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| The Great Virtue Sitting Parlor and Greasy Spoon
Posted: 7/4/2009 9:49:21 AM | Woobs, that was awesome, thank you...
I have tears in my eyes, and I'm not even sure what you're writing about...
I suspect in the end, it doesn't really matter. Everything savors the last window of existence... | |
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| The Great Virtue Sitting Parlor and Greasy Spoon
Posted: 7/5/2009 2:53:35 AM | Big, brown, moth. Born with no mouth. They live about a week, mate, die.
http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_JqaXA41pvNc/Sk8GjNZRjSI/AAAAAAAAFs0/RVphHbsqwIQ/s1600-h/Mother,+it+was+wonderful.JPG
This was mine. | |
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| The Great Virtue Sitting Parlor and Greasy Spoon
Posted: 7/5/2009 8:59:46 AM | it sounded like a moth....once I found one the size of a hand in the factory.
It was so beautiful and my coworker was a bug smasher, so I ran it outside....it was obviously dying and fairly helpless...
it was so exotic looking, I wondered if it didn't come from Japan, as we did get some parts shipments from them.. | |
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| The Great Virtue Sitting Parlor and Greasy Spoon
Posted: 7/7/2009 11:43:07 PM | Extra
At rest on a skein of white flowers
your unseen hands reach out while
the flowers, read all over, hold places
out of a black field. My gaze is drawn
to the forest of hair above your shoulders
filling me with its fragrance, fixed on you
whose lips are sealed, and I want to
read all about it. Open me.
S¤£ø Tæ-Ðãh | |
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Posted: 7/10/2009 9:52:33 AM | 
~Solstice~
Standing still
penetration of will
You feel its vibe
Something comes Alive
A rebirth
so invited , brings a smile
Vow to always feel this way
yet you know...
not meant that way
So you worship it like God
Solstice rays you so much love
until ...they're gone!
 Woobs | |
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Posted: 7/12/2009 11:29:44 PM | I would like to think she is graceful and vibrant
Her supple branches, puppets in the wind
Dancing radiantly for her creator
It doesn’t matter much
What she wears
For it’s not the colour of the leaves
The hue of her bark
All is beautiful, all divine
From a tiny seed setting out on an adventure
Free from the shadow of its father
A quest begins through fields and flowers
Following lakes and streams
And perfect manicured lawns
In a magazine
A wild English garden
The loneliness of a hilltop or a craig
When her time comes she must fall from the sky
And take a chance on destiny
A weary traveller
Looking for God’s clean earth
To set down roots
And propagate the cycle
We give them names of ash or sycamore
Willow or elm
There are no boundaries
Just sunlit gardens of Eden
Wind kissed moors
Naked woods
The air we breathe
The shade we so long for
The earthy smells
And blossoms
And myriad armies grown
To fight off the walls of colonization
To a child it’s simple
As he reaches up to touch the sky
Pulling fruit and nectar
Flying high with crow’s nest and swing
A tree quickly becomes part of the family
I hope we never have to say goodbye.
(First posted in what tree am I) | |
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| ~Weeds~
Posted: 7/13/2009 12:54:00 AM |  hey woobs :) 
Each and every
wind that blew
brought scent
I always knew
when you were
around...
I have spent
a lifetime pulling
each one that
didn't fit or didn't work
So today am walkin and
talkin and workin
My soul is small
but my heart , is Big~!
I understand whats on ...me!
I know whats on you too~
If we both had a big rope
We would both have a
...Clue~! | |
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| ~Weeds~
Posted: 7/14/2009 6:31:35 PM | | Woobs, I love that new picture, you're a fox! | |
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| ~Notes~
Posted: 7/15/2009 11:45:02 PM | Asterisk
I have heard it said my son,
my darling daughter, that
all truth is parallel.
But remember this...
there are only three lines,
six directions, seven ways
to go. Sweet heart did
you find your way?
I hear only the sound of
waves against a shore - my
own breath - and recall the
whistling of my father...
...and know he found peace,
had joy; thank you for
that wonderful smile.
I am happy.
S¤£ø Tæ-Ðãh | |
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| ~Notes~
Posted: 7/16/2009 7:00:27 PM | | ^^^^^^solo, you did a wonderful job with this, great poem! | |
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Posted: 8/1/2009 3:06:49 PM | Friends, thank you all for your presence in my absence. ♥
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The stream of consciousness bears us forward
Today, pondering whether
to put panties on to go to
the store, I remembered
(as we all do) our mothers' warnings
about accidents, and, too,
Angie's mourning the cut-up
pieces of her favorite pjs
returned to her when she
checked out of the hospital
after her heart attack
Running her hands over the
pieces of pink silk,
weeping. Not often did
that life have pink silk in it
Earlier, an old friend had
sent news of an old friend's
suicide. The summer after
Edwin died. I suppose I thought
after his death that no one else
could ever die. . . .
One can blow one's brains out
in an apartment in Greenwich Village
if one wishes. But must use a
shotgun, because of gun laws.
About Ron: I knew him
when he was the "Mad Scarf"
of Taliaferro Hall ~~ our resident
poet-ghost walker. His nose always
running into that magnificent mustache.
The red scarf a banner, a talisman.
I knew him before he was Liam, before
any of the three wives, before the daughter
before NYC. Before he learned to play the system,
before cancer, before heart problems (he never had problems loving).
All he was when I knew him was one of the very best poets.
It was not enough.
As I near 70, all the deaths
might weigh me down, were they
what I remember most. But what I
remember is the love ~~ that
they lived, were joy, and found a
home in my heart.
jjl
1 August 2009 | |
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Posted: 8/1/2009 3:41:32 PM | | Such beautiful reflections. I just looked "Liam" up but could only find poems from (I think) near his chosen end. Very powerful. Thanks Wooby... as always, you and your poems rock! | |
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Posted: 8/2/2009 12:10:18 AM | Lo, I
sat down one day and was shewn a great scence, a script in which I was
presented as being celebrated and greeted by many wild things with wings,
and they made a buzzing sound and it all sounded so sweet and aromatic: sage in
bloom or was it the _astralagus_ [locoweed]. It did so. I observed my self with
it's skin on the outside but it was thin skin and not at all a boundary but
a sieve like transparency.
because there are some things sweet and scented some things foul and
moody, there are some which are pure and simple, or some which are
disturbing and complex, or arousing, deeply, you. | |
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Posted: 8/2/2009 12:34:24 AM | Lo, I
sat down one day and was shewn a great scence, a script in which I was
presented as being celebrated and greeted by many wild things with wings,
and they made a buzzing sound and it all sounded so sweet and aromatic: sage in
bloom or was it the _astralagus_ [locoweed]. It did so. I observed my self with
it's skin on the outside but it was thin skin and not at all a boundary but
a sieve like transparency.
because there are some things sweet and scented some things foul and
moody, there are some which are pure and simple, or some which are
disturbing and complex, or arousing, deeply, you.
 | |
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| ~LOTUS~
Posted: 8/2/2009 3:44:27 PM | Love of water
flowing like a wind
downstream
like his grin;
exploding in a
cascade of
delicate pink flowers
giving a soft shower
falling from the grey
where I like to stay ;
sunny Sunday kind of day!
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| Some lost or misplaced pomes
Posted: 8/12/2009 4:13:16 PM | Day three begins
Silence, out of hand
Dirt circles, settles
Words with nowhere to go
Green Lantern fails
as badly as Frankenstein
ever did, has eaten all the play
Blank canvas throws you
back at yourself, no company
Only the mirror, silver peeling
Questions that have been avoided
Roads play out, with no image
Choose, choose
.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Quilts
Laid at the end of the bed,
thrown over the backs of chairs
Others hang them on walls
Women's lives, new or old
Crazy: the silk melts and shreds
beneath the elaborate gilt stitching
More dear, the patterns, fragmented
Calico, a bit of summer, remembered
Velvet -- the opening dance dreamed again
Young mothers, gathered
The old ladies, remembering
12 stitches to the inch
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Seeking Centre
The gyre, the cry
the cry so far away
over the hills behind the cloud
One eye opens, the head turns,
watching, then tilts, listening
soft scurrying in the pine needles, near
Will the hawk find you? The eagle?
Do you wish that? Or only to be left
in peace?
.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
jjl
7 September 2007 | |
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| Some lost or misplaced pomes
Posted: 8/12/2009 6:19:21 PM | She left without fanfare
no heroics
no hysterics
just slipped away
Watching
waiting for the next breath
holding your own
'till that soft inhalation
That last whispery sound
so soft it was almost lost
in the whirr of machinery
and heartbeats
I washed you
absolved my own sins
twenty years ago
I miss you still
Love you | |
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| Some lost or misplaced pomes
Posted: 8/12/2009 6:56:38 PM | Flashes of light through the leaves
Blinding and blessing as I look up
Sun heated eyelids like warmed lettuce leaves
Softened - smoothed out - limp
Soft breeze, soft smiles, sated.
Knowing and known
Sighs and slow sighing breaths
Summer in the glade
where the lion gathers his harem.
The glade in the heart of it all
heart in the home of it all. | |
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| Some lost or misplaced pomes
Posted: 8/13/2009 12:46:23 AM | I lived in a glade
and am mansquito
I am man bur winged and able to pierce
take out
a small portion
where ever I alight,
but I winged make sound,
this
the health of the race is increased due to | |
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