The road to ruin is paved with gold
The more you travel
The more you are tolled
At this price
You won't get far
The sun is just a dying star
There may be lanes for you to speed
Just don't get wrapped up in your own greed
Greed will want you to claim more gold
Great blues singers have sold their soul
Quick rich schemes
Hard to reach dreams
Levi denim blue jeans
All have a price
Not everyone pays the same
So road to ruin isn't always gold
Yours could be straw
Mine could be sold?
I found your pulse inside my unchained connection to God.
The heart whose tune only you’ve come close to.
I pray you come closer, closer still,
as if a wish to ignore the restraint
each second's passing
places upon us in time’s stubborn limitation.
Limitation sending the message of patience home.
The potentially destructive, potentially infinite sink hole of
boundless sadness and anticipation that my joyous expectation,
the very hope in me,
will be dashed against the hearth of my glass half-full house.
Hope is an unglazed porcelain bowl, chipped, cracked, and finally smashed. I am embarrassed to see myself carefully,
painstakingly try to put it back together again because I know You. Your ability to tell me how you feel.
I wonder what the last holder of this soul did to deserve my childhood, sometimes. As this life’s lesson has been all about being alone.
Its been, “Kid? You’re on your own.”
Watch people come close, watch people fall away.
Watch their sad mouths twist when they say they like me so much that away they stay.
No.
That’s a bunch of petty free, pity-me bullshit.
That’s where the resignation of Zen gets completely ignored.
That’s where individuality lay.
Where I get to be me, and
why, specifically, I am alone and remain.
So.
In finding Your pulse inside My unchained connection with God, I can’t help but hope harder than I ever have. An action making every super-glued crack creak, and every formal dismal failure potential proof that love just wasn‘t meant for me. I don’t believe that Darwin was wrong. The thriving survival and arrival of me is in moving toward pleasure. If it weren’t? Feeling good wouldn’t feel good.
It’d just be alright.
We set back the clocks to save the daylight?
This we are told is valuable to the working man
For they keep the economy growing
Our dollars flowing
Our smelters glowing
It is he who braves the cold dark morning
Starts his cold car while the family is snoring
By first break it has lightened up
Sits with the boys and fills his cup
Talk about sports, wives and the kids
He's back to work for the rest of the day
While in the light his kids are at play
The whistle blows
His day is done
Out to his car
He has missed the sun
With a turn of his key
A flick of the lights
He's on his way home
Is it morning or night?
from summer to winter
in two days
the north
is chilly
except when you say my name
and then the sun
lifts up and
shouts
without words
but with rays
of bright light
and shoots bullets
of shine
and they graze my skin
darkening my light
making it all
alright
"At the touch of love, everyone becomes a poet." --Plato
it's easy to miss the gray day in winter
the thick clouds begging the question,
"will it rain today?"
the rain, the snow, the appleskin torte
where the little ants flow
bucks
to receive gray love
for, even in the wettest places,
rain is proof
that all is as it should be
that the cycle is complete
the cycle is a woman
and the force is a man
and off she goes, evaporating, again
and here he comes,
wrapping thick strong hands
on the hip
of the earth
so all you fools
who sing just like him
feel free to do so now
cuz he's dead
using, using, using
the using takes toll
isolation
just so happy to be one
sad to, sad to think
sad to think of him more
lonesome friend, we all knew
always hoped you'd pull through
no blame, no blame
no blame, it could be you
using, you can't grow old using
so sing just like him, fuckers
it won't offend him
just me
because he's dead
all my rivals will see what i have in store, my gun...
i've been harboring fleets in this reservoir, red sun...
and this nation's about to explode
your disciples are riddled with metaphors, well hung...
better pony up and bring both your barrelfulls, not one...
as we release this unspeakable toll...
(every grain of sand equals)
(all the stars and everyone)
how's our mother to damn these contributors...with mud?
how will the man who made chemicals difficult...shed blood?
how's our father supposed to be told?
I've misplaced my crown
They still call me king
Is my blood any different from theirs?
I cut myself shaving
The blood wasn't blue
Amongst the masses, I get stares
If I ventured to the wrong part of town
Trying to fit in
Without my regal gown
Dressed like the common folk
Would anybody know who I am?
Originally posted by PastaNazi it's easy to miss the gray day in winter
the thick clouds begging the question,
"will it rain today?"
the rain, the snow, the appleskin torte
where the little ants flow
bucks
to receive gray love
for, even in the wettest places,
rain is proof
that all is as it should be
that the cycle is complete
the cycle is a woman
and the force is a man
and off she goes, evaporating, again
and here he comes,
wrapping thick strong hands
on the hip
of the earth
Time may have ravaged your body
Your mind is still as sharp as a tack
You fall down way too often now
Your body shows too much blue and black
Commercials we once joked about
You are now the star
"I've fallen and I can't get up"
The crawl to the phone is so, so far
If I could turn back the clock
You know that would be my deed
My working class hero
Never ever filled with greed
Too strong willed for a home
Too much pride for your own good
If I could cut my legs off and give them to you
You know that I would
For why work for the man
To give your two sons a better life
While your twilight years
Fill up with pain and strife
Life has taken me from you
For I have my own road I must travel
I would visit more often
But, once leaving I unravel
Your're still there for your brothers and sisters
Like you are still in your prime
Driving miles in times of need
Never worrying about your time
Time is what you give everybody
Inluding my rottenest friends
So if there is a god in the sky
What is it's fucked up plans
To burden you with pain
Arthritis riddled right on through
I will never speak for my brother
But I'll be there for you
SIN EATERS--We take the moral excrement we find in this equation and we bury it down deep inside of us so that the rest of our case can stay pure. That is the job. We are morally indefensible and absolutely necessary.
I wish I could play the guitar
outside underneath
a big tree
with lots of leaves
and apple blossoms,
alone in tall grass,
or sitting cross legged
on a blanket
in the sand of
a white and lonely beach
and I wish I could play
the piano in
a giant hall
with no people
and hear the echoes
of my fingers on
the keys
ringing in the walls
and the ceiling.
I want to sing to you
in my flowy dress of cotton
in a field of wildflowers
with no one else
there...
"At the touch of love, everyone becomes a poet." --Plato
You called me on the phone
To tell me you're alone
Something about being down and blue
You were hoping I could bring a smile to you
I jumped in my car
I didn't have to go far
When I knocked on the door to your place
You answered with tears running down your face
You had never been so sad
You had never felt this bad
You life had just fallen apart
All from a broken heart
You had called me up on a whim
To clear your head of him
Try and try to put a smile on your face
This definately wasn't your day in space
Finally a smile broke through all the glum
You realized the wasted time with that bum
As sure as the sun will rise in the sky
All the tears had dried in your eyes
A couple of jokes
A couple of smokes
Long talks of nothing
Long talks about everything
Your day was coming around
I suggested we go downtown
You just wanted to stay there
With a guy, you said
"Who did care"
Thanks to "of the girl" for keeping up with the days. Very nice and some touching stuff you have been writing.
Still waiting of the PastaNazi to return.
There is only a week and a bit left for the "poetry" and thoughts month.
To everyone...............KEEP ON WRITING AND READING
You said hi and I did to
Which led to something, no one knew
Would grow to something like F'ing at lunch
Eating up your cu** like it was brunch
F'ing in your car, at your house while you husband was out
F'ing until it's my name, not god's you shout
F'ing you from France to Greece
F'ing on the covers of your bed made of fleece
F'ing you on the floor of your den
Then putting you on the washing machine to F you again
F'ing in you shower before going back to work
Not talking to you again because I'm a F'ing jerk
Originally posted by even flow? If all you need is air to get high
Why are you polluting it?
No PN I don't like anybody really knowing me.
better stop posting thoughts and prose and poetry then, don't you think?
otherwise there will be fields of thought that will follow you home, taste your food, thread your carpet and steal your space on your couch. They will know you in the end, even flow? and it will be good and better for us all.
<raises hand> question... I have not participated in this thread until now and yet i have written this month...? do I still get credit? or do I have more homework to turn in yet?
keep up the work you two...
seta
I'm stepping in front of the gushing hydrant in a hurricane. I'd like to see the traction I keep.
my glass
i consider it
more full
than empty
some days
it's filled more
than others
even days
it holds
only a drop
is better
than dry
cracks formed
in the container
it withstood
the pressure
as best it could
but finally shattered
now my essence
no longer contained
spills forth
unfettered
my spirit
free to spread
where it will
I starred at you
thinking, why
this will never work.
I knew nothing about you.
You weren't like the others
I remember walking over to you
so slow, so nervous, so unsure.
Scared I'd never know you,
Scared I'd never get to know you.
I stood there looking at you,
you looked so big, so new
so complicated.
I felt so unsure because
I wasn't much taller than you.
I picked you up,
strapped you on
you felt so right.
And I knew at that moment
I was a bass player.
SIN EATERS--We take the moral excrement we find in this equation and we bury it down deep inside of us so that the rest of our case can stay pure. That is the job. We are morally indefensible and absolutely necessary.
Comments
Knew a person
Filled with vain
I wondered
How it affected their brain
It would drive me insane
Living with that pain
The road to ruin is paved with gold
The more you travel
The more you are tolled
At this price
You won't get far
The sun is just a dying star
There may be lanes for you to speed
Just don't get wrapped up in your own greed
Greed will want you to claim more gold
Great blues singers have sold their soul
Quick rich schemes
Hard to reach dreams
Levi denim blue jeans
All have a price
Not everyone pays the same
So road to ruin isn't always gold
Yours could be straw
Mine could be sold?
(tee hee)
The heart whose tune only you’ve come close to.
I pray you come closer, closer still,
as if a wish to ignore the restraint
each second's passing
places upon us in time’s stubborn limitation.
Limitation sending the message of patience home.
The potentially destructive, potentially infinite sink hole of
boundless sadness and anticipation that my joyous expectation,
the very hope in me,
will be dashed against the hearth of my glass half-full house.
Hope is an unglazed porcelain bowl, chipped, cracked, and finally smashed. I am embarrassed to see myself carefully,
painstakingly try to put it back together again because I know You. Your ability to tell me how you feel.
I wonder what the last holder of this soul did to deserve my childhood, sometimes. As this life’s lesson has been all about being alone.
Its been, “Kid? You’re on your own.”
Watch people come close, watch people fall away.
Watch their sad mouths twist when they say they like me so much that away they stay.
No.
That’s a bunch of petty free, pity-me bullshit.
That’s where the resignation of Zen gets completely ignored.
That’s where individuality lay.
Where I get to be me, and
why, specifically, I am alone and remain.
So.
In finding Your pulse inside My unchained connection with God, I can’t help but hope harder than I ever have. An action making every super-glued crack creak, and every formal dismal failure potential proof that love just wasn‘t meant for me. I don’t believe that Darwin was wrong. The thriving survival and arrival of me is in moving toward pleasure. If it weren’t? Feeling good wouldn’t feel good.
It’d just be alright.
it's introspective and personal.it makes me want to be the one that is You,to come closer.
you are.
This we are told is valuable to the working man
For they keep the economy growing
Our dollars flowing
Our smelters glowing
It is he who braves the cold dark morning
Starts his cold car while the family is snoring
By first break it has lightened up
Sits with the boys and fills his cup
Talk about sports, wives and the kids
He's back to work for the rest of the day
While in the light his kids are at play
The whistle blows
His day is done
Out to his car
He has missed the sun
With a turn of his key
A flick of the lights
He's on his way home
Is it morning or night?
Pastanazi the above "blue" was very good.
in two days
the north
is chilly
except when you say my name
and then the sun
lifts up and
shouts
without words
but with rays
of bright light
and shoots bullets
of shine
and they graze my skin
darkening my light
making it all
alright
www.myspace.com/birdinamitten
the thick clouds begging the question,
"will it rain today?"
the rain, the snow, the appleskin torte
where the little ants flow
bucks
to receive gray love
for, even in the wettest places,
rain is proof
that all is as it should be
that the cycle is complete
the cycle is a woman
and the force is a man
and off she goes, evaporating, again
and here he comes,
wrapping thick strong hands
on the hip
of the earth
who sing just like him
feel free to do so now
cuz he's dead
using, using, using
the using takes toll
isolation
just so happy to be one
sad to, sad to think
sad to think of him more
lonesome friend, we all knew
always hoped you'd pull through
no blame, no blame
no blame, it could be you
using, you can't grow old using
so sing just like him, fuckers
it won't offend him
just me
because he's dead
i've been harboring fleets in this reservoir, red sun...
and this nation's about to explode
your disciples are riddled with metaphors, well hung...
better pony up and bring both your barrelfulls, not one...
as we release this unspeakable toll...
(every grain of sand equals)
(all the stars and everyone)
how's our mother to damn these contributors...with mud?
how will the man who made chemicals difficult...shed blood?
how's our father supposed to be told?
They still call me king
Is my blood any different from theirs?
I cut myself shaving
The blood wasn't blue
Amongst the masses, I get stares
If I ventured to the wrong part of town
Trying to fit in
Without my regal gown
Dressed like the common folk
Would anybody know who I am?
Why are you polluting it?
No PN I don't like anybody really knowing me.
Time may have ravaged your body
Your mind is still as sharp as a tack
You fall down way too often now
Your body shows too much blue and black
Commercials we once joked about
You are now the star
"I've fallen and I can't get up"
The crawl to the phone is so, so far
If I could turn back the clock
You know that would be my deed
My working class hero
Never ever filled with greed
Too strong willed for a home
Too much pride for your own good
If I could cut my legs off and give them to you
You know that I would
For why work for the man
To give your two sons a better life
While your twilight years
Fill up with pain and strife
Life has taken me from you
For I have my own road I must travel
I would visit more often
But, once leaving I unravel
Your're still there for your brothers and sisters
Like you are still in your prime
Driving miles in times of need
Never worrying about your time
Time is what you give everybody
Inluding my rottenest friends
So if there is a god in the sky
What is it's fucked up plans
To burden you with pain
Arthritis riddled right on through
I will never speak for my brother
But I'll be there for you
So very beautilfully written and heart felt.
outside underneath
a big tree
with lots of leaves
and apple blossoms,
alone in tall grass,
or sitting cross legged
on a blanket
in the sand of
a white and lonely beach
and I wish I could play
the piano in
a giant hall
with no people
and hear the echoes
of my fingers on
the keys
ringing in the walls
and the ceiling.
I want to sing to you
in my flowy dress of cotton
in a field of wildflowers
with no one else
there...
www.myspace.com/birdinamitten
that was completely moving..
;*l
...*snif*...
To tell me you're alone
Something about being down and blue
You were hoping I could bring a smile to you
I jumped in my car
I didn't have to go far
When I knocked on the door to your place
You answered with tears running down your face
You had never been so sad
You had never felt this bad
You life had just fallen apart
All from a broken heart
You had called me up on a whim
To clear your head of him
Try and try to put a smile on your face
This definately wasn't your day in space
Finally a smile broke through all the glum
You realized the wasted time with that bum
As sure as the sun will rise in the sky
All the tears had dried in your eyes
A couple of jokes
A couple of smokes
Long talks of nothing
Long talks about everything
Your day was coming around
I suggested we go downtown
You just wanted to stay there
With a guy, you said
"Who did care"
Thanks to "of the girl" for keeping up with the days. Very nice and some touching stuff you have been writing.
Still waiting of the PastaNazi to return.
There is only a week and a bit left for the "poetry" and thoughts month.
To everyone...............KEEP ON WRITING AND READING
Which led to something, no one knew
Would grow to something like F'ing at lunch
Eating up your cu** like it was brunch
F'ing in your car, at your house while you husband was out
F'ing until it's my name, not god's you shout
F'ing you from France to Greece
F'ing on the covers of your bed made of fleece
F'ing you on the floor of your den
Then putting you on the washing machine to F you again
F'ing in you shower before going back to work
Not talking to you again because I'm a F'ing jerk
Enjoy the weekend everybody!!!!!!
better stop posting thoughts and prose and poetry then, don't you think?
otherwise there will be fields of thought that will follow you home, taste your food, thread your carpet and steal your space on your couch. They will know you in the end, even flow? and it will be good and better for us all.
<raises hand> question... I have not participated in this thread until now and yet i have written this month...? do I still get credit? or do I have more homework to turn in yet?
keep up the work you two...
seta
my last contrib was a doozie...
lots of doozies
they weigh a little bit more and get written a little bit more slowly, but I am so cool with that
the pasta will contribute before the day is done, if i miss you, ef?, enjoy the weekend, there will be things here come monday
and, whatddya say to setaside2? should we make him write one just for april's thread???
i vote YES
to the drawing board with YOU, kind sir
i have written since the doozie last weekend
i am a LIAR
flay me and splay me my people
i suppose it's off to the board with me, too, no?
can i drink the rain?
www.myspace.com/birdinamitten
I need a little air
it might not be fresh
but I need to take a walk
it’s cold outside
warmer out there
then in here
it might be dark
just like how I’m feeling inside
no need to fear for my safety
I’ll blend in just fine
my obscured shadow
is on display under that streetlight
a dead sillhouette
u could join me
if u wish
but I won’t pay attention
because I need to find myself
and find myself fast
my glass
i consider it
more full
than empty
some days
it's filled more
than others
even days
it holds
only a drop
is better
than dry
cracks formed
in the container
it withstood
the pressure
as best it could
but finally shattered
now my essence
no longer contained
spills forth
unfettered
my spirit
free to spread
where it will
peace
thinking, why
this will never work.
I knew nothing about you.
You weren't like the others
I remember walking over to you
so slow, so nervous, so unsure.
Scared I'd never know you,
Scared I'd never get to know you.
I stood there looking at you,
you looked so big, so new
so complicated.
I felt so unsure because
I wasn't much taller than you.
I picked you up,
strapped you on
you felt so right.
And I knew at that moment
I was a bass player.
Minute flowers
blossoming in effluvial delta fans
Lotus tea
too-sweet milk
and chased pond water
A child’s song
Through Jasmine
sitar and slide
fine
A Lotus concept
Unfolding chakrah
Light-filled center
But frog hop decanter
Gross