| Brizo's poems
Posted: 6/14/2009 7:50:03 AM |
big bed
thank the gods
for big, big beds
and dreams of love
that do not die, forgotten
when all about lies
broken, rotten
Tend to the tender
This is like one unbroken beautiful sigh... Thank you. | |
|
| Brizo's poems
Posted: 6/14/2009 8:00:17 AM | Yes, praise Him for beds...
What about tree-houses?
Mossy rocks?
Old Barn Lofts?
Chiggers on your back...
A love with which to scratch.
Thankful for the blessings
Only you two can find. | |
|
| Brizo's poems
Posted: 6/14/2009 8:13:52 AM | hi Sarah, welcome to the thread.....yes to all of that, but a big NO on the chiggers...
Jer, thank you! Doesn't being in bed with someone feel alot like a big sigh? | |
|
| Brizo's poems
Posted: 6/14/2009 12:00:30 PM |
Jer, thank you! Doesn't being in bed with someone feel alot like a big sigh?
I've never experienced it that way but it's a beautiful thought. | |
|
| Brizo's poems
Posted: 6/15/2009 8:16:47 PM | | it needs to go on your bucket list... | |
|
| Brizo's poems
Posted: 6/15/2009 8:24:11 PM | | Yes, yes it does feel like a big sigh! Is it only a woman thing? | |
|
| Brizo's poems
Posted: 6/16/2009 6:11:00 AM | maybe it is...men, if I may ask something so personal...what does being in bed with someone feel like on your end?
We say a big sigh...though as Al Stewart once wrote in Year of The Cat "the drumbeat strains of the night remain" and sometimes it's like that too...and sometimes it's like a porno flick, acrobatic and showy but just a little cheesy and bereft of any sentimentality or depth....
but this was written by a man, and it seems like one big sigh.....
**************************************************************
Low by Cracker
Sometimes I wanna take you down.
Sometime I wanna get you low.
I brush your hair back from your eyes.
I take you down let the river flow.
Sometimes I go and walk the street
Behind the green sheet of glass.
A million miles below their feet
A million miles, a million miles
I'll be with you girl
Like being low
hey hey hey like being stoned
I'll be with you girl
Like being low
hey hey hey like being stoned.
A million poppies gonna make me sleep.
But just one rose it knows your name
The fruit is rusting on the vine
The fruit is calling from the trees
Hey don't you wanna go down
Like some junkie cosmonaut
A million miles below their feet
A million miles a million miles
I'll be with you girl
Like being low
hey hey hey like being stoned
I'll be with you girl
Like being low
hey hey hey like being stoned.
Blue blue is the sun.
Brown brown is the sky.
Green green are her eyes.
A million miles a million miles
Hey don't you wanna go down
Like some disgraced cosmonaut
A million miles below their feet
A million miles a million miles
I'll be with you girl
Like being low
hey hey hey like being stoned
I'll be with you girl
Like being low
hey hey hey like being stoned. | |
|
| Brizo's poems
Posted: 6/16/2009 9:52:31 AM | I tried yoga last night (thanks to my middle child)
Got myself into the damnedest positions but
No sigh
Watched the stars play peek-a-boo
From behind the clouds as the telescope was zooming across space out of focus
No sigh
Climbed into bed and was taken to the moon and back
Sigh | |
|
| Brizo's poems
Posted: 6/16/2009 11:03:48 AM |
maybe it is...men, if I may ask something so personal...what does being in bed with someone feel like on your end?
Ironically, I have a queen size bed, darlin. I don't really care for the king sized
ones. They just take up too much space.. and both people are cuddled right in the middle anyway. Why spend the extra fortune on special bedding. lol Yanno?
It really depends on the woman. Ex get's hot easily.. so, I pretty much liked to sleep with our toes touching and my nose in her hair.
My fiance from montgomery, back in the day, slept with me spooning her from behind, one of my legs tween hers, and one hand cradling her breasts.
Just the toe touch and aroma is enough to bind two people into one for me if I love 'em. Makes for a peaceful rest. If I wake up not toe touching.. I immediately remedy that.
I've got one of those long pillows that I sleep with nowdays. lol
Toss my arm and leg over it and spoon. It's red with yellow smilie faces.
I'd just as soon sleep with the smilie pillow if I'm not in love with the woman.
Told the Indian Princess that she's sleepin with me when she comes down.
We're platonic.. but, I still won't want her more than a foot away from me.
A toe away, actually. It's a toe thing.
That's how the big bed feels to me, darlin. It's love, peace and safety.
Oh, and I think it's only gentelmanly for the man to sleep by the entry door and the woman closest to the bathroom. Makes 'em feel safer and it's more convenient.
That's just an aside for guys that don't know such things. Lil things like that make all the difference. Oh, and put the seat down so she doesn't fondue her ass. Sheesus! hahahaha
smoothness and aroma are what does it for me
cucumber melon body wash please
the aroma alone makes me sleep like a baby
that's why they renamed the fetal position "spoonin", maybe
 | |
|
| Brizo's poems
Posted: 6/28/2009 11:51:55 AM | I can't stand being little spoon (I feel crowded and stifled) but I love being big spoon....
oh, for motivation today...it's so hot I can't get myself moving...
*******************************************************
larceny
the girl who'd save his life
arrested him
with handcuff eyes
leaned back her head
her smile lines
parentheses
containing
her extraordinary laugh
then he knew
she
held the key
to escape
LS 5/01/09
first, last
passing the salt | |
|
| Brizo's poems
Posted: 7/1/2009 9:02:17 PM | conspicuous consumption
No less ,No more
communist creed
give what you can
take what you need
but they forgot
the potential for greed
capitalism's all about me
make it for less
charge a big fee
make it to break
with cheap plastic parts
don't try to repair it
just fill up your carts
LS 4/09/08
first, last | |
|
| Brizo's poems
Posted: 7/5/2009 7:11:34 AM |
conspicuous consumption
No less ,No more
communist creed
give what you can
take what you need
but they forgot
the potential for greed
capitalism's all about me
make it for less
charge a big fee
make it to break
with cheap plastic parts
don't try to repair it
just fill up your carts
Brilliant indictment of crapitalism! And may I add my own:
ECONOMY
An iron economy governs us all.
You, who measure each cent,
will have nothing in the end.
While you, who are outwardly profligate
--who spend and spend: money and time
and love--and count nothing lost,
will have hearts that are in balance,
and joy without cost. | |
|
| Brizo's poems
Posted: 7/5/2009 8:20:54 AM | very true Jer...the older I get, the more I try to do without. Most times we think we need something but we only want it....and that's a hollow thing, you can never fill that wanting up. Purchases do nothing against it...
coffee farmer
the years of his backbreaking toils
have bent him nearly double
a living testament
to toil and trouble
he lives in unrivaled beauty
among mountain trails and trees
and we stupidly call it poverty
too possessed by possessions to see | |
|
| Brizo's poems
Posted: 7/5/2009 10:44:12 AM |
coffee farmer
the years of his backbreaking toils
have bent him nearly double
a living testament
to toil and trouble
he lives in unrivaled beauty
among mountain trails and trees
and we stupidly call it poverty
too possessed by possessions to see
There is such elegance in this and such poise! By "elegance" I don't mean anything to do with fashion but more in the way scientists refer to certain equations as being elegant, in that they express a mathematic or physical truth in a minimum of symbols.
One can imagine that there is more you could have said or that you could have said the same thing more vehemently, but that which was withheld adds to the force of what is there. | |
|
| Brizo's poems
Posted: 7/6/2009 4:18:38 PM | despoil
Evidence of carelessness; we all stand accused.
while the earth our mother stands broken and bruised
bury our garbage and drown it in oceans
and take it for granted she goes through her motions
cut down trees for paper when hemp would be better
and fill mailboxes with junk ads and letters
blow mountains for coal and drill oceans for oil
overfarm and make deserts of soil
I notice we're looking for water in space
a planet to move to and spoil just in case
and soon all around it will orbit detritus
used and discarded by the still avaricious
LS 02/01/09
Great Virtue | |
|
| Brizo's poems
Posted: 7/7/2009 5:11:03 AM |
despoil
Evidence of carelessness; we all stand accused.
while the earth our mother stands broken and bruised
bury our garbage and drown it in oceans
and take it for granted she goes through her motions
cut down trees for paper when hemp would be better
and fill mailboxes with junk ads and letters
blow mountains for coal and drill oceans for oil
overfarm and make deserts of soil
I notice we're looking for water in space
a planet to move to and spoil just in case
and soon all around it will orbit detritus
used and discarded by the still avaricious
This reminds me somewhat of Blake's great "London:"
London
I wander through each chartered street,
Near where the chartered Thames does flow,
And mark in every face I meet,
Marks of weakness, marks of woe.
In every cry of every man,
In every infant's cry of fear,
In every voice, in every ban,
The mind-forged manacles I hear:
How the chimney-sweeper's cry
Every blackening church appals,
And the hapless soldier's sigh
Runs in blood down palace-walls.
But most, through midnight streets I hear
How the youthful harlot's curse
Blasts the new-born infant's tear,
And blights with plagues the marriage-hearse.
Wm Blake | |
|
| Brizo's poems
Posted: 7/7/2009 6:26:47 AM | hmm, so above all rotten things, the harlot? I've always thought them fairly harmless...
though he's right, any "burden" not born into love is a bleak existence and a potential to perpetuate new misery...the sins of the fathers...
deductible
inside you
where your heart abides
lined with broken words
not spoken into silence
let them think
what they will
anticipate
sick hunger for
a fiery collision
whose
failure
to control?
LS 4/24/09
first, last & Om's Palms | |
|
| Brizo's poems
Posted: 7/8/2009 10:32:39 AM |
hmm, so above all rotten things, the harlot? I've always thought them fairly harmless...
I think you may not have given enough weight to "youthful," the implication being that she didn't choose to be a harlot or that she is one when others are still enjoying a carefree youth. | |
|
| Brizo's poems
Posted: 7/8/2009 4:41:46 PM | no thanks..
I'd never poet a woman on the first date.
I always get tested first and wait
and I figure if they wanna read me they'll find me
talk about givin to the needy
go post with rory or black mary
this wasn't my thread.. was it?
sorry darlin | |
|
| Brizo's poems
Posted: 7/8/2009 8:54:50 PM | hmm, I saw the harlot as being the mother of the infant...it just seemed Blake was saying "and worst of all..."
then again, many children weren't allowed to be children in that era. They cleaned chimneys, they worked in factories and mines...before child labor laws.
Brawny, lol...I don't poet either. I'd have to nudge them awake. The only thing that would form a worse stereotype would be to talk about my cats...as it is they probably don't think I shave my legs... 
and that's okay. They talk about NASCAR and I figure they probably don't shave their backs...
I don't post with Blackie very often, to be really honest my stuff can't stand beside his...Rory I will if he's being silly, but if he's serious he blows me out of the water...
for those guys I need to bring my A game, and that doesn't happen so often... | |
|
| Brizo's poems
Posted: 7/10/2009 7:35:04 AM | “In Blackwater Woods”
by Mary Oliver
Look, the trees
are turning
their own bodies
into pillars
of light,
are giving off the rich
fragrance of cinnamon
and fulfillment,
the long tapers
of cattails
are bursting and floating away over
the blue shoulders
of the ponds,
and every pond,
no matter what its
name is, is
nameless now.
Every year
everything
I have ever learned
in my lifetime
leads back to this: the fires
and the black river of loss
whose other side
is salvation,
whose meaning
none of us will ever know.
To live in this world
you must be able
to do three things:
to love what is mortal;
to hold it
against your bones knowing
your own life depends on it;
and, when the time comes to let it go,
to let it go | |
|
| Brizo's poems
Posted: 7/11/2009 12:28:53 PM | We learn to let what is mortal go...but by the time we're old, we're a mass of scar tissue from the pieces of ourselves that went with it...
listen
hope must live on
the tiniest whisper
a quiet inner voice
still your mind
and find yourself
live true
to your own choice
LS 6/08/09 | |
|
| Brizo's poems
Posted: 7/11/2009 5:21:27 PM | This is so awesome. I wish I could write like that. Miss you. Hope everything is going well.
Tammy | |
|
| Brizo's poems
Posted: 7/11/2009 5:45:55 PM | | Tammy, welcome (back) to the thread...if you're talking about me, thank you! | |
|
| Brizo's poems
Posted: 7/12/2009 11:28:34 PM | hope is the anchor of the soul
faith, hope and charity are psychine
found in a blue bottle, sold in 1920,
now mean nothing more than a 'case' for which
I quess 'interns' of being we are....hirs and sirs...
Being is said to be the widest of categories. The only attribute [quality]
of the widest of categories is existence. The only condition for the
possibility of being is said to be Life. Bios - or Life - is synonymous -
more or less - with the common use of the term "world", my world, your
world. Life denotes the vital in the world, in existence and itself, life cannot proceed nor follow from Being. They are
coincidences and they are not contraries, but they are different. Why is
that? Or rather how can being and life be different, but not contraries or
opposites? | |
|
Home
login 
