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 AUTHOR
 breathing
Joined: 3/15/2005
Msg: 26
TO ZOE, AGE 6Page 2 of 52    (1, 2, 3, 4, 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)
Evening to you, Alyosha

Your poem is simply, elegant… “calico, wine and spring of my heart”

Thank you for your kind words! …. You said; someone was filling your mind with poems from us, they must have been under the influence. ;-)

~~

Snowberries in bloom
Simple pleasures shared by two
The movement of life

~~

Tried to send you mail, it would not go through !
 alyosha
Joined: 8/20/2006
Msg: 27
I love you more today
Posted: 10/2/2006 5:12:53 AM
I love you more today
than I did yesterday and less
than I will tomorrow,
for love cannot but borrow
from itself.


J. Newman © 30Sep06
 alyosha
Joined: 8/20/2006
Msg: 28
I am Losing Myself
Posted: 10/4/2006 5:43:13 AM
I am losing myself to myself
sexually, she thought. The downward
rush of her breasts
is carrying with it all confidence
in her femininity and without confidence
in herself, what woman
can get loved?

I said “loved,” she thought,
because any woman can get laid
here in downtown North America!
For the boys, every night
is Hockey Night in Canada:

He shoots! He scores!
Because - look - no one is minding the net.



J. Newman © 2006
 alyosha
Joined: 8/20/2006
Msg: 29
Carve Wisdom out of Stone
Posted: 10/10/2006 4:39:20 AM
Carve wisdom out of stone
if you can, or love
from an unwilling heart.

Put flesh back on bone
if you can, or restart
a fire that has gone out.


J. Newman © 2006
 alyosha
Joined: 8/20/2006
Msg: 30
Mouth to Mouth
Posted: 10/13/2006 4:05:28 AM
Mouth to mouth we will love each other,
perhaps, but for now, all that
is in the future, like a deck
of cards that has already been shuffled
once, twice, three times, but has yet
to be laid out. The cards have no secrets,
really, they are always hearts,
spades, clubs and diamonds, deuce
to ace, but it is the order
in which they will be played.
The order is everything!


J. Newman © 2006
 alyosha
Joined: 8/20/2006
Msg: 31
Somalia, 1992
Posted: 10/14/2006 8:55:56 AM
You are the messenger
no one has sent.
On your palm, there is nothing
but a hot grey smudge.
In the distance, among the lost and hungry children,
you see one face that is maimed
more than all the others.
But the child doesn't speak to you.
On your palm, there is nothing
but a hot grey smudge.





J. Newman © 14Oct06
 alyosha
Joined: 8/20/2006
Msg: 32
Another Dead Seal
Posted: 10/14/2006 12:53:13 PM
The smile on Rumsfeld’s face
is confident, well fed,
and every tooth represents
one or two hundred thousand dead.

“You go to war,” he said,
“with the army you have”
and of course with the Secretary of Defense
and the President you have
and the objectives you have

–whatever they are.
Stuff happens...


J. Newman © 25Sep06
 alyosha
Joined: 8/20/2006
Msg: 33
Whats In A Number?
Posted: 10/14/2006 2:11:44 PM
Numbers of the President's cabinet who served in the armed forces....

Numbers of men & women who have returned frim Iraq in caskets...

Numbers of lies that have yet to be told re the progress of the war...

Numbers of social programms that have been cut to pay for the war...

Numbers of days remaining until, hopefully, the Republicans are turned out of office...
 alyosha
Joined: 8/20/2006
Msg: 34
There is a conversation
Posted: 10/16/2006 5:02:32 AM
There is a conversation I would like to take up
but of course being a conversation,
it requires an other. That is not to say
someone who is alien to me but who is
other than me. Lacking that other
I’m reduced to monologue,
which is not at all the same.
In a monologue, even if I were to divide
the parts of myself in two, both sides
would be right. And wrong...
Speak to me, Other, for without you I
am not even me... I am Allmen, Everyman,
that is to say, no one...



J. Newman © 16Oct06
 alyosha
Joined: 8/20/2006
Msg: 35
You take to writing poetry
Posted: 10/18/2006 5:24:03 AM
You take to writing poetry the way
others take to booze, for something to do
while the long day drips by,
sticky minute by sticky minute
or to still that inner voice
that keeps yammering at you:
You effed up again!
You loser! Incompetent! Ingrate!
It’s no wonder that Suzie,
Edward, Bill, Jean, etcetera, etcetera,
etcetera left you! That all those idiots
at work get more money and promotions
than you do!
Time
to write another poem...


J. Newman © 18Oct06
 alyosha
Joined: 8/20/2006
Msg: 36
At night, you struggle against sleep
Posted: 10/20/2006 4:42:37 AM
Some people have faces
you don’t want to encounter
in dreams. Every sin
they committed, every injustice
committed against them
is there on the surface,
boiling and demanding redress.
Their faces accuse you
of having been happy, or worse,
of being happy now,
of having been loved
of having eaten well...
At night, you struggle against sleep.


J. Newman © October 20, 2006
 alyosha
Joined: 8/20/2006
Msg: 37
When God composes poetry
Posted: 10/21/2006 10:28:11 AM
Imagine that God is a poet
and all of this is an epic
he’s writing. He won’t show it
to any of us until he’s done.

Is it breaking his heart to write it
or an exercise in immortal fun?
He composes a verse and the earth
erupts in green and brown and red...

Another verse brings dread
and hope. He’s got the swing
of it now, creates love and hate,
famine, abundance and gluttony,

the church and ecclesiastic enmity.
For a spot of supernatural mirth
he seeds the earth
with French and English, Latvian,

Urdu, with Hindus, Caucasians,
Chinese and all the rest.
He can hardly keep abreast
of his imagination. Oh, so now

he makes up nations, followed by war,
medicine for which he creates disease,
cars and pollution, rockets
to the far reaches of the universe

and hearts closed tighter than a miser’s purse.
He’s playing his game.
He’s writing your name
in a line with a sinister end.

In the grand scheme of things
we’re all more or less neo-natal.
When God composes poetry
the end-rhymes can be fatal.



J. Newman © 21Oct06
 alyosha
Joined: 8/20/2006
Msg: 38
When God composes poetry
Posted: 10/23/2006 11:54:44 AM
Sometimes, alas, God is a very awkward poet,
for only He or She can rhyme abundance
with scarcity...
 alyosha
Joined: 8/20/2006
Msg: 39
When God composes poetry
Posted: 10/23/2006 4:24:05 PM
Who is this we who let them
get away with it, Neseemo,
my friend, but you
and I?
 alyosha
Joined: 8/20/2006
Msg: 40
When God composes poetry
Posted: 10/23/2006 4:41:13 PM
Right on!

And did those feet in ancient time
Walk upon England's mountains green?
And was the holy Lamb of God
On England's pleasant pastures seen?
And did the Countenance Divine
Shine forth upon our clouded hills?
And was Jerusalem builded here
Among these dark Satanic mills?

Bring me my bow of burning gold:
Bring me my arrows of desire:
Bring me my spear: O clouds unfold!
Bring me my chariot of fire.
I will not cease from mental fight,
Nor shall my sword sleep in my hand
Till we have built Jerusalem
In England's green and pleasant land.

Wm Blake
 alyosha
Joined: 8/20/2006
Msg: 41
Tho' we are Miles apart...
Posted: 10/24/2006 5:31:16 AM
Yes, was persona non grata for a brief time, then was persona on my kneesa asking for forgiveness, and always ready to sing Jerusalem together if you call me...
And do you know this one by the immortal Blake - not alas set to music far as I know:


London

I wander thro' each charter'd street,
Near where the charter'd 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-forg'd manacles I hear.

How the Chimney-sweeper's cry
Every black'ning Church appalls;
And the hapless Soldier's sigh
Runs in blood down Palace walls.

But most thro' 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
 alyosha
Joined: 8/20/2006
Msg: 42
Tho' we are Miles apart...
Posted: 10/24/2006 8:02:06 AM
Mr. Blake, alas, is not currently receiving messages, but I am, Vixen!
 alyosha
Joined: 8/20/2006
Msg: 43
Let my personhood go
Posted: 11/1/2006 8:02:01 AM
It is wrong and possibly even
criminal to fantasize about another
human being. Jesus the man
was robbed of his humanity
that could have meant so much to us
by being treated as a God.
“Who do people say I am?”
he asked, wondering,
perhaps, what role or roles
he was being called upon to play
other than his only,
precious mortal self.

So it is with love. We seize on the other
with our minds, we project on to him or her
what we need them to be, never mind
who they know themselves to be...
Or think they might be. For we are all
in process of becoming, and these others,
who believe they love us, because they need
to believe they love or will be loved,
these others distract us from our path...
We might cry out as Moses did
on behalf of the captive Israelites:
“Let my personhood go,”
but the would-be Pharaoh
has us in his thrall...



J. Newman © November 1, 2006
 alyosha
Joined: 8/20/2006
Msg: 44
!
Posted: 11/6/2006 1:43:12 PM
She put her brand new prescription of Zestra
in a charming pink pouch beside their bed.
He put the Viagra in a manly royal blue sack.
But it was dark and they were excited
at the prospect ahead of them, so
in reaching, he got the Zestra,
had multiple orgasms, while
she got a hard-on that lasted
the whole night through but wasn’t
a damn bit of good to either of them!
 alyosha
Joined: 8/20/2006
Msg: 45
What you've been missing...
Posted: 11/6/2006 4:00:39 PM
What I hear, not a da*ned thing!
 alyosha
Joined: 8/20/2006
Msg: 46
Let’s not talk about love...
Posted: 11/7/2006 1:43:06 PM
What a melancholy, lost, dismal, wretched lot we are,
each one calling out to his or her distant, dead or dying star,
the light from which still reaches us or so it seems to do.
Whatever happened to poems about daffodils? Or the war
in Iraq, or the profanity in the White House: the scourge
of the poor? People! People! Let’s broaden our horizons...
And let’s not talk ONLY about love...
 alyosha
Joined: 8/20/2006
Msg: 47
Between the lover and the loved
Posted: 11/10/2006 7:36:51 AM
Between the lover and the loved
there is one of those swinging doors
that open either way.


J. Newman © 10Nov06


Om, Pickles: BLOODY good, thanks...
 woobytoodsday
Joined: 12/13/2006
Msg: 49
I ponder at times why I am not more loved
Posted: 12/24/2006 7:54:31 AM
Sounds like the grandbabies
are not virtual at all.

Ever.
 Brizo
Joined: 2/19/2006
Msg: 50
view profile
History
Me and my johnson...
Posted: 1/25/2007 11:37:25 AM
hmmm, kind of changes the mood, but you began this thread by writing of your brother, and sister you miss....I don't have anywhere to put this........

Be still, my heart

thousand
mile
stare
gingerly you moved

thinning
silver
hair
I stood stunned

rooted
crushed
breathless
poise destroyed

shaking
welling
tears
image shimmered

drew
shuddered
breath
not my mother

tear
slid
silent
not my mother

radiation
ravaged
eyes
cancer therapy

how
she
died
chemotherapy

bones
defiance
grace
you were lovely

beautiful
struggling
soul
you go girl

LS 1/25/07
 Brizo
Joined: 2/19/2006
Msg: 51
view profile
History
Me and my johnson...
Posted: 1/25/2007 4:40:55 PM
My mother had brain cancer. That was written about an incident I had maybe a year ago where I walked in to get my nails done and ran into my mothers doppelganger. You think you're over their death after seven years, but you never really are....

the odd thing is she, too was undergoing radiation and chemo for cancer. I ended up sniffling my entire nail appointment....

Thanks everyone...
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