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Post by mike on Nov 2, 2006 14:32:18 GMT -5
Michael, your poetry shines lately. What you drinkin', boy? I'm loving the way you've opened up. Red tomatoes I'm fortythree. Thanks, Slb2, btw I'm forty eleven. Mike
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Post by scotbrit on Nov 2, 2006 15:01:23 GMT -5
Yeah,
And I am fifty thirsteen [sic] going on fourteen.
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Post by joew on Nov 3, 2006 0:16:41 GMT -5
"[F]ifty thirsteen," brit? I guess that is not inconsistent with what you've said before.
Frigmund Seud, thou shouldst be living in this hour!
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Post by mike on Nov 3, 2006 6:29:20 GMT -5
Before it's all over Poetry is gonna shine Like a penny Loafer And, you all will no fer What it's all about
Cats are gonna jump through their own, You know whats! yep And, we are gonna clap our hands Snap some rubber bands Or suspenders
How long will the shaving be, so Close? I asked the host, who happens to be, Sexy Miss Tillie. Beggin' my pardon For not speakin' up before Please don't deplore -- me
Well, enough of this here, chitty Did I say??? Never mind, I Just couldn't. I can't spell it Anyway. Time to play Doctor Remove... funny bone Are we alone?
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Post by dwarnold on Nov 3, 2006 9:11:50 GMT -5
Yesterday: bad smell Sniffed smog inside my lungs Today: no breathing. Arghhhh
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Post by hartlikeawheel on Nov 3, 2006 11:56:57 GMT -5
Yeah, I'll say!
Wish we could get roges back to give us a sample of his dazzlers.
Anyone in touch with him lately?
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Post by carolion on Nov 3, 2006 19:51:51 GMT -5
Thinking of Roge's mousie in bean drawer.... Being fifty-nineish and a raker of golden leaves and stamper of dates and cards... Oh, my great saffrong! Has it really gone on so long? Thinking of Roge's mouse and puttering about online....fifty nine.
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Post by mike on Nov 7, 2006 5:10:16 GMT -5
"Weakness of the Knees"
Sit before the iron oven Roll your socks down, Feel the heat. Pour some whiskey in my tumbler That's the way, sweet siren I like It neat
Sing me a song, make it a good one Up and down the throat, The notes flow so well There's a way, to light my fire A premonition... of my hell
The moon's reflection Burns the cool black ocean It causes ripples Where once was smooth I'll swim around it, dear sweet siren Unless my heart, your song doth move
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Post by scotbrit on Nov 7, 2006 13:59:51 GMT -5
Can we post other people's poetry on here?
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Post by slb2 on Nov 8, 2006 1:36:30 GMT -5
just give credit where credit is due, brit. got something juicy?
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Post by brutus on Nov 8, 2006 6:31:42 GMT -5
just give credit where credit is due, brit. got something juicy? You could only wish!!!
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Post by carolion on Nov 8, 2006 9:51:38 GMT -5
I'm givin' credit to the Heart that's Due an' I'll give 'is Sacred Part a blue ribbon, too... O, sing, sing a song of lovin' all day long an' Hearts 'n Parts so true, sing it Blue, Blue, Blue--- Hearts 'n Parts so true, sing it Blue.
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Post by Gracie on Nov 8, 2006 13:39:24 GMT -5
"Weakness of the Knees" Sit before the iron oven Roll your socks down, Feel the heat. Pour some whiskey in my tumbler That's the way, sweet siren I like It neat Sing me a song, make it a good one Up and down the throat, The notes flow so well There's a way, to light my fire A premonition... of my hell The moon's reflection Burns the cool black ocean It causes ripples Where once was smooth I'll swim around it, dear sweet siren Unless my heart, your song doth move I like it. A lot. But it DOES make me think of Tompall and the Glaser Brothers.... Put another log on the fire, Cook me up some bacon and some beans; And go out to the car and change the tire, Wash my socks and sew my old blue jeans; Come on, baby! You can fill my pipe, And then go fetch my slippers, And boil me up another pot of tea-- Then put another log on the fire, baby, And come and tell me why you're leaving me. Now, don't I let you wash the car on Sunday? Don't I warn you when you're gettin' fat? Ain't I a-gonna take you fishin' with me someday? Well, a man can't love a woman more than that; Ain't I always nice to your kid sister? Don't I take her driving every night? So, sit here at my feet 'cos I like you when you're sweet, And you know it ain't feminine to fight. So, put another log on the fire, Cook me up some bacon and some beans; Go out to the car and lift it up and change the tire, Wash my socks and sew my old blue jeans; Come on, baby! You can fill my pipe, And then go fetch my slippers, And boil me up another pot of tea-- Then put another log on the fire, baby, And come and tell me why you're leaving me. Of course, surely none of the men on THIS board would say such things to the ladies here....
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Post by scotbrit on Nov 8, 2006 14:33:22 GMT -5
Message for SLB.
I wonder if you got both of my replies to your private messages?
Oh, the vagiaries of the net!
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Post by joew on Nov 8, 2006 20:13:16 GMT -5
Gracie — thanks for posting that. I had heard it once years ago and had wished I had all the words. The character is even worse than I had remembered. A wonderful bit of satire.
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Post by Gracie on Nov 8, 2006 21:29:40 GMT -5
Gracie — thanks for posting that. I had heard it once years ago and had wished I had all the words. The character is even worse than I had remembered. A wonderful bit of satire. It IS funny, isn't it? I saw him perform it at a rowdy concert some years back and laughed so hard my ribs still hurt the next day. Unfortunately my brother IS the living epitome of this guy... But I seriously did like your poem. And seriously, reading it again, now I am thinking of Ian Tyson (or Jerry Jeff Walker, I love 'em both) and this one: Well it's two eggs up on whiskey toast Home fries on the side, Wash it down with roadhouse coffee Burns up your inside; It's a canyon, Colorado diner And a waitress I did love, I sat in the back 'neath an old stuffed bear And a worn out Navajo rug. Now old Jack the boss, he left at six And it's, 'Katie bar the door'. She'd pull down that Navajo rug And she spread it on the floor; Hey, I saw lightning 'cross the sacred mountains Saw woven turtle doves When I was Iying next to Katie, On that old Navajo rug.... Aye, aye, aye, Katie, Shades of red and blue Aye, aye, aye, Katie, Whatever became of the Navajo rug and you? I saw old Jack about a year ago, He said the place burned to the ground, And all I saved was this here old bear tooth And Katie she's left town; But Katie, she got her souvenir too, Jack spit a tobacco plug, You shoulda seen her coming through the smoke With that old Navajo rug. So every time I cross the sacred mountains And lightning breaks above, It always takes me back in time To my long lost Katie love, But everything keeps on a-moving And everyone's on the go, You don't find things that last anymore Like an old woven Navajo. Aye, aye, aye, Katie, Shades of red and blue Ayer aye, aye, Katie, Whatever became of the Navajo rug and you! Oh, and by the way....I dearly love it when a poem or a lyric makes me think of something else, which leads to something else again, always words that I love. It's a sweet and dreamy way to unwind at the end of a long day....so thank you. Now where's my Navajo rug....
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Post by slb2 on Nov 9, 2006 0:00:24 GMT -5
"Weakness of the Knees" Sit before the iron oven Roll your socks down, Feel the heat. Pour some whiskey in my tumbler That's the way, sweet siren I like It neat Sing me a song, make it a good one Up and down the throat, The notes flow so well There's a way, to light my fire A premonition... of my hell The moon's reflection Burns the cool black ocean It causes ripples Where once was smooth I'll swim around it, dear sweet siren Unless my heart, your song doth move Mike, this poem is full of potential, it's already delicious. In the first stanza, the rhythm is great, except for the added words "sweet siren." However I really, really like those words and I love how you bring them back at the end of the poem. The second stanza's meter doesn't have the same flow as the rest of the poem. The last stanza is very enjoyable. You use rhyme and surprise: burns the cool black ocean. And you echo an earlier phrase. I say all this, Mike, trusting that you will toss my ideas in that burning fire if you don't agree.
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Post by mike on Nov 9, 2006 4:56:02 GMT -5
Gracie, Slb2,
Any remarks coming from people who have posted their own poetry already, like you two guys (I mean girls), means so much to me. Thank you.
Warm regards, Mike
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Post by mike on Nov 9, 2006 8:11:48 GMT -5
I drink a dark red wine, true Californian From a bone white goblet The edge is dripping red As if My lips split A butter milker perhaps said Yes, it's pretty damn red
But, Damned if we'll know for sure 'Cause before it was decided I, gave, everyone, The WholeDamnSecretToTheRecipie Can you dig it?
Probably not Maybe, I don't know There is hope, I hope. Nobody told anyone, so I, Don't know
But, the wine is red, Fred
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Post by carolion on Nov 9, 2006 19:00:56 GMT -5
The sister is a prude, the sister is a whore, the sister is an artist, the sister is a bore, the sister is a dollie, the sister is a friend, the sister is a choochootrain of lovin' and dyin' in the end, oh, yeah, the sister is a friend.
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Post by hartlikeawheel on Nov 10, 2006 13:43:57 GMT -5
This morning we awakened to seven-plus inches of lovely, wet and heavy snow. All the trees were covered and it looked like fairyland. The Mighty Oakrat took some pix.
It's perfect for snow forts and snowballs yet no sight of a child outdoors. Lawsuits and X Boxes?
"Mrs. Johnson?"
"Yes?"
"Your Lars threw a snowball at our little Ingrid and she came home crying. Plan to hear from our lawyer."
"Oh yeah. Lucky he didn't "wash" her face." Had a few of those.
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In remembrance of a childhood winter spent with my triple layers of wool stuff (no snow suits) packed with snow turning to ice by courtesy of body heat I went out and tossed a few snowballs at a tree. Whoopee.
I'd lumber in stiff-legged, zombie-like and Mom would pry it off of me, thaw it all out, including me, on the radiator and back out I'd go with a new triple layer.
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A funny story: When nephew was playing for the Vikings they got some new recruits from the deep South and it was the first snow they'd seen. A snowball fight ensued and our Northern boyz creamed them.
They didn't know the "secrets" of how to make a snowball carry some punch.
"Hey! You White boys "thow" hard!" was the punchline. Then lotsa giggling.
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This came off the top of my head:
Knee-deep to a toddler and still falling, Bare branches frosted over, Pure as agape it sift-gifts us with our change.
Reread it and thought. Oh gosh, an empty nest poem!
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Post by carolion on Nov 10, 2006 20:16:22 GMT -5
Was remembering Minnesota today - as a college kid was filling out a form for her new library card - St. Paul. I think she's homesick.
Remembering that first snow of the season - for three years we lived in St. Louis Park, on a hill above the access road for Wayzata Blvd. First snowfall of every year, NOT the time to go out driving - by the end of the day you'd hear of at least one 300-car pileup somewhere in thuh Cities. But beauty? Oh, man!
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Post by mike on Nov 18, 2006 5:49:43 GMT -5
Wash Away What I Say
I write my words of love, To her For everyone to see With a sharp stick dragged through the, Beach sand Unspoken feelings born in me
I trace the moonlight's shadows, With wet feet The sand feels good between, My toes The waves pound a roaring rhythmic beat Why am I the only one who knows
Still, I'm a sadly happy one Though to her, I remain unknown The pounding ocean is in my ears I hear laughing tears While waves wash away my poem
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Post by carolion on Nov 18, 2006 9:42:30 GMT -5
Moonlight on ocean Eternal stillness unmarred Shining waves of Love
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Post by Gracie on Nov 18, 2006 12:55:32 GMT -5
Wash Away What I SayI write my words of love, To her For everyone to see With a sharp stick dragged through the, Beach sand Unspoken feelings born in me I trace the moonlight's shadows, With wet feet The sand feels good between, My toes The waves pound a roaring rhythmic beat Why am I the only one who knows Still, I'm a sadly happy one Though to her, I remain unknown The pounding ocean is in my ears I hear laughing tears While waves wash away my poem Mike.....every time I read your poetry, I melt. I am moved beyond words at the beauty of this one. Thank you.
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Post by mike on Nov 18, 2006 19:20:15 GMT -5
Gracie, you're kind words have made me so very happy.
Mike
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Post by mike on Nov 21, 2006 7:04:15 GMT -5
Sometimes we like love Sometimes we are like love Sometimes we love, love Love is, love was Another time, another love This is the time that never was, Because, Because
Felt tipped wood Caressing taunt wire The piano softly plays We dance, the dance, Of sweet desire The candle may burn out, but never, Ever, The fire
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Post by carolion on Nov 21, 2006 9:39:03 GMT -5
I walked the World one day - it hasn't yet been too very long ago I walked the World and saw three things and now I'm here to tell you, and I'll not rest 'til I do.
The first of all the things I saw was a mouse with a lion in its jaw. The second I saw, and listen here - 'twas a hunter hunted by a deer. The third - and now you must sit down, for I think you'll need the solid ground: the third was a woman in form of a tree who bore the fruits of humanity. These fruits were wonders, miraculous gifts: pine tree, white bird, and star-sailing ship.
Riddle me, riddle me, riddle me reeeee---- And what is the meaning I've given to thee?
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Post by slb2 on Nov 21, 2006 21:42:24 GMT -5
Two very intriguing poems. ty
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Post by slb2 on Nov 22, 2006 0:49:12 GMT -5
I Want to Live Until I'm Too Old to Dance
I want to live until I'm too old to dance, like a fountain that's bubbled its last drops, let me flow-- into an ocean, into the sea. I want to live until all my skin has wrinkled and my hair has grayed into a fifty-cent piece with John F. Kennedy still smiling. I want to live until I creak when I walk and I'll walk all over the Universe singing "We shall overcome!" while my lungs burst like a glycerin bubble. Let's bubble ourselves all over and live forever as we sail in a sieve gone to sea.
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