Poetry

[Adena]

Songbird, come to me
Bring eternal purity
Bring joy untainted by the past
Bring peace that will forever last.

[Adena]

I quenched the fire
And watched it die
Now I can let
The demons lie.

[Al Truest]

Adena, I see so much more promise in your expressions. I identify with your economy of words and the concentration of feeling. Keep up with your writing.

[Adena]

Nov 23, 2009 14:57:33 GMT Al Truest said:

your economy of words

Given that I am usually a word chef not a wordsmith, these short verses will definitely not last. But I will endeavour to make even the longer ones more economical.

[Adena]

Nymph alone on midnight green
Werewolf howls from depths unseen
She cannot hear the crazy scream
She slips away into a dream...

[Adena]

I took your flowers
back in late summer's day
I let you hold me
let it all wash away
I told you my heart
every last little thing
Now I am caged
and I cannot sing.

[Adena]

Flautists, winds of time and change
Threads of reedy, broken song
Singers weave a group vibration
Voice of masses speaks so strong

[Adena]

Never quite grasping
this strange song
you hold a magic unforeseen to me
you are distant and strange, swirling
in cold mystery
of words unkown
where dreams bleed into reality
your gift marks you out
as a stranger to me
for every day you watch
as vines of grief twist through you and me
and through every memory that you see
the pieces of me that you dream
in restless nights you see the child
who walked these walls
years before
the day I lay with you and cried
and missed the piece of me that died

[Al Truest]

Dec 29, 2009 12:33:19 GMT Adena said:

Never quite grasping
this strange song
you hold a magic unforeseen to me
you are distant and strange, swirling
in cold mystery
of words unkown
where dreams bleed into reality
your gift marks you out
as a stranger to me
for every day you watch
as vines of grief twist through you and me
and through every memory that you see
the pieces of me that you dream
in restless nights you see the child
who walked these walls
years before
the day I lay with you and cried
and missed the piece of me that died

Well composed...this is good work.

[Adey]

Whilst researching Under Milk Wood for a theatrical production, I came across this relatively unknown (but admittedly offensive) rhyme from Dylan Thomas:

"A randy old bugger called God
Put a young virgin in pod
This remarkable behaviour
Produced Christ our saviour
Who died on a cross - the poor sod"

Composed instantly at a Public House table (where else..) during a drunken conversation with the local town vicar. Apparently..

Nice recent works here Adena..

[Adena]

Dec 29, 2009 20:27:20 GMT Adey said:

Nice recent works here Adena..

Dec 29, 2009 13:02:17 GMT Al Truest said:

Well composed...this is good work.

Why thank you. ;D

Murder

I don't want you to leave me
To take the leap away
The spirit world is calling you
I wish that you could stay
Your creamy, rippling flesh is warm
The air rips from your mouth
Inside your heart is stopping cold
And you are flying south
You're dying and I know it
I cannot feel your breath
I lift your face into my arms
As you slip into death
I hear the sirens wailing
Someone steps inside
'My dear,' he says, 'your friend is dead.
I'm sorry, but we tried...'
The killer walks in handcuffs
But your saviours came too late
To save you from the man you feared
To save you from your fate...

[bartolozzi]

THE IDIOCY

It was a grey day –
It was a rainy day.
I sat rolling cigarettes on the train.
Everyone thought that I had gone off
to spend the weekend
with a friend.

At Eastbourne
I took off my coat
and left it with my case on the train.
I did not want to be recognized
by camera cops
capturing the insane.

I headed up
to the beach cliff head
walking from the station to the sea.
The tide was out, it was so far out,
you could see the iron structures
of the pier.

The rain came down –
It was a drizzly rain.
And I thought of jumping from the pier.
But I carried on with my beating heart
blinded by the tunnel
of my fear.

When I reached the head
the rocks looked dead
and all I wanted was to drown.
But I just couldn't hit those rocks down there
and throw my broken
body down.

So I went to the pub house
with the lunchers and the drinkers
and drank myself a whiskey or two.
Then I called up my doctor
told her what I was after
and what I was trying to do.

Back to the cliff top
but still couldn't jump
and still didn't know what to do.
So I flagged down a taxi
told the cab to take me
back into the human zoo.

As we pulled away
a panda pulled up
and not wanting to make a scene
I left the cabbie counting
and called the cop car saying:
hey, I think you're here
looking out for me!

At the station I was sectioned
and they took away my laces
and the belt that was holding me up.
Then they placed me in a gaol
Like Jonah in the whale
where I played out the clown's idiocy.

When the duty shrink showed
he signed my release
and told me not to take it seriously.
So I headed to my hometown
with my duty next of kin
who refused to listen to me.

When I next saw my psychiatrist
she said that Beachy Head had been
a "serious suicide attempt".
She prescribed me dothiepin
to go with chlorpromazine.
So the sun now
held me in contempt.

The shrink called me "a special case" –
deluded and depressed.
She tried to make me take her stelazine.
But I told her she was lying
and that she should stop trying
to med the war zone visions I had seen.

The shrink told me her duty
ruled out her lying to me:
"It's illegal if I lie to you," she said.
But I knew that the patient
had no right to know the system.
So her statement was another lie instead!

The shrink said if I O.D.'d
on the pills then they would kill me.
I thought: boy, this shrink really wants me dead!
So when I saw my general doctor
for my antipsych re-order
I told her what the crazy shrink had said.

The doctor called me arrogant
and I read this as hubris –
so I knew this guy was heading for a fall.
I kept calling her a liar
till she mentioned her mistakes
and the politics
out to get us all.

So now I'm a zombie
like my father before me –
psychosis in the pocket of my genes.
The Idiocy is lousy –
the book has run its story:
It's the lie
and not the truth
that keeps you free!

~ Bart (2009)

[Adena]

Advertisements
Telling me to go out and get my hair cut
or my nails clipped
'for only $50!'
Why?
Why must I read these scraps of words?
Can't I put up
a 'No Junk Mail' sign
on my head?
Why do I have to listen
to pollies telling me on TV
that they WILL deliver?
The irony is, I'm not even old enough to vote.
So really, they're just wasting their money and their message on me.

[bartolozzi]

Of The Tree

"Certainly, man cannot live by milk alone." - Harry Harlow (1958)

After the flood
my mother bloomed again
as ripe as the tree of knowledge —
two rosy apples
bursting to fall.

I was induced, born before my natural time,
and yet born too late, in that forbidden hour
full of tricks and Hallowe'en bobbing
and starting, with the dark moon,
just one day before her own birthday —

Almost a gift unwanted
opened too early
unwrapped too soon
and first to upset the order.

Seven winters since her last crop —
the other three
as shiny as pupils —
and separated at birth
by envy and pride.

Apples bruise easily —
the discord
the hanger
the wire monkey.

They become rotten
and appal.

~ Bart (2010)

[Adena]

This is good work.