RP Listener Forum

Posted: Oct 24, 2004 - 7:35am

Edited

Posted: Oct 24, 2004 - 7:01am

Posted: Oct 24, 2004 - 2:25am

Love careses, stimulates, envelops,
but it can be cruel, sometimes.
It can be your vaunted savior,
or it can a visceral shadow.

Love, oh love, oh inconstant one,
be the one that I desire.
Feel the power, passion deep,
and deliver me from faithlessness.

I want to be love's eternal admirer,
and walk in its' light and grace.
Her mind and soul call to me,
and show me who I could be.

I will walk the path appointed me,
and be love's friend or slave.
To exist in the twilight of yearning,
until the shining one delivers me.

James Greene

Posted: Oct 23, 2004 - 7:52pm

An age in darkness
Draws to a close
A new light, unbidden
Blinds with its brilliance
Ignites long dead pyres

David Lee Bowen 10/23/04

Posted: Oct 23, 2004 - 7:40pm

Love

Because of you, in gardens of blossoming flowers I ache from the
perfumes of spring.
I have forgotten your face, I no longer remember your hands;
how did your lips feel on mine?
Because of you, I love the white statues drowsing in the parks,
the white statues that have neither voice nor sight.
I have forgotten your voice, your happy voice; I have forgotten
your eyes.
Like a flower to its perfume, I am bound to my vague memory of
you. I live with pain that is like a wound; if you touch me, you will
do me irreparable harm.
Your caresses enfold me, like climbing vines on melancholy walls.
I have forgotten your love, yet I seem to glimpse you in every
window.
Because of you, the heady perfumes of summer pain me; because
of you, I again seek out the signs that precipitate desires: shooting
stars, falling objects.

-Pablo Neruda

Posted: Oct 23, 2004 - 5:52pm

Edited

Posted: Oct 22, 2004 - 11:23pm

samiyam wrote:

Waking To The Storm

Posted: Oct 22, 2004 - 11:16pm

Edited

Posted: Oct 22, 2004 - 4:51pm

Poor, Poor Lenore

Poor,
poor Lenore
carried off by crows
as she wandered alone
where the red oaks grow.
Black,
black were their beaks
twisted in her hair
and black were their wings
whipping up through the air.
Fly,
fly into the breeze,
Lenore and the crows,
to the top of a dead tree
where the heartbroken go.
Love,
she fell in love
with the grave digger's son
who was thin as the bow
of his black violin.
Kiss,
he kissed so hard
her mouth filled with blood
then he left her to cry
where the red oaks die.

Rennie Sparks, The Handsome Family, In The Air

Posted: Oct 22, 2004 - 4:20pm

The Sad Milkman

Above the dark highways on a black tar roof
stood the sad milkman in love with the moon.
She filled up his window with soft milky light
till he crawled up the chimney and into the night.
But, the moon she rises and the moon she
falls and her slow white eye sees nothing at all.
Down on the sidewalk a crowd gathered round
flinging up bricks and bottles to knock the boy down.
He stood up above them with his hands in the air
calling up to the moonbeams,
"Come let down your hair."
He wanted to feel like a bucket of milk
or sweet summer wind on rolling, green hills.
He wanted to fly up from the roof
sailing up through the night wind
to the arms of the moon.

Rennie Sparks, The Handsome Family, In The Air

Posted: Oct 22, 2004 - 4:14pm

The Giant of Illinois

The giant of Illinois
died from a blister on his toe
after walking all day
in the first winter's snow.
Throwing bits of stale bread
to the last speckled doves,
he never even felt
his shoe full of blood.
Delirious with pain,
his bedroom walls began to glow
and he felt himself soaring
up through falling snow.
And the sky was a woman's arms.
A boy with a club foot
had sat next to him in school.
Once upon a summer's day
they went wandering through the woods.
They spotted a sleeping swan
on the banks of a muddy stream
and they stormed it with rocks
till it collapsed in the reeds.
They lay out on a green lawn
full of chocolate and lemonade,
but under the blue bowl
the giant was afraid
because the sky was a woman's arms

Rennie Sparks, The Handsome Family, Through The Trees

Posted: Oct 22, 2004 - 9:17am

Edited

Posted: Oct 22, 2004 - 12:51am

samiyam wrote:

So WhatÃ¢ÂÂs Another Birthday?

As once again in this spiral dance of years
comes the day I celebrate my induction into these
human ranks, I find it right to think of days
spent uselessly under spreading oaks and lavished
upon lessons of unending indolence.

I was a rotten child.

Lazy and filled with lasting youth I was content
to waste the years in a fixated trance of time-enough.
Only now as the celebratory day brings the double-
digit desire for the reducing lie do I realize the depths
of my slumber.

I was a wonderful child.

Basking in the sunlight summer of potential I
could spend half a day watching a caterpillar
weave itÃ¢ÂÂs prison doom and set itself toward
mighty transformation. In such importance
did I hold that world that even now I remember
the passing parade.

I am still a child.

Running cartwheels in my mind, I explore the joy
of wonderment that still confounds me and teaches me
what little humility I have. I spend my days skipping
in the bliss of eternal discovery.

I will still be a child,

As I step, eventually, into that other beyond, and
partake of what is to be. With stubborn will I
refuse to surrender the playing boy who keeps
my humor victorious over the humus. I will
always crave the new.

I will get older, but I will never grow up.

Stuart Andrew Marshall Tanner

as always, Stuart. Happy Birthday, man!

Posted: Oct 21, 2004 - 9:15pm

Edited

Posted: Oct 21, 2004 - 9:13pm

Edited

Posted: Oct 12, 2004 - 2:20pm

Edited

Posted: Oct 12, 2004 - 2:09pm

Edited

Posted: Oct 10, 2004 - 2:10am

my groupie

I read last Saturday in the

redwoods outside of Santa Cruz

and I was about 3/4's finished

when I heard a long high scream

and a quite attractive

young girl came running toward me

long gown & divine eyes of fire

and she leaped up on the stage

and screamed: "I WANT YOU!

I WANT YOU! TAKE ME! TAKE

ME!"

I told her, "look, get the hell

away from me."

but she kept tearing at my

clothing and throwing herself

at me.

"where were you," I

asked her, "when I was living

on one candy bar a day and

sending short stories to the

Atlantic Monthly?"

she grabbed my balls and almost

twisted them off. her kisses

tasted like shitsoup.

2 women jumped up on the stage

and

carried her off into the

woods.

I could still hear her screams

as I began the next poem.

mabye, I thought, I should have

taken her on stage in front

of all those eyes.

but one can never be sure

whether it's good poetry or

bad acid.

-Charles Bukowski

Posted: Oct 9, 2004 - 11:13pm

Broken Wing

I call my dream Rejecta
It is what I am
I call the animals God
It is what they are
The fruit of my dream
the plum
the drum
The fruited web of relief
spun between the bells of mercy
and bullets from Mexico
The steel chanting went on for days
My drum was useless
My hands went numb
I have lost my holy icon
I have shot my holy icon
in the desert
in the heart
of my holy dust cloud lightening

Hok-a-hay!
Spirits from the dark
Hok-a-hi!
From the other side

In the cinema film a man beheads himself
Tonight I will chant:

Father Sun!
Anneal me with your heat
before the burning of time
on a distant hill of sage!

Smooth nickel plate across my palm
And agua and agua por favor
because the red cloud comes
and the insects in a graveyard sky
and the lonely... the hybrids
from another place
not this place
and not this time
An alarm has occurred
I am called Dog
an alarm
that has washed through my mouth
an alarm
without salves and creams and balms
The air is double
Warm around my softening flesh
Cool throughout my thoughts and ideas
I am paper mache dog
in the market

- R. C. Diebold

Posted: Oct 9, 2004 - 11:11pm

bluebird

there's a bluebird in my heart that

wants to get out

but I'm too tough for him,

I say, stay in there, I'm not going

to let anybody see

you.

there's a bluebird in my heart that

wants to get out

but I pur whiskey on him and inhale

cigarette smoke

and the whores and the bartenders

and the grocery clerks

never know that

he's

in there.

there's a bluebird in my heart that

wants to get out

but I'm too tough for him,

I say,

stay down, do you want to mess

me up?

you want to screw up the

works?

you want to blow my book sales in

Europe?

there's a bluebird in my heart that

wants to get out

but I'm too clever, I only let him out

at night sometimes

when everybody's asleep.

I say, I know that you're there,

so don't be

sad.

then I put him back,

but he's singing a little

in there, I haven't quite let him

die

and we sleep together like

that

with our

secret pact

and it's nice enough to

make a man

weep, but I don't

weep, do

you?

-Charles Bukowski