| REVERSING THE SPELL
Posted: 5/21/2008 3:04:53 PM | glad you stopped by A........
reasons to never be a ghetto landlord
drug pusher in 2B
calls spewing
filthy epithets
about no eff-ing
mothereffer heat
while on the phone
with said pusher
the cops ramrodding
the door of 2B
pepper the sheetrock
with 110 rounds of
bullets that shatter
every window
and your wife rolls over
while you get your jeans on
"fer chrissakes Joe it ain't even
worth the tax shelter anymore"
and it's 10 minutes later
while carreening down
I-295 you remember
you forgot the smoke alarm
batteries again
as you ignore the
hooker in 1A
flashing tit crooning
"come on honey, mama heat you up"
and wend your way thru yellow crime tape
gingerly stepping over the glass
that miraculously didn't pierce one****oach
down in the basement
you hurl your toolbox against the wall
because where the furnace
you came to fix used to be
are 17 used crack vials
and a note:
sorry, we needed the scrap metal for coke. | |
|
| REVERSING THE SPELL
Posted: 5/21/2008 3:18:42 PM | | aight swan....keep me on my toes why dontcha'.....that was good stuff right there girl.... | |
|
| REVERSING THE SPELL
Posted: 5/21/2008 4:02:54 PM | | do ya think we should wear disguises here? the POF scumlords don't like our haikus!!!! | |
|
| REVERSING THE SPELL
Posted: 5/21/2008 6:25:52 PM | - - - - - -
Dancing in circles
Under moon-gleaming trees
Reaching for sky-stars
Peeking through leaves
Precious as friendship
Evenings like these
- - - - - - | |
|
| REVERSING THE SPELL
Posted: 5/21/2008 6:42:55 PM | turning
then turning again
the steps intricate
with point of toe
arch of back
arms open outstretched
embracing the orbit's
endless center
where the other was
or will be | |
|
| REVERSING THE SPELL
Posted: 5/21/2008 8:09:17 PM | hiya swanny , just thought i would leave ya a meager attempt
Yesterdays Voices
How the laughter of Fools
fill our ears
seemingly omnipresent
Yet the Cries of Children silent
they go unheard
as do the whispering pleas of nature
blocked by the walls, concrete, and glass
our "progress"?
or inbred self-destruction? | |
|
| REVERSING THE SPELL
Posted: 5/21/2008 9:21:45 PM | i sit on my porch at sunset
the sun barely able to break
free of the smog to sing
her final aria of vermillion fire
and truly can't believe
that all the so called miracles
we thought would have no price
the asbestos, the teflon, the fiberglass
that clog our lungs and rot our insides
are not the devil having his due
do ya think?????????????? | |
|
| REVERSING THE SPELL
Posted: 5/22/2008 10:06:03 AM | he never listened
he only heard
what he wanted to hear
and seemed
bored as hell
with the lessons
we were supposed to be learning
as lovers
as parents
as friends
he was all dangling participles
and mooning dreamily
out the window
the venetian blinds
over his eyes
no
he never heard me
and that is why
i run from you
because
i was as erasable
as chalk
and
tired
of having
it
pounded out of me | |
|
| REVERSING THE SPELL
Posted: 5/22/2008 10:23:50 AM | Hey Hey, You!!!!........... Try'n a little get'n clean if ya don't mind, delving back to a time in my life:
I let ya walk through that door
even after I knew you'd been with the whore
and your balls where flame'n red, itch'n
then ya let a child molester in our home, too
Ya will never walk through MY door again!!
Lock'd you out 10yrs ago
Quit use'n your child as your epithet!!
(ooooh that does lift some heaviness!!!....) | |
|
| REVERSING THE SPELL
Posted: 5/22/2008 10:26:29 AM | flushing it down the toilet of our poetry sure does beat an enema, don't it??? | |
|
| REVERSING THE SPELL
Posted: 5/22/2008 10:32:14 AM | Yes indeedy!!!
Bend over, fetal postion preferred
but, I want you to feel every push
of that stem, dig'n deeper
then the gush of reality I will flush with force
and make it a crash course
To your final declaration of "Oh, Sh1t!"
 | |
|
| REVERSING THE SPELL
Posted: 5/22/2008 10:44:55 AM | oh sweet am i
such a proper
nice irish/catholic girl
and i eschew violence
but still and all
there is a vision
softly wafting
oer my limpid eyelids
of a cork, properly placed
on nether regions
and the exponentially
excrutiating explosion
of sshhiitt volcanoing
out of his brain
makes me smile
like mona lisa
and maybe folks
if ya really think
about it
might that be
what that
enigmatic smile
was all about??? | |
|
| REVERSING THE SPELL
Posted: 5/23/2008 3:55:06 PM | i aint that woman
so prim and proper
always in the kitchen
whiskin' it up for "her" man
no i aint that woman
who'll keep her opinion
to her oppressed self
sayin' "yes dear" and "no dear"
keepin' the dust motes in line
no i aint that woman
flat on her back meekly submissive
pickin up your dirty socks
your dry cleanin'
your day old dishes left everywhere
no i aint that woman
cause housekeepers get $20 an hour
and clean whores get $300 a pop
and your dikk don't do nuttin'
none of the others don't do | |
|
| REVERSING THE SPELL
Posted: 5/23/2008 4:15:34 PM | HELEN IN HOLLYWOOD
by judy grahn
When she goes to Hollywood
she is an angel.
She writes in red red lipstick
on the window of her body,
long for me, oh need me!
parts her lips like a lotus.
Opening night she stands, poised
on her carpet, luminescent,
young men humming
all around her. She is flying.
her high heels are wands, her
furs electric. Her bracelets
flashing. How completely
dazzling her complexion,
how vibrant her hair and eys,
how brilliant the glow that spreads
four full feet around her.
She is totally self conscious
self contained
self centered,
caught in the blazing central eye
of our attention.
We infuse her.
Fans, we wave at her
like handmaids, unabashedly,
we crowd on tiptoe pressed together
just to feel the fission of the star
that lives on earth,
the bright, the angel sun
the luminescent glow of someone
other than we.
Look! Look! she is different.
medium for all our energy
as we pour it through her.
Vessel of light.
her flesh is like flax,
a living fiber.
She is the symbol of our dreams and fears
and bloody visions, all
our metaphors for living in America.
Harlowe, Holiday, Monroe
Helen
when she goes to Hollywood
she is the fire for all purposes.
Her flesh is like dark wax, a candle.
She is from any place or class
"that's the one," we say in instant recognition,
because our breath is taken by her beauty,
or what we call her beauty. | |
|
| REVERSING THE SPELL
Posted: 5/25/2008 7:08:47 PM | The hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life
Watching the man I loved leave this mortal earth
His last days were poignant
Full of laughter
Amazing gazes into each other’s eyes
Soft touches and gentle words of love
‘About the time you came into my subterranean existence’
He used to tell me
‘I’d all but given up hope of finding someone with a true heart.’
It is possible that
In the whole history
Of the whole world
There has been another love as real as he and I shared
It is not possible
There has been love greater
He made me promise I would live to love again
‘If one has ever known true love,’
It’s said, ‘then it’s possible to know it again’
The hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life
Love a man to his very end
And yes, if I had it to do over, I’d love him all over again. | |
|
| REVERSING THE SPELL
Posted: 5/25/2008 9:48:39 PM | | ^^^it sounds as if you have an open heart...I can't imagine love will elude you. I hope it comes again, soon. Thanks for the moving write, and a reminder that love does exist.... | |
|
| REVERSING THE SPELL
Posted: 5/26/2008 12:21:25 AM | Thank you for the compliment, Brizo
Completely captivated by each and every thing you write and share
Love does exist
It really, really does.
Excellent IggyPop tune! | |
|
| REVERSING THE SPELL
Posted: 5/26/2008 8:41:38 AM | [there are so many ways to die]
There is a thing called dying grace | |
|
| REVERSING THE SPELL
Posted: 5/26/2008 10:55:09 AM | there is a thing called dying grace?
perhaps that's my granny
as her body slowly
shuts down
and her
minds wanders
but i don't see dying grace...
i see a living spirit so beautiful
makes me want to weep | |
|
| REVERSING THE SPELL
Posted: 5/26/2008 11:11:21 AM | (From my blog, about the single most interesting, most amazing human being I've ever known. I'm much better at the informal essay, swan-sweetie, and don't know if I could capture this moment in true poetry. I hope you don't mind the short contribution. It feels right for your forum today. I won't make a habit of stepping so far away from poetic style ..*smile*..)
- - - - - -
His pet name for me was 'doll', always said in that 40s-sultry, film noir sort of way. He described me as 'Sweet. The most feminine of my loves.' He died in September.
A few days before his death, he asked me to sit down on the bed with him and reminded me of something we'd learned and discussed many times over the past three years together as we'd each faced the most difficult times in our lives.
"I've lived a good life. I've lived a very interesting life. I have no regrets. I don't owe anyone anything, not even an apology. I thought I'd be afraid at this stage, but I'm not … and while I wasn't ready to leave this earth, there were still things I wanted to do, my karma is good and my conscience is clear. I've nothing to fear from whatever comes next; and to tell you the truth, I'm a little bit curious about what comes next."
- - - - - - | |
|
| REVERSING THE SPELL
Posted: 5/26/2008 11:37:22 AM | [but I don't see dying grace...]
You don't see dying grace you just experience it like your granny did. | |
|
| REVERSING THE SPELL
Posted: 5/26/2008 11:40:48 AM | [ I'm a bit curious about what comes next]
Everyone is curious about what comes next, whether they admit it or not. | |
|
| REVERSING THE SPELL
Posted: 5/26/2008 11:54:08 AM | A friend had mailed him a boxed plastic Jesus figurine.
"The Deluxe, Miracle Jesus Action-Figure with Glow-in-the-Dark Hands."
Attempting to entertain him with humor, I joked about those glow-in-the-dark hands.
"doll,"
he said, humor in his voice too,
"I may not be christian, but Jesus is a friend of mine.
I'm a dying man. Don't mess with my Jesus."
His gentle smile that day will never be forgotten by me.
The mirth in the visiting nurse's eyes
shared my admiration for this man I'd come to love so thoroughly.
- - - - - -
I believe it is indeed possible to be witness to Dying Grace.
I believe it is not a special gift only available to believers of the Bible.
I believe it's the reward of spiritual maturity and a life lived well.
http://www.russpickett.com/system/grace03.htm | |
|
| REVERSING THE SPELL
Posted: 5/26/2008 3:19:27 PM | Some very nice nice writes in here Swan...and expat, your writes are very touching as of late...
Thought I would leave this one here......perhaps you might enjoy the message.
..The Day The Earth Stood Still..
Frigid air cascading could be seen with naked eye...
Slipping forth from highest place born by darkened sky...
Elders Drums Rang....
..............................Songs where sung...
..........................................................Round fire Shaman drift...
Thunder told Great Spirit's anger...
..So few left to gift...
Mother's song a melody ceased it's calming verse...
One single Eagle dared it's Call...
...A summoning of Curse...
The Ancient Bear awoke it's slumber calling brethren near...
The Silver Elk raced Deepest Forest calming Children's fear...
The tide stopped rising movement....
A plane of shimmering glass...
...The Oldest Souls rose to surface...
....Releasing air in blasts...
...yet Man continue racing to and fro as if in dream...
....as Mother and Great Spirit called to breast with silent scream...
.....all those Ancient souls that held a purest State of Grace...
......for thee who lead-eth well are those where eons touch to face...
The ground was given Shaking Three volcanoes spewing fire...
Hurricanes grew from the heat beginning massive spiral...
Tornadoes ravaged fields of harvest...cities, towns destroyed...
...The Earth itself oped wide claiming millions in void...
...and see in smoke of past a future scribed to stone...
....foretold by Ancients many times two paths were Mankind shown...
.....walk thy way of Mother rest eternal luscious glade...
......or walk thy way of engine and your path...
.......yourself has made...
Now silence grips the Earth revolving to a stop...
Sages close their books as this destiny we've wrought...
Mother's hand creation a single blade of grass...
We simply could not adhere for such simplicity...
........She Asks........
...."Know of Me my Children, I am You as You are Me...
....I am cascading Waterfall as highest reaching Tree...
....I am the Fruit upon you feast the Apple as the Peach...
....I am the swaying grass as the tallest Mountains breached...
....I am the Essence born you All from the Raven to the Bear...
....Understand me please my Children I ask only that we Share....
....I will give you greatest moments held within my deepest folds...
.........but Never take Me for Granted lest the stories come Foretold...."
Now with sweat dripping all awake....
......A single nightmare all....
For just one night a single dream Mankind as one did fall....
A hush held Worldwide...a passing gripping chill....
It was within that single moment....
.......................That The Earth Stood Still.........................
..T.. | |
|
| REVERSING THE SPELL
Posted: 5/26/2008 3:25:44 PM | shall i paint the flowers more yellow? more blue?
shall i move them more to the left? the right?
how do i create with your colors?
with hues hewn from your souvenired palette?
shall i paint from your perspective or mine?
the moon doth sweetly hang luminescently pearled
oer your darkling sky
but here, on the moon, the view is slightly altered
grayed, ashen, barren
washed in the debris from love never knowing bloom
a slow agonizing siphoning off of every dream.
every hope.
every truth.
and you want this sugar coated
sweet thought ergo sweet word
you want me rearranging
each leaf and stem and bud
from your perspective
gracefully flowering petals soft rosed
not blood red. not blood red
thickly sticky maroon
splashed inconveniently on a
canvas of lost hope, troth unplighted
from nose smashed, ear drum shattered
bone brutally snapped
agonizing pain ergo agonizing word
yes, i chose my own colors
which are not your colors
I chose my own colors
born of my experience
which is not your experience
I chose my own words
from my own pain
which is not your pain
nor even your worst
imagined nightmare
my words are the colors of
reality you will never know
and i shall forgive you
for your glib ignorance
a stick figure
lost at the edge of
my rioting colors
my rubenesque beauty | |
|
Home
login 
