A Poem Thread

Liverpool Street

In the genie’s smokeless smoke
what dreams are made on sugar
spoons. Take it to the lighter
flame and cook in life so bright
that it will flutter the nerves in a
corpses eye.

Eyes of faded acuity blurry,
brutal and fixedly bright. Stare
myopically from the Masonic
Hall’s steps on Liverpool Street
each night.

Would the Great Architect on
finding his porch thus purloined
by the panderer of the gathered
daughters of the spoon and lancet.
Do battle with this sweaty smack
addled track pants wretch?

Would his Square, really be the
square measure of virtue, and
would his Compass circumscribe
their desires and keep their passions
within due bounds?

On the other hand, would he be
better served to stick it in and
twist it around and round again?
To reclaim the peace and
harmony his aproned fraternity
expounds.

The Architect is silent. As the
banshees gather round; their
conversation is profound.
It’s of stashes and fixes and
terrestrial bounds.

Of money and mayhem all
croaked and echoing under
the Doric naves.

Later, that night one whimpers
from an alleyway, “He took my
money,” As she beats her fists
on the sticky ground.

Repeatedly like a shaman’s
chant except to manifest her
change. But the pimp is
gone, and the residents
don’t care; they don’t won’t
whores around.

She’s gone in the morning
and as the Masonic sweeper
does his rounds, the dead
needles of the night are
carefully plucked from the
grounds.

A Dead lighter, a burnt
spoon and stained tissue
balls abound.

As the final needle via
a latex glove is removed.

One heroic drop falls from
its bloody dregs. An
offering to the Architect of
shared syphilitic cruor now
woven with HIV.

It evaporates smokelessly,
like genie wish; jaded
breath inhaled again in the
fluttering of a corpses eye as
the garbage truck arrives.
 
Dreamland



By a route obscure and lonely,
Haunted by ill angels only,
Where an Eidolon, named NIGHT,
On a black throne reigns upright,
I have reached these lands but newly
From an ultimate dim Thule-
From a wild clime that lieth, sublime,
Out of SPACE- out of TIME.

Bottomless vales and boundless floods,
And chasms, and caves, and Titan woods,
With forms that no man can discover
For the tears that drip all over;
Mountains toppling evermore
Into seas without a shore;
Seas that restlessly aspire,
Surging, unto skies of fire;
Lakes that endlessly outspread
Their lone waters- lone and dead,-
Their still waters- still and chilly
With the snows of the lolling lily.

By the lakes that thus outspread
Their lone waters, lone and dead,-
Their sad waters, sad and chilly
With the snows of the lolling lily,-
By the mountains- near the river
Murmuring lowly, murmuring ever,-
By the grey woods,- by the swamp
Where the toad and the newt encamp-
By the dismal tarns and pools
Where dwell the Ghouls,-
By each spot the most unholy-
In each nook most melancholy-
There the traveller meets aghast
Sheeted Memories of the Past-
Shrouded forms that start and sigh
As they pass the wanderer by-
White-robed forms of friends long given,
In agony, to the Earth- and Heaven.

For the heart whose woes are legion
'Tis a peaceful, soothing region-
For the spirit that walks in shadow
'Tis- oh, 'tis an Eldorado!
But the traveller, travelling through it,
May not- dare not openly view it!
Never its mysteries are exposed
To the weak human eye unclosed;
So wills its King, who hath forbid
The uplifting of the fringed lid;
And thus the sad Soul that here passes
Beholds it but through darkened glasses.

By a route obscure and lonely,
Haunted by ill angels only,
Where an Eidolon, named NIGHT,
On a black throne reigns upright,
I have wandered home but newly
From this ultimate dim Thule.


Edgar Allan Poe
 
Sea Fever ~ John Masefield

I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by;
And the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea’s face, and a grey dawn breaking,

I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.

I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull’s way and the whale’s way where the wind’s like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick’s over.



I Must Go Down To The Sea Again ~ by Spike Milligan

I must go down to the sea again,
to the lonely sea and the sky;
I left my shoes and socks there -
I wonder if they're dry?



I Must Go Down To The Sea Again ~ by Neil Salvation Army Employee

I must go down to the sea again,
to the lonely sea and the sky;
I left my bra and knickers there -
I wonder if they're dry?
 
A Hypnotist’s Lullaby
Come little children, come with me
Safe and happy, you will be
Away from home, now let us run
With Hypno, you'll have so much fun

Oh, little children, please don't cry
Hypno wouldn't hurt a fly
Be free to frolic, be free to play
Come with me to my cave to stay

Oh, little children, please don't squirm
These ropes, I know, will hold you firm
Now look to me, the pendant calls
Back and forth, your eyelids fall


Oh, little children, you cannot leave
For you, your families will grieve
Minds unraveling at the seams
Allowing me to haunt their dreams

Do not wail and do not weep
It's time for you to go to sleep
Little children, you were not clever
Now you'll stay with me forever
 
Vanity of Vanities

What shall we do, you and I,
when time no longer passes by?

Chasing eternity for nobler things,
songs of ascent, of which Solomon sings.

Who can decipher the intention of the chimes
or bear the weight of innumerable times?

Escaping the path, from which we are bound.
Like the Scarab who dances round and round?

What shall we do, you and I,
when time no longer passes by?

Timeless, shapeless, and seemingly callous,
the Ticketmaster of Pullman’s Palace.

The Humanae Jovita conductor roared,
“Last call…all aboard!”

The distance we travel to the point of rest,
a reciprocal balance for those who are blessed.

What shall we do, you and I,
when time no longer passes by?

Men of man’s childish prattle
of rising dragons and fruitless battle.

A basic substance so longed for
but bound by perspectives of one or more.

Joie de vivre is in all things,
yet hearts cry as the pendulum swings.

Cyclical patterns for an ultimate aim.
All hurried for what, more of the same?

What shall we do, you and I,
when time no longer passes by?
 
For the one I may never meet, a solemn love I will always keep
A secret inside my heart that has been repressive from your attention
I may not know who you are...so many in this world like the midnight stars
I keep a fragile heart inside my chest; only few can approach without causing me dread
I only hope upon that day when we meet in the shade that you see what I am
My outlook can be cynical, my manners blunt and coarse but I only do this so I cannot be hurt
I trust few with my inner self, a shell to keep others away, no longer do I wish for that shell to stay.
I’m alone with myself; thought surrounded by comrades...Something deeper is what I need
Someone to pull the best out of me, to judge my heart and mind my faults contently
A need to be loved and cherished by others yet still keeps a safe distance.
In this contemplation I weep, for whom can I entrust to give my deepest dreams?
This question I cannot answer until I find that one…until she finds me.
Fear of failure, rejection and cruelty, these discouraged me from life and left me hesitant to pursue love.
Fear now is what motivates me to open my heart and feel beyond the mundane.
Fear not of failure but of what could have been, fear of regrets and lonesome thoughts that would creep on me to no end
I write this to anyone who happens to read...Only through this can I truly explain what my heart needs.
For love is entrusting that one person with your heart when you give it to them and hoping that they don’t break it.
 
Sunday Park

Brightly filters sunlight
through the foliage
of the scarred old tree
bearing knife marks
Joe loves Mary, 1963
broken hearts, carved so bold
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 is still wet
bats and balls, strung out net
now we’re ready, we’re all set

Watch it Johnny, don’t do that
Steven, see, you broke the bat
oh, where is that catsup now
we need more coals, this meat is raw
my, my, I’m just to 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
bearing knife marks
I love Mary, Joe is crazy, 1963
broken hearts, pierced with arrows
but no one to see.
 
A voice said, Look me in the stars
And tell me truly, men of earth,
If all the soul-and-body scars
Were not too much to pay for birth.


Robert Frost
 
Who strive - you don't know how the others strive
To paint a little thing like that you smeared
Carelessly passing with your robes afloat,-
Yet do much less, so much less, Someone says,
(I know his name, no matter) - so much less!
Well, less is more, Lucrezia.

Ludwig Mies Van Der Rohe (1886-1969),
 
A lonesome figure walks alone, along a path of a cobblestone
A small shadow near his side, a sanguine sun keeps it alive
The figure walks all alone, no destination simply following the stones
As the person walks far and near, no has disturbed his path or kept it clear
This lonesome figure walked alone, along the same path of cobblestone
The shadow stalking ever clear, growing larger as the dawn neared
This enigmatic figure, always walked many have tried to ask where he was going but he never talked
This lonely figure stilled walked alone, years of travels yet still no stone has aged under his foot
The small shadow simply veered as the figure walked so queer through the sleet or rain.
This lonesome figured stilled walked alone, along a mossy path of cobblestone
The shadow his companion or so it appeared never gawked or sneered.
A small village in the gentle hills, innocence in the villas would come to a chill
As this figure walked its roads, a woman meets him upon the cobblestone
She is frightened at first by the shadow’s sneer but overlooked the pitiful creature
“Oh dear” said the woman as she gazed upon the man, his figure languid in stance
“For how long have you walked alone?” the woman asked
In a voice that was both weak and weary the figure responded in a voice so dreary
“I’ve never been alone; for you see in spirit I’m always accompanied”
“I’ve walked this country to and fro, never feeling lonely or cold”
The shadow grew as the words were said, giving the woman a sense of dread.
“For you see fair maiden” the figure sneered, “You’ll keep me company for many years!”
 
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May 2000 ‘Balders claim’

Progeny of Odin’s second wife,
Balder the Dagda, young 'god' of light,
discovered the wisdom Patrick cites.

For many centuries this way sufficed,
until a lack of sage advice,
conspired to turn out Patrick’s light.

When holly collapses from within,
Balder arises shining through the din,
to assert rights owing him.

The right to say words of light and dark records,
for the good of all by accord.

His message is quite clear make fast moral gates,
lest the Jarl and Thrall determine children’s fates.
 
"Azaria's ghost can be heard as you pass the big red rock"

.... another morning in the Australian outback
.... a lonely dingo howls at the full moon.
.... a rabid dingo looking for something to snatch.
.... I stand here and cry for the 'Dingo Ate My Baby'.

The search is on
.... they are only looking for evidence against me!
.... do they think I cried "wolf" for no reason
.... but to divert attention away from me?

Are they for real?
.... Why did you name your Baby Azaria?
.... Did you know that translates to 'Sacrifice in the desert'?
.... Did you sacrifice your child on an alter?
.....Are you crazy in your head?

What are the clues?
.... Where is the baby's blood?
.... Where is the baby's clothing?
.... Where is the baby's body?
.... Where is the baby's cry?

Robittybob1 mourning the loss of his baby. (Based on a true story)

http://www.theage.com.au/opinion/so...you-pass-the-big-red-rock-20120302-1u8ic.html
 
Father of mine, my life intertwined with yours, you gave the best of yourself, I’m proud to be yours
Father of mine, a man you’ve made of me, teaching all you could from the mistakes I’ve had to endure
Father of mine, lonely I will be when the curtain falls for your act on the stage which has revealed so much to me
Father of mine, happy I will be for everything you were able to give to me; never will I forget your life
Father of mine, sad I will be when your presence is no longer within my arms; I will persevere even without you here
Father of mine, angry I will be for the times that you may never be there for me once you are gone
Father of mine, always will I treasure the time we spent, even if can’t repay you for what you’ve done.
Father of mine...Grateful I will always be for giving me reason for me to choose to be free.
Father of mine…I will always love you.

Sorry about your loss Robbitybob1 :bawl:
 
When the hollow lies have died, when the faithful lose their pride
When the leaders lose their heads once the rivers begin to run red
When the paradigm of society is shattered by the facts
When the comfortable are disturbed and the disturbed are relaxed
Once the graves overflow only then will we know
When the world begins to burn, in metaphor and reality
I will stand upon the hill, watching this glimpse of mortality
Smirking all the while, appreciating the one thing that I’ve yearned to see.
To see all that I hate burn down in front of me, that will be a delight to see
When greed is dead and gone and when the blind finally see
I will not say a thing as they burn down in front of me
When vanity has collapsed and the rich are now poor
When there is no more sense of social class I’ll be there for sure.
As world collapses and begins to burn the sky, I will stand alone on that hill as the masses ask “WHY!?!”
With a smile neither my face, nor any hint of disgrace I will answer their pseudo filled cries
“You ask why? It’s simple…you were born into a lie, hello and goodbye”
 
Scarred on the inside without any revelation of what’s on the inside
Scarred on the inside but do you see me as broken? The scars still remain inside my mind
Shattered I have been so many times, a constant shift in my paradigms.
Emotions confused, a clever ruse and trick on my own mind
Scarred my heart is from the cruelty I’ve received, a tender heart that never was reprieved.
My mental alienation and social deviation were all I knew for so long.
Shattered my spirit has been, alone with no hand to grab, only my heart was stabbed
So scarred am I that I no longer notice the stitches in my mind, the healing has been long
So many times, I’ve contemplated all of my life on how I could just survive.
So many times I’ve planed and conveyed ways to end those miserable days
Yet the escape of death was not for me for it would not set me free.
 
Saturnine Pariah said:
Father of mine…I will always love you.

Sorry about your loss Robbitybob1 :bawl:
Click to expand...
My loss was my thread, "my baby" that was a year and a half old, that had been taken over by a pack of trolls on another forum (this wouldn't be tolerated on Sciforums).
The trueness of the story was the death of Azaria Chamberlain in Australia many years ago, where her mother was accused of her murder but it was really a dingo (wild dog) that ate her baby.
 
Robittybob1 said:
My loss was my thread, "my baby" that was a year and a half old, that had been taken over by a pack of trolls on another forum (this wouldn't be tolerated on Sciforums).
The trueness of the story was the death of Azaria Chamberlain in Australia many years ago, where her mother was accused of her murder but it was really a dingo (wild dog) that ate her baby.
Click to expand...
Trolls...had to be those fucking trolls.:mad: I was under the impression that you had lost a flesh and blood child. Sorry for the assumption.
 
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Robittybob1 said:
The trueness of the story was the death of Azaria Chamberlain in Australia many years ago, where her mother was accused of her murder but it was really a dingo (wild dog) that ate her baby.
Click to expand...
As a dog lover I had to look that story up in Wikipedia. What a monstrous miscarriage of justice! That poor lady not only lost her daughter, but spent eight(?) years in prison with the entire world believing that she killed her.

We have wolves (which like dingoes are the same species as dogs) and coyotes (a small species of wolf that is quite comfortable near humans and generally scavenges from our trash and eats our pets) in the USA, but they rarely attack humans. Humans are more often attacked by domestic dogs of certain types who were bred to be violent, such as the pit bull and the Presa Canario.
 
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