|
Post by mike on Feb 5, 2007 7:51:51 GMT -5
Case-in-point:
I WONT LAST A DAY WITHOUT YOU Roger Nichols & Paul Williams (Made famous by, The Carpenters)
Day after day I must face a world of strangers Where I don't belong, I'm not that strong It's nice to know that there's someone I can turn to Who will always care, you're always there
When there's no getting over that rainbow When my smallest of dreams won't come true I can take all the madness the world has to give But I won't last a day without you
So many times when the city seems to be without a friendly face A lonely place It's nice to know that you'll be there if I need you And you'll always smile, it's all worthwhile
When there's no getting over that rainbow When my smallest of dreams won't come true I can take all the madness the world has to give But I won't last a day without you
Touch me and I end up singing Troubles seem to up and disappear You touch me with the love you're bringing I can't really lose when you're near
If all my friends have forgotten half their promises They're not unkind, just hard to find One look at you and I know that I could learn to live Without the rest, I found the best
When there's no getting over that rainbow When my smallest of dreams won't come true I can take all the madness the world has to give But I won't last a day without you
When there's no getting over that rainbow When my smallest of dreams won't come true I can take all the madness the world has to give But I won't last a day without you
|
|
|
Post by joew on Feb 5, 2007 11:48:14 GMT -5
… I remember telling the other forum that I liked a line used in a del McCoury song, five flat stones at the bottom of the river bed or something like that. … Is that line an allusion to David getting ready to fight Goliath?
|
|
|
Post by hartlikeawheel on Feb 5, 2007 16:47:04 GMT -5
The Art of Flying Crooked
The butterfly, a cabbage white, (His honest idiocy of flight) Will never now, it is too late, Master the art of flying straight, Yet has - who knows so well as I? - A just sense of how not to fly: He lurches here and here by guess And God and hope and hopelessness. Even the acrobatic swift Has not his flying-crooked gift.
By Robert Graves (1895-1985)
|
|
|
Post by mike on Feb 7, 2007 5:07:47 GMT -5
anja, I attempted to write a poem in response to your Robert Graves' poem, but alas, all attempts were sub par.
Damn, that's a good poem!
Mike
|
|
|
Post by rogesgallery on Feb 7, 2007 5:59:36 GMT -5
Would not the bumbler Bee be not; When hovering ore my garden plot, Like the falling star but for; And this I say from the open door Of a cessna in a cloudy puff, His over coat of silky fluff Which slows his his plunge: A thought as I lunge. Lending him glide We land side by side
Roges...Teehee Blinkblink
|
|
|
Post by rogesgallery on Feb 7, 2007 6:00:40 GMT -5
Mike?
|
|
|
Post by rogesgallery on Feb 7, 2007 6:04:53 GMT -5
How can one compete with an educated poet
|
|
|
Post by mike on Feb 7, 2007 7:01:22 GMT -5
And, when I felt the world was getting smaller A gentlemen named roges, looked a little taller I felt his firm grip, a great, hand shake Lift me from my slump, toss me head first across, a sappy tree stump... my head did bump! And, then I did feel better Perhaps... it was just Slb2 In a pretty blue sweater
So much the better!
Thanks roges... you saved my soiled, toiled Dirty rotten and spoiled... self poetic esteem
Arigato, Mr Robato
|
|
|
Post by rogesgallery on Feb 7, 2007 17:00:38 GMT -5
Sorry Mike! I hope thats just your punsome onesome speaking
|
|
|
Post by mike on Feb 11, 2007 1:39:52 GMT -5
Sorry Mike! I hope thats just your punsome onesome speaking All is well, roges, no need to be sorry.
|
|
|
Post by mike on Feb 11, 2007 2:17:48 GMT -5
The Art of Crying
Are those my tear drops I wish it wasn't so I'm all alone now With remembrances of, A life and a love I didn't know
Pastels smudged on canvas Running over charcoal lines No self-discipline, Ever seemed worthwhile While She was my valentine
The tears have stopped now the dryness hurting my eyes I'm left to stare at a starless galaxy Because my one true star Could no longer bear my lies
Gone like a wounded animal Sweetness dissolved by abuse And I, the despicable artiest Who's paintings lay tattered Merely art of no beneficial use
|
|
|
Post by rogesgallery on Feb 11, 2007 5:33:08 GMT -5
In the words of my favorite filosifer - Jim... Ignotowski :
LIFE, is like an ice cream cone THEMINUTEYABEGINTOENJOYIT! it runs all ovreyer hhhaand.
|
|
|
Post by rogesgallery on Feb 11, 2007 5:34:03 GMT -5
Be well friend
|
|
|
Post by slb2 on Feb 11, 2007 11:28:02 GMT -5
Mike, your poem almost scares me. Just a poem, mais oui?
|
|
|
Post by mike on Feb 11, 2007 15:01:30 GMT -5
Mike, your poem almost scares me. Just a poem, mais oui? Oui, just a poem. I was exploring emotions inspired by the song, The Curtain Falls. Once I had the first line, the rest just fell out on the screen.
|
|
|
Post by rogesgallery on Feb 13, 2007 7:25:32 GMT -5
Butt'fly (Short version)
Keep Bobin bobin bobin Though the wind is throbbin Keep those wing a bobbin Butt’fly Though a shed coccoon is better This rainy windy weather May drive me to the end of my fly
Bobbinup Bobbindown Bobbinup Bobbindown Bobbinup Bobbindown Butt’fly Bobbindown Bobbinup Bobbindown Bobbinup Bobbindown Bobbinup Butt’flyyyy
|
|
|
Post by booklady on Feb 13, 2007 17:40:31 GMT -5
Of course that reminds me of a song my mom used to sing about the Red Red Robin bob bob bobbin' along....
|
|
|
Post by mike on Feb 14, 2007 5:09:34 GMT -5
Butt'fly (Short version) Keep Bobin bobin bobin Though the wind is throbbin Keep those wing a bobbin Butt’fly Though a shed coccoon is better This rainy windy weather May drive me to the end of my fly Bobbinup Bobbindown Bobbinup Bobbindown Bobbinup Bobbindown Butt’fly Bobbindown Bobbinup Bobbindown Bobbinup Bobbindown Bobbinup Butt’flyyyy Short version of The Meaning of LifeSmooth brown stone Hands pressed together Meets heart of clay, and sway The eyes fool all It's all in, The eyes We were molded, From the same earthly elements Always and never the same, Until we die My sweet, sweet Butt,fly Until we die, Butt'fly
|
|
|
Post by rogesgallery on Feb 15, 2007 1:33:36 GMT -5
Sounds like a Frankie Lane song I used to sing on the swing set tooo
Lets hear the long version Mike.
|
|
|
Post by mike on Feb 15, 2007 4:33:50 GMT -5
Sounds like a Frankie Lane song I used to sing on the swing set tooo Lets hear the long version Mike. A worthy request, roges... but I'm on a Booby Darin kick at the moment. The long version of the meaning of life, is, well, quite long. More to come. Mike
|
|
|
Post by booklady on Feb 15, 2007 5:52:05 GMT -5
Somewhere.......beyond the sea Somewhere.......waitin' for me My lover stands on golden sands And watches the ships that go sailin'....
|
|
|
Post by booklady on Jun 3, 2007 18:29:10 GMT -5
"Randy" (a Copy the Master* poem) My number three baby was active and loud, Born on a Sunday, October bright boy. No delivering mother was ever so proud To put newborn to breast, just yesterday's joy. Randy, Randy Big healthy baby with the lusty cry Randy, Randy How will I ever tell you good-bye? Walking at ten months, your first word was ball, Cuddling with blankie and thumb on my lap. Eager little boy in jeans overalls, Sweet smelling little one down for your nap. Randy, Randy With your brother and sister you completed my life Randy, Randy You made me so happy to be a mother and wife. A kid from the start that dozens called friend, A natural leader often setting the pace. Thrilled or crestfallen, you could never pretend, Your emotions were always revealed on your face. Randy, Randy Affable child, so easy to love Randy, oh Randy Swell in my heart, sweet gift from above. That day in Cotuit, your first Cape League foul ball, You couldn't contain your excitement and joy. '99 summer I will always recall, My darkness enlightened by the face of my boy. Randy, Randy Sharing baseball with you kept me alive Randy, Randy You'll never know how you helped me survive. Pop Warner quarterback to varsity captain, Football became your number one game. The fire in your heart steeled you within Through days when the challenge threatened your claim. Randy, Randy My heart broke and swelled with pride at once Randy, oh Randy Your honor and discipline would not be outdone. Uniform replaced now with cap and gown, Little boy eagerness with a cool goatee. Your character forged on these fields in our town, You'll always be an inspiration to me. Randy, Randy How much I love you, sweet number three child, Randy, Randy Champion of strength with the guileless smile. www.gather.com/viewImage.jsp?fileId=3096224744144537&articleId=281474977017570 *"Sara," Bob Dylan
|
|
|
Post by slb2 on Jun 3, 2007 23:26:29 GMT -5
I love this, Pam. The love you have for Randy sings out with your words.
|
|
|
Post by booklady on Jun 4, 2007 4:46:51 GMT -5
Thank you, poet master (mistress?). I am always glad to have your approval. And thanks, too, for leaving a comment over on gather.
|
|
|
Post by michael on Sept 3, 2007 23:01:58 GMT -5
Autumn is coming, it’s within, My reach It’s just ahead, where I’ve reached, So often The desire to touch it, to smell it, To see it Orange then red, the leaf is dead Earthly bound Yes, autumn, is coming around
|
|
|
Post by joew on Sept 3, 2007 23:25:15 GMT -5
Nice poem. You seem to enjoy the prospect a bit more than I do. I want the warm weather to last as long as possible. Of course, in a subtropical climat, the autumn is better than here in the "temperate" zone.
|
|
|
Post by slb2 on Sept 3, 2007 23:54:14 GMT -5
I like your surprise words, Mike, the leaf is dead. That caught me off guard.
|
|
|
Post by michael on Sept 5, 2007 8:13:49 GMT -5
Sweet Spiders
There's a spider on the wall That much I can see She's not spinning a web, She's just looking at me
When I turn off the lights The spider is gone But she's not going anywhere 'cause we belong
If I close my eyes, and say a prayer Will the spider spin for me, A truth or dare?
We should all love spiders That much I know Spiders are our friends She told me so Yes, she told me so
Mike
|
|
|
Post by slb2 on Sept 5, 2007 8:47:06 GMT -5
Well, I'm wondering who is the spider? I'm wondering, not that you need to answer, Mike, who were you thinking of when you wrote that?
|
|
|
Post by michael on Sept 5, 2007 17:08:24 GMT -5
Well, I'm wondering who is the spider? I'm wondering, not that you need to answer, Mike, who were you thinking of when you wrote that? Well, Slb2, this all started last night. I went to the kitchen to get a glass of water and when I turned on the light, there was a rather large spider on the wall looking at me. This type of spider is common in Japan and is regarded as a friend; they eat other bugs that are less desirable. Anyway, there we were, eying each other when suddenly, the words to the poem started to populate my mind (I'll take inspiration wherever I can get it). Of course, I also had a very seductive, attractive, intelligent and witty woman in mind when I wrote it . And, there you have it -- a poem is born Mike
|
|