: 9/8/2006 5:54:46 PM |
Oh I think that was a bit rough.
Yes, I felt I might be being a bit rough as I wrote it, but Ray has shown the rare and precious ability of being able to take it. And I think he deserves my toughest (but respectful) criticism because he is capable of better than that poem. If I didn't think he COULD do better, I'd either not comment at all or I'd find something innocuous to say...
And because love is a timeless theme and so vital a part of all our lives, we really need to do our best both in feeling and expressing it. | |
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| where will you be? right there VVV see
Posted: 9/8/2006 5:57:05 PM | Hey om.....
The Scarborough I was thinking of is in Yorkshire on the North East coast and is a lovely town.....the other is a pustulent pimple in the GTA 
Roland was a bold man
Crafting his life
According to a blue print plan
Until an epiphany
Now Roland
While still bold
Goes with the flow
You know...
Chillaxes
Cool
luvs ya luv ya knows I do
Bissous
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| To the Gang of Four
Posted: 9/8/2006 6:04:42 PM |
Pick-a-dilly:
The group you're about to enter
may not be sycophants
but I betcha there's not one of them
who wouldn't like to get into
your, um, good-graces!
Well ya know.....it may be the age thang
Good Gracious
I think I was goosed
on the stairs
Trouble is
all the men were in pairs
and I definately wasn't
goosed twice
Although that would have been
quite nice
 | |
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| You THINK you were goosed?
Posted: 9/8/2006 6:30:29 PM | | You THINK you were goosed? I don't know about the men in Oakville but if it happened to you here in Montreal, you'd bloody well KNOW you'd been goosed! | |
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| You THINK you were goosed?
Posted: 9/8/2006 6:49:56 PM |
We’ll discuss it
Whether Israel over-reacted in response to the kidnapping of its soldiers may be discussed.
The possibility of reconciling the General Theory of Relativity with Quantum Dynamics may be discussed.
Whether the US will ever recover from George W. Bush may be discussed.
But goosing is not to be discussed. It is to be administered and experienced. | |
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| You THINK you were goosed?
Posted: 9/8/2006 7:12:14 PM | I asked Steven and he said....
Quantum dynamics be damned....but
Mechanical goosings ain't like the real thang
It's got a lot to do
With the who
Rather than the "thing" | |
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| Alyosha - you remind me of a very wise man with so much to give
Posted: 9/8/2006 9:43:24 PM | A City Street
In obtuse solitude, they melted against the pavement, smashed particles of bottled senses, tiny remnants of glass, filtering back into the sun, they did not know of belonging, eyes oblivious to the silence, divided in feeling, so very much alone.
.... She walked down the street, far away from the passing crowds, caught on the wing of sensations, airing her mind upon the strains of freedom thought, she danced with a thousand mirrors, faces of light, which pushed her through the windows of natural being.
... Beside her blurred the man of sequence, finding balance in the different corners of reality, colourful, yet only a dreamer, learning the parables through a motion of blind acceptance.
… At the side of the road, a wise man sat, listening to the sounds of borrowed peace, he waited and understood with fallen eyes, smiling inside, to the sacred tune of perception, he crossed his heart with a gesture of contentment, revealing only a shadow of his life as he never turned a curious glance away, or forgot the purpose of his earthly vigilance.
... A child marched by, mocking the surprise of controlled stiffness, he was everyone and everything combined, in awkward display, the deliberate imitator of honesty, crying for an audience of approval, the impish seeker of wild delight, casting a spell to feel the magic of an old tin can, as the invisible phantom of our youth, scurried between the blocking legs of his fanciful journey, totally immune to time.
... They where characters out of a modern vaudeville act, simple slaves of the sidewalk with never a variance to alter their daily progression, they walked together in the existence of a momentary blackout, escapists, daring time to replace their appearance with a new breed of followers, they accepted the necessity to continue alone, alienated from those who tried to penetrate their separate aura of mystery.
. . . Discontent with the lack of mood, a rebellious grin, projected to lead me into a maze of dimension, a subtle device to motivate the lifelessness with a moderate controller, the forceful deviant of suppressed emotions, intent upon changing the unresponsive atmosphere of neglect. | |
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| I so enjoyed watching your moon and waves Salty - thank you
Posted: 9/8/2006 9:54:26 PM | "The Man in the Moon"
Oh quiet eyes of life
to whom I turn
seek me out again
so I might learn
the passage of your soul from day to night
I've watch the sun
flirting with your presence
but you are only a shadow in her heart
melting into oblivion when darkness
falls upon us
as a whisper of your fate
But as the day
sheds all her false modesty
and succumbs to the lesser realm
I see a glow of truth
beneath your sleepy eyes
a ghost emerges
lifting away the shame
and left behind is the moon-blessed smile
capturing all I hold so dear
and I lay once more in silent peace. | |
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| A City Street
Posted: 9/8/2006 9:58:22 PM | Autumn Fantasy: Now THAT was poetry in motion!  | |
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| This is an amazing thread of poems - all of you - I wrote that poem Salty when I was 21 years old
Posted: 9/8/2006 10:17:24 PM | But here is another. . .
It is not an easy equation
watching friendships fade and dim
a dying star which once shone so brightly
in your life
glows sweetly now
in the far reaches of reality
people who once touched us
silenced by progression or circumstance
the flower bloomed in the warmth of it's season
softly time caught it on the breeze
and sent it forward across the fields
a chord in a song
a place in our heart
the rhythm and energy
movement
if fate is a fallacy
and a hand isn't reaching down to guide us
watch the patterns
the turning of the sun
towards something new
fresh and filled with wonder
new relationships blossoming
new stars being born
to light the gift of friendship
as it meanders down the pathway through the trees
twisting and turning with valuable lessons to learn
we are a passenger of time
lives entwining
compassion and understanding
from whence we came
harmony and love
our hearts grow
as a seedling in the rain. | |
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| Now you have me inspired Salty and this is fun
Posted: 9/8/2006 10:21:33 PM | "The Waves"
Gentle sea nymphs gliding forth
towards the sandy shore
trimmed with white and glittering gold
they all come back for more.
Under the dark and ancient rock
the tiny maidens dwell
singing out their mournful cries
to the distant sleeping dell.
Time will never change their ways
for under the shining moon
the maidens frolic on and on
to the never ending tune.
I must admit I am a true Moonchild and romantic but I would like to lighten up a bit and feel that sparkle that you have in your poems. Rebecca | |
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om
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Joined: 5/28/2006
Msg: 72 | |
| You asked what I think...
Posted: 9/8/2006 10:37:33 PM | Please pardon me aloysha for the "chat" but, Pickles darlin, I soooooo needed those laughs tonight!
Luvs ya too!
I have a wee book called, Stories of Roland, The book from which these stories are taken
is called the Songs of Roland. When the tales were first written down they were written as poetry. That was hundreds of years ago. They were then set to music and sung to the sound of harps and minstrels who strolled from place to place, singing of love and death, of battle
and reward. There were no books in those days, and few could read. It was from these songs of the minstrels that the people learned of the history of their country and the stories of their brave men.
The stories were often changed in the telling over time. Fairytails became interwoven until
it was hard to tell which was which.
Parts of the book are true but much of it is fairy tail. Song of Roland was brought down through the ages as song of soldiers and chivalry. To the sound of it many a time the
Frankish warrior marched into battle. To the sound of it the Normans marched upon the dreadful day of Hastings. This is where our harold met his death. Roland the Knight. Knight to King Charlemagne.
(Not word for word, much was left out..) H. E. Marshall 1907...sweet little old book it is!
I shall dub thee, Queen of the Pickles, watch your backside aye! or us Knights shall. | |
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om
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Joined: 5/28/2006
Msg: 73 | |
| You asked what I think...
Posted: 9/8/2006 10:45:37 PM | | Rebecca, Do you have a location for us? * smiles..Kidding , once again, lovely poem! | |
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| You asked what I think...
Posted: 9/9/2006 2:46:38 AM | Autumn Bec: Your poems are beautiful as they are. As 'you' write.
It's easy for me to seem excited. I actually 'feel' the 'old cheese'
I get as excited as a puppy that's discovered its own tail! Can't help myself.
My tail whips ferociously and it wags my entire body with it. lol
Om: Oh that was gorgeous. Yes the Bards. I dare say our host is well aquainted with them. Correct in the histories and harps. Singer of songs to kings, years in the learning and training, keepers of histories and epic tales (with embellishments of course) and yes they evolved. But so too does culture and language. And so in a way, the bards were oft times more accurate than written histories. Some cultures still have oral histories. "THE BARD" as he is known, of course, is our own beloved Shakespeare. Entire histories and plays, all in verse. Amazing.
A rose by any other name
Would still have pickles
(I mean prickles)
But nae doot would smell as sweet
A wittle ditty to end of day
As icelets form
on grassy knolls
and nip at
fattening buds
thrusting headlong
into a spring
not quite here
melting flames
flowing upwards
running gracefully
across and
dancing lithely on
once gracious tree
warms me
goodnight | |
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| Those who truly love
Posted: 9/9/2006 3:50:29 AM | Those who truly love
grow more bold
in their loving and more amazed
by the one they love.
Love keeps unfolding
more and more of her or him.
Those who are truly loved
do not grow old,
no! - they grow more lovely
and more loved.
J. Newman 09Sep06 © 2006 | |
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