|
|
|
|
|
| I don't care what you write......
Posted: 8/30/2009 10:47:48 PM | man the wheel captain
there's a storm up ahead
(we'd be better off if the wheel would man the captain instead)
wipe the salt water from your eye
tell the parrots to walk the plank
(the pirates obviously had no need for baths or a bank)
...no need for apologies...there's always tomorrow..right?
..and it doesn't suck, it bites (I kid..twice actually) welcome aboard :) | |
|
| Not a drop
Posted: 9/1/2009 4:20:07 PM | This bleeding heart, with brandy mixed,
is the only spirit that shall touch my lips,
until again I taste your kiss and your spirit flows through me so swift;
Though I've begun to drift,
I feel the pull of the Earth's new shift,
and run I shall to find your lips,
and taste them once again.
A part of me shall never live,
if this gift I have to give,
goes unused throughout my life,
and causes internal strife,
A hummingbird is sure to die,
is she is not allowed to fly,
you cannot cage up this boy,
for you will never feel his joy,
Never again shall I drink,
unless it be the kiss of queens,
whose hearts beat like hummingbird wings,
when they hear this song we sing.
The storm is drawing nigh,
approaching from a distant sky,
to flood the Earth once again,
where will you be my friend? | |
|
| tip toeing and two lips
Posted: 9/1/2009 7:54:51 PM | Where will you be, my friend,
when the flood waters come..
when your lungs fill with water
and the vessel grows numb?
Where would spirits live
in bleeding hearts or otherwise?
Flowers are in the garden
and they are wearing no disguise.
What is brandy wine,
or does she, might I ask,
know that there's no heaven hanging out
at the bottom of her flask?
I drank her once before
and she spit me out again,
but as the flood comes rolling through
will our lips touch again?
Tip toe across the water...
leave your footprints in the sand...
let the days count themselves..
their wish is your command. | |
|
| What Of Equity
Posted: 9/3/2009 11:40:34 AM | The anthropologists offer
Opposable thumbs cranial shape and posture
As evidence of our uniqueness
Yet capable of a set of
Simultaneously conflicting impulses
Artistic ability sets the human animal
Apart from the balance of creation
Able to paint its best interests
The colour of right
Volume upon volume of
Exquisitely crafted rationalizations
Masterful forgeries of truth
Are employed toward this
Truly ignoble end
But when the propagandists are
Properly bound and gagged
We’re faced with understandings
Acquired in the sandbox
None enjoys a greater right than another
To commonly held and finite resources
No hoarding…the toys must be shared
Yet no sooner are these principals
Of fairness and equity established
Than the schizophrenic educators
Invert the rules so as to excuse
A world based on dollars
Where individuals have billions
And billons have none
Ignoring centuries of colonial conquest
And the inequitable distribution
Of the earths precious natural resources
Upon which national currencies are based
Such staggering economic disparity is said to result
From the immutable laws of supply and demand
Which pull humanity the way the moon pulls the tides
Therefore despite the definitive understanding
That it’s a man-made construct
Unrelated to any natural order
We accept the ludicrous notion
Of an economic storm
This contrasts sharply with the 1930’s experience
Of a market crash
Yet relentlessly clinging to delusion
And dismissing the dictates of elementary logic
Which scream of a fundamentally flawed design
The consensus of all right thinking people
Is to once again rebuild from the original plans
A structure that with devastating implications for millions
Has twice collapsed in eighty years | |
|
| What Of Equity
Posted: 9/4/2009 9:54:27 PM | Birds of Paradise
You bring colors bright
Keep me warm tonight
Plumage vibrant and velvet
Trace my window sill,
Chase the pain
Tip tap tic…
(the rest was kinda inflamatory) | |
|
| wrapped
Posted: 9/5/2009 7:59:56 AM | so much to do today I must get out of my nice soft bed
so off from the pillow fights my scarf wrapped head
taking the bed clothes with me padding to the wc
keeping the warmth of my bed wrapped around me
having to step out into the water pressured just right I turn my music on
the beat and rhythm collide with perfumed steam wrapped in sensation
at first I hum then I sing as I dance into my clothes push my hand though the sleeve
smile as I go to grab my juice glass and slice of bread wrapped cheese
floss,brush,rinse and paint my face up planning on a day of fun
walking to the bus stop whistling happy to be wrapped in sun
missed you all glad to be back | |
|
| growth
Posted: 9/5/2009 10:14:52 PM | We began to see,
tucked away
within each new day,
the reasons why we had found each other to begin with...
and it was a most beautiful thing,
this push to that pull..
making love until our eyes were full..
and tired.
It left more to be desired
and yet was too much to inhale and still sublime
There would come a time to do without it...
and we would feel our way through..but it was not yet time
..the things that make you the happiest can hurt you the most..
It was all a part of living -
to this I'll raise a toast.
(good to see you too Brwnbeauty....welcome chomskian....hope this finds you all having a good weekend) | |
|
| growth
Posted: 9/5/2009 10:54:42 PM | | VVendy...forgive my exhausted mind ( worked open to close for the last two days)....went back to put a 'hello' and adressed it to another fine soul who graces this thread from time to time...she's randomly here and always throws a random hello when she visits...I suppose this, along with other similarities, is the reason for my error...either way, glad you stopped by...very much enjoyed that glimpse into your morning :) | |
|
| Faerie Dust
Posted: 9/6/2009 2:07:24 AM | Asleep, asleep, asleep I go,
and of what I dream, who's to know?
Perhaps I'll see a boiling sea,
or maybe something not so bleak,
perhaps I'll have the greatest joy,
like when the faeries buzzed this boy,
and faerie dust I learned was real,
for their pure joy did I feel,
and laughed and laughed until I cried,
for what I felt, I could not describe,
the greatest joy I'll ever know,
this little boy soon did grow,
to be a dreamer, who dreams so deep,
of swords and love and a spider's creep,
of animals, vast and small,
panda bears, and great big falls,
with my stomach in my throat,
and yet sometimes I may float,
and sometimes I must bash a face,
to put an a**hole in their place,
sometimes water I can breathe,
or sometimes tricks held up my sleeve,
like telekinetic energy,
or lightsabers of blue and green,
sometimes teachers, do I seek,
to teach me of many things,
sometimes I die and yet I live,
sometimes, my life I give,
sometimes my plane does crash,
sometimes I die within a flash,
and sometimes I lose my teeth,
or I am blinded and cannot see,
sometimes I move real slow,
and sometimes fast I go,
and on all fours do I sometimes run,
like a bear under the sun,
and pull myself with my two front paws,
to escape the closing jaws,
and sometimes when I find my hands,
then I control all the land,
and bring to me what I seek,
for I am the master of my dreams. | |
|
| editorial: living in boxes
Posted: 9/9/2009 8:26:06 PM | I don’t do this
I won’t do that
I won’t do you
You might not catch
Me living
For fear of dying
Or crying
I won’t do those
I pass judgment
Even if I need em
On who do Voodoo
I live my life in deference
And boxes
Self satisfied
And smug
Never doubting
That its you
I have no interest in
Putting you outside my box
Into your box
And covering
It in old news paper
I read the funny papers
That trace your tear stained
Face,
Horoscopes predict
Tomorrow’s a lucky
In love day, Tearing it
I turn the page
To envelop another box…. | |
|
| I don't care what you write......
Posted: 9/9/2009 10:15:54 PM | wishI feel your carress, your tenderness,
I am soothed by your everglowing kindness,
Never harsh, yet so soft,
Looking at your face veiled by whisps of hair laying beside you,
No lust, nor seduction, but love, companionship, and heart,
You turn, to nuzzle into me,
Holding you under sheet's of silk, embracing you, as always if it were the first and last time,
Holding, I announce my love to you, as you would always know, and return the favor, tis which I would reply by kissing your shoulder.
As you turn face me again, our lips almost begin to touch....
Then I awake...
I feel ache...
Reality....
I feel like I always knew you and you had to be real, but the world would say otherwise.
I go back to sleep, saying hell to reality, as your essence is always in my dreams,
With your presence, your are able to numb my pain and loneliness,
How I wish you were real. | |
|
| I don't care what you write......
Posted: 9/14/2009 9:06:54 AM | I have been slapped in the face a thousand times...and life's realities have been much more harsh to me than any words that you could throw my way...
Rather than turning the other cheek...I'm looking you in the eye today..
I get the message loud and clear 9 times out of 10...
But if you shoot at me and I catch the bullet between my teeth, doesn't that mean I win?
Or do I?
Games are lame.
Life is precious.
My time is priceless... | |
|
| I don't care what you write......
Posted: 9/14/2009 12:04:06 PM | Rather than play a game or ignore your words when you are so welcoming to anyone who cares to write here.
I am going to ask because I am unsure
Ash,,I love your writes but I think someone has offended you and I fear it is me. was it?.. The last poem I posted here was not editorializing your poetry or anyone else's I was making a comment an editorial comment on life including my own and when I choose to live in boxes both as the judger and judgee.... I picked that title without thinking because I didn't feel faerie dust was appropriate for my title--however, I should have reverted to your original title of the thread.. sorry...
D... | |
|
| I don't care what you write......
Posted: 9/14/2009 4:25:15 PM | Inicia,
You are correct in your guess as to why my feathers were ruffled. I'm glad that you can understand my train of thought there. I must agree that Faerie dust wouldn't quite fit as the title of your poem. I wouldn't want you to title the poem with the original heading either, though. In other words, just because we had a misunderstanding doesn't mean I would want you or anyone else to feel like they should 'tip-toe' around here. These things happen, and when they do they can be cleared up. I thank you for addressing it in the straightforward manner that you did and ask that you please do forgive me for misunderstanding as well.
Ash | |
|
| |
| I don't care what you write......
Posted: 9/18/2009 12:31:11 PM | Just love the brevity and simple weight of that last one Ash...
conscious illustration
stretch me
like a canvas shredded and
layered this burdened remnant seeks
deliverance of ghosts that weigh affected claims
gesso'd tight
with no passage
this taut hide of satin
charmeuse will not allow my
naked movement nor bare completion
until you
release upon me sweet
painted quittance of a freeing
obligation without reservation
before these silken strokes take their toll
In thanks
I watch you weld the knife
upon this haunted masque, this skin
I wear and with painstaking care, you slice
divine severance in your loving of my disquiet soul
. | |
|
| I don't care what you write......
Posted: 9/20/2009 1:20:20 PM | Frozen in a reality shower
In the place where hope never visits
A million icicle daggers
Pin me to the wall of actuality | |
|
| I don't care what you write......
Posted: 9/20/2009 9:19:45 PM | These ribbons of highways, never form a bow:
The Santa Ana's highlight the confusion
I came here for a peace, I may never know:
I was young and drunk with delusion.
Take me back to Venice Beach
What chance did I have in Paradise,
with lawyers sleeping on park benches?
When shouting out my God given rights,
got me locked up and alone in detention.
Take me back to Venice Beach
What they teach only gets them paid,
why do they speak of the constitution?
All of the young minds that they shaped,
congregate with words of revolution
Take me back to Venice Beach!
Let me walk in the needle strewn sand,
in the shadows of muscle beach
Hold a legalized reefer in my hand
while the tourists all grit their teeth.
Let the ocean swirl around my toes,
while the world all chases their tails.
Let the sweet sun burn my nose,
as I pickle myself with ale
Yea...
Take me back to Venice Beach!! | |
|
| If, indeed, you are out there
Posted: 9/26/2009 12:22:46 AM | (thanx for the props E..and thanks to the rest for stopping through [long time no see, Seaz]..Chomskian I enjoy your vision...and TruthterT, very much enjoyed those,too - Welcome!)
lying in mismatched sheets of linen
covered in the warmth of quilts homemade
7 pillows provide the illusion of not being alone
comfort found at the end of the day
starting the day with a prayer
"lord help me be who you want me to be..
I thank you for a brand new day,
please help me to clearly see"
four heaping table-spoons of "go juice"
the pot will be half full when I am through
starting the day in peaceful silence
reading passages from a book or two
where are you this morning?
upon waking, what is it that you do?
one day I will know these answers
and be able to make the other two cups for you | |
|
| If, indeed, you are out there
Posted: 9/26/2009 8:48:16 PM | Hiya Ash....thought I'd pop in and leave a tidbit. Love the writes in here!
I walked through the cemetaries of my mind,
perusing the tombstones of my life,
searching for that "one" epitaph
to a restful sleep,
and yet, I am awake, dreaming,
casting shadows too dark to see,
forging realities on scrolls,
building impenetrable castles
that lie empty in a wasteland,
and my pen writes frozen ink across the waters,
creating a wintery garden of Eden,
filled with frozen edibles,
the last entree, the forbidden fruit
on the tombstone of my life. | |
|
| I don't care what you write...
Posted: 10/13/2009 7:27:52 PM | Perusing through tombstones with ghost-like impressions,
the spirit hears the colors of my darkest confessions..
Restful sleep in this realm finds me, randomly, surprised.
I've gotten used to the weights pulling at the light in my eyes.
Aww Manny...it's soo good to see you! I'm loving the new faces the writes they're dropping off, too... | |
|
| I don't care what you write...
Posted: 10/14/2009 12:39:10 AM | He walked in..put down the bag
He had black pants, he had his upper body in a suit coat.
he paused, then strutted onto the floor, no shame.
his face inscrutable, his affectations a pleasure
music started, dance, dance...well he did.
I cannot own him. I do not want to. He would not.
Take me hostage. I will dance alongside his bravery
I will join him in the upstart that he is.
Why else does anybody live? | |
|
| I don't care what you write...
Posted: 10/14/2009 5:46:06 AM | Thanks for dropping by my thread and posting. I decided to peep in yours. So many great writes by others including yourself. But one struck a chord in me in-particular. The one about the quilt. Thanks a lot for invoking a memory or two.
"Homemade quilts"
The warmth that it brings more so than just physical
An emotional attachment as memories served
As I realized that she made the quilt just for me
And the others that she loved as well
Through the stitches that were sewn by hands
To the ones of her foot powered machine
She gave to us a lasting memory of her
Through patchwork and different materials
But most of all
She left behind to us a token of her love
I don't use my quilt because it is torn
And the edges are tattered from years of use
But just a look at the multi-colors
And I see a kaleidoscope of her love for me
And I feel the warmth of a grandmother's love
*** Thank you again ash.i.am for bringing forth a hug from yesteryear.*** | |
|
| I don't care what you write...
Posted: 10/14/2009 4:48:22 PM | Resurrected from about a thousand years ago...
the girl in this house has left
and though a trace
of every finger
every nuance lies in an imprint
on every bookshelf
and every coffee table she touched
I still miss her
she told me to tell you
that she hates you, only because she can
and that she loves you
only because she can't
she told me to tell you that her heart is in the wrong place and it wants to go home
the girl in this house has left
without so much as a good-bye
without so much of as i've-died
and without so much as a i-don't believe-you-anymore
----------------------------------------------------------------
The Op did say she doesn't care what we write... | |
|
| I don't care what you write...
Posted: 10/24/2009 12:52:19 PM | hey, you're welcome Unrelenting Tenacity...so glad I could stir such a memory :)
Welcome Mtn. Wildflower...I absolutely loved that last write...thank you for stopping in!
60to70: glad to see you stop through...I've enjoyed your writes from a distance for quite some time :)
I wonder...
if my grandmother felt so great,great,great
when she was purchased as a bride
and a farmers wife was made her fate...
I wonder if the Irish woman in me
would be killed by the Indian just the same,
If it meant she could live a little easier,
and not only lift up, but preserve her name.
Cowboys and Indians
Christians, Muslims, and Jews:
I wonder how we'd all feel
if we traded feet and shoes.
Probably bout the same as we feel right now...
It's amazing what we forget so quickly, somehow. | |
|
|
| Page 44 of 45
|
5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30, 31, 32, 33, 34, 35, 36, 37, 38, 39, 40, 41, 42, 43, 44, 45 |
|
Home
login 
