A Poem Thread

"House Of The Rising Sun"


There is a house in New Orleans
They call the Rising Sun
And it's been the ruin of many a poor boy
And God, I know I'm one

My mother was a tailor
She sewed my new blue jeans
My father was a gamblin' man
Down in New Orleans

Now the only thing a gambler needs
Is a suitcase and trunk
And the only time he's satisfied
Is when he's on a drunk

[Organ Solo]

Oh mother, tell your children
Not to do what I have done
Spend your lives in sin and misery
In the House of the Rising Sun

Well, I got one foot on the platform
The other foot on the train
I'm goin' back to New Orleans
To wear that ball and chain

Well, there is a house in New Orleans
They call the Rising Sun
And it's been the ruin of many a poor boy
And God, I know I'm one
 
1.

Never In my life..............
can I believe..............
the insults of ideating for me..
from idiocratic stances
tendencing ideation....................on and on me.............hasn't it beeeeeen enough..................
.........Is it nighttime where you are........ is it that you'd rather see today a sleeping tomorrow......
good gosh, if it wasn't yesterdays foolish gain........
keeping you excited in worship of entertain...........

theis lack of integrity.....
whom ? really would assumt it...........
The denaillllllllllllllllllll............................

gosh 'what can have been.


1.
It's so disgusting

Interested in me ?again.
Intersted in wanting myself to gloam with others about what has been taken from integrity
?what for I wasn't the error that hasted life for more ignorance. disguised as whatever it is for you...
**************
a long time ago I may ave said I can sir I can maam........
someone trapped an eagle and the night sky changed......
*********
so many afraid of loosing money.......... demanding words like cancer, inflicting means such as suicide or such tendency........
in the name of fear......of loosing by way of request to su' a side.........

juste would 'ave been a salutary written finary to usurp the pattern
with simple fairity.

instead you love slutteny & smutteny

end the frikken' frustration.....
stupid actoring......'Life isn't a masquerade

can you even...
get there to where....
knowing on a walk the tension and the stimulation 'never had' anyway'
and serving claim and gameing and witnessing...

it's all been too much for too long...

the advertisement of hate........
there you are 'stepping aside from all you've been '
so hurry'd and hurrying presumptive...........loving such order.................far too long...

suit yourself out..........
vengance shouldn't be your walkaway,

I don't like your party's.
 
"Shelter From The Storm"
I was in another lifetime one of toil and blood
When blackness was a virtue and the road was full of mud
I came in from the wilderness a creature void of form
"Come in" she said
"I'll give you shelter from the storm".

And if I pass this way again you can rest assured
I'll always do my best for her on that I give my word
In a world of steel-eyed death and men who are fighting to be warm
"Come in" she said
"I'll give you shelter from the storm".

Not a word was spoke between us there was little risk involved
Everything up to that point had been left unresolved
Try imagining a place where it's always safe and warm
"Come in" she said
"I'll give you shelter from the storm".

I was burned out from exhaustion buried in the hail
Poisoned in the bushes and blown out on the trail
Hunted like a crocodile ravaged in the corn
"Come in" she said
"I'll give you shelter from the storm".

Suddenly I turned around and she was standing there
With silver bracelets on her wrists and flowers in her hair
She walked up to me so gracefully and took my crown of thorns
"Come in" she said
"I'll give you shelter from the storm".

Now there's a wall between us something there's been lost
I took too much for granted got my signals crossed
Just to think that it all began on a long-forgotten morn
"Come in" she said
"I'll give you shelter from the storm".

Well the deputy walks on hard nails and the preacher rides a mount
But nothing really matters much it's doom alone that counts
And the one-eyed undertaker he blows a futile horn
"Come in" she said
"I'll give you shelter from the storm".
I've heard newborn babies wailing like a mourning dove
And old men with broken teeth stranded without love
Do I understand your question man is it hopeless and forlorn
"Come in" she said
"I'll give you shelter from the storm".

In a little hilltop village they gambled for my clothes
I bargained for salvation and they gave me a lethal dose
I offered up my innocence and got repaid with scorn
"Come in" she said
"I'll give you shelter from the storm".

Well I'm living in a foreign country but I'm bound to cross the line
Beauty walks a razor's edge someday I'll make it mine
If I could only turn back the clock to when God and her were born
"Come in" she said
"I'll give you shelter from the storm".

Bob Dylan
 
Colors

Colors Eyes closed, I am surrounded by serene black as it tip toes around me.
Rested, I open my eyes and I am, enveloped by the sun kissed blue.
As I lift my head from the pale glow sand, I gain sight of the quiet, thundering green. A smile begins to form on my face.
I turn to my left to see the ever lasting you, There and then I realize, The colors of my life are complete.
 
"The Fenn Treasure is a treasure reportedly worth $1-3 million hidden by art dealer and writer Forrest Fenn in the Rocky Mountains. As of 2015, Fenn has stated that to his knowledge it is still not found."

The Thrill of the Chase by Forrest Fenn

As I have gone alone in there
And with my treasures bold,
I can keep my secret where,
And hint of riches new and old.

Begin it where warm waters halt
And take it in the canyon down,
Not far, but too far to walk.
Put in below the home of Brown.

From there it’s no place for the meek,
The end is ever drawing nigh;
There’ll be no paddle up your creek,
Just heavy loads and water high.

If you’ve been wise and found the blaze,
Look quickly down, your quest to cease,
But tarry scant with marvel gaze,
Just take the chest and go in peace.

So why is it that I must go
And leave my trove for all to seek?
The answers I already know,
I’ve done it tired, and now I’m weak.

So hear me all and listen good,
Your effort will be worth the cold.
If you are brave and in the wood
I give you title to the gold.

"In January 2015, Fenn revealed in a new interview: "I know the treasure chest is wet."

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fenn_treasure

 
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Amanpour interviewed Ted Turner recently - her best ever program* I think. At one point, while explaining why he studied the classics at Brown, he began to quote a poem I did not know called, "Horatius at the Bridge." Read it all at: http://www.bartleby.com/360/7/158.html And if you do, you will read it several times more, as I did. It is very long and the language some what strange - It is ~170 years old.
A vast army, 10s of thousands of warriors, were about to cross the Tiber and sack Rome that eve. The threat is described, the Council discusses, but all seems hopeless. Here is the part Ted quoted:

Then out spake brave Horatius,
The Captain of the gate:
“To every man upon this earth
Death cometh soon or late.
And how can man die better
Than facing fearful odds
For the ashes of his fathers
And the temples of his gods,
...
“Hew down the bridge, Sir Consul,
With all the speed ye may;
I, with two more to help me,
Will hold the foe in play.
In yon strait path a thousand
May well be stopped by three:
Now who will stand on either hand,
And keep the bridge with me?”

Then out spake Spurius Lartius,—
A Ramnian proud was he:
“Lo, I will stand at thy right hand,
And keep the bridge with thee.”
And out spake strong Herminius,—
Of Titian blood was he:
“I will abide on thy left side,
And keep the bridge with thee.”

... upload_2015-8-28_14-18-10.png
* I have been lucky enough to see it three times on TV, but have not found how to get it via the internet, as CNN claimed one could.
Turner is a very remarkable man - all should know his deeds.
 
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I saw a bird
upon the snow.
A broken wing
I did not know.
I lured it close
with bits of bread.
And then I shot it
thru the head.


(Dedicated to all the gun-lovers and manly-men hunters in the US, especially the trophy hunters -- my heroes!!!)
 
Secular Sanity said:
Well, that was easy. Here you go.
Click to expand...
Thanks. Now I can re-watch when I want too. I have large volume of data in memory, and don't search often or well. - Just call on memory for most of my posts.
I hope others will watch this interview.
 
Snails breath fire from inside your minds eye.
Clouds drip blood as your friends begin to die.
Salads that tossed me were free of cucumber.
When i think of you it makes me want to slumber.
 
A Dream
by Edgar Allan Poe

In visions of the dark night
I have dreamed of joy departed-
But a waking dream of life and light
Hath left me broken-hearted.

Ah! what is not a dream by day
To him whose eyes are cast
On things around him with a ray
Turned back upon the past?

That holy dream- that holy dream,
While all the world were chiding,
Hath cheered me as a lovely beam
A lonely spirit guiding.

What though that light, thro' storm and night,
So trembled from afar-
What could there be more purely bright
In Truth's day-star?
 
“Only Death,” Pablo Neruda

There are cemeteries that are lonely,
graves full of bones that do not make a sound,
the heart moving through a tunnel,
in it darkness, darkness, darkness,
like a shipwreck we die going into ourselves,
as though we were drowning inside our hearts,
as though we lived falling out of the skin into the soul.

And there are corpses,
feet made of cold and sticky clay,
death is inside the bones,
like a barking where there are no dogs,
coming out from bells somewhere, from graves somewhere,
growing in the damp air like tears of rain.

Sometimes I see alone
coffins under sail,
embarking with the pale dead, with women that have dead hair,
with bakers who are as white as angels,
and pensive young girls married to notary publics,
caskets sailing up the vertical river of the dead,
the river of dark purple,
moving upstream with sails filled out by the sound of death,
filled by the sound of death which is silence.

Death arrives among all that sound
like a shoe with no foot in it, like a suit with no man in it,
comes and knocks, using a ring with no stone in it, with no
finger in it,
comes and shouts with no mouth, with no tongue, with no
throat.
Nevertheless its steps can be heard
and its clothing makes a hushed sound, like a tree.

I’m not sure, I understand only a little, I can hardly see,
but it seems to me that its singing has the color of damp violets,
of violets that are at home in the earth,
because the face of death is green,
and the look death gives is green,
with the penetrating dampness of a violet leaf
and the somber color of embittered winter.

But death also goes through the world dressed as a broom,
lapping the floor, looking for dead bodies,
death is inside the broom,
the broom is the tongue of death looking for corpses,
it is the needle of death looking for thread.

Death is inside the folding cots:
it spends its life sleeping on the slow mattresses,
in the black blankets, and suddenly breathes out:
it blows out a mournful sound that swells the sheets,
and the beds go sailing toward a port
where death is waiting, dressed like an admiral.
:D
 
Invictus

By William B. Henley (1875)

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud,
Under the bludgeoning of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond the place of wrath and tears
Looms but the horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.
 
Holy Saint Chad of the irregular convocation,
required lifting for effective operation,
causing his superior much consternation.
 
Sunday Park

Brightly filters sunlight
through the foliage
of the scarred old tree
bearing knife marks
Joe loves Mary, 1963
broken hearts, carved so boldly
for anyone to see

Sunday morning park
basking in the sun
flowers blooming, beetles zooming
so inviting to have fun

Car pulls up the parking lot
slamming doors, engine hot
blankets, dishes, picnic baskets
on the grass that's still wet
balls and bats, strung out net
now we're ready, we're all set

Watch it Johnnie, don't do that
oh were is that catsup now
Steven see, you broke the bat
we need more coals, this meat is raw

Oh my, I'm just too old for this
I should have stayed at home
mother, look, you see this bump
he hit me with a stone

Sunday, Sunday park
blazing in the sun
people bustling, children tussling
all pretending to have fun

Time is up, time to go
it's getting onto six
let's break it up, pack it in
no, no, no, no more tricks
we'll be back next week for sure
you can count on that
hurry up now, let's get going
has anyone seen my hat

Sunday evening park
slowly sets the sun
litter scattered, flowers battered
all is quiet from the fun

Dimly filters sunlight
through the foliage
of the scarred old tree
bearings knife marks
I love Mary, Joe is crazy, 1963
broken hearts, pierced with arrows
but no one to see.
 
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Robot Love :=}

fKZCmC3.png
 
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The Worm

By Michael George Woodhams

The worm it is a funny thing,
Wriggly, brown and very thin.
Travelling through the dirt all day,
Not letting rocks get in the way.
Settling down at night it seems,
To dream his little wormy dreams,
Of farmland fields to wander through,
And fresh black soil on which to chew.
But then he wakes when it turns day,
And all he has to eat is clay

Wrote this over 20 years ago

:)
 
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