Have you ever looked into brown-green eyes and seen a plate of oranges

Goulet

cause my diet
is almost full of fruit
and
berries
and
oranges
and tangerines
and
miss
placed
words

62strat

rain drops and roses .....


burrrrrrbank......yessssss..

Goulet

the code to get off my belt is:
10 to the left and 5 to the right and 30 to the left
because
I
havea32sizewasteandamverysexysexy
but
allthatmakeslittlesense
to
you out there in the world
who the fuck cares
about
me
or
you
or
musically inclinded birds
that sing while sitting on your telephone poles
and evergreen trees

look out for the raindrops
they will steal your broken heart

cassia

your Miss Placed must be one lucky gurl

hazel forest eyes, pupils circled indigo blue
dancin' up outta the pond for you
narcissus f*ing awesome boys rule
in nights of snow monkey hot tubs and
cashews~~~

citrus shine silhouette, gougou dollet

{{{burrbank...goodone....a burrbank--where you can
get yr coinage for chillin'}}}}}}}}}}

savannah66

I like it, Goulet.
Minimalism.
I am jealous of those who can convey a magnitude of feeling with a few choice words.

Nice.

Goulet

Hip cat hit my Knee Cap
Hip Cat hit my Back Pack
Hip Cat hat my Hut Mat
Hip Cat sit my Cut Rut

blinkblinkblink

are you awake
honeydarlingsweetyscootybabysexysexy
are your eyes openning
iwantyousobadrightnowandiwantyoutomakemeseevisionsofblurredspotsonthewalls


HEY
i know you're reading this
do you know
what i'm talking about...

FinsburyParkCarrots

Originally posted by Goulet
cause my diet
is almost full of fruit
and
berries
and
oranges
and tangerines
and
miss
placed
words

I've looked at an orange
and seen a pair of crystal blue eyes.

savannah66

Originally posted by Goulet

HEY
i know you're reading this
do you know
what i'm talking about...

I can only guess...

I guess gossamer and so the dream spills anew poured liquid this time warm electric euphoria
rising up to bubble and flow over the arc of a bridge she is daddy’s girl for sure with auburn
medusa coils swimming in anthropomorphic splendor with air and starshine lighting her best
friend’s glasses perched on her nose and all the spotsspotsspots are just oranges and clementines
in the eye of jupiter moons dipped below the horizon into the gloaming and burnished green.

Guessing.....
So....what are you talking about? Que dites-vous?

Felicity

i have looked into hazel dream eyes
and seen so deeply down
into the vast and expanding valley within
as if i were perched atop a mountain
and down there, to the horizon
i saw all the things
that made you who you are
there, i see the childhood bicycle world
the wishes for bigness and success
and there, the friends and dreams
over here there is fire, madness, tears
demons throwing fuel on the fires
that threaten to burn out the back
of your head
then the tracks of your movement
all over the world
mementos piled high as reminders
of where your body's shell has been
i hear the soundtrack of within
changing with each fading vision
quiet, then louder, screeching or hushed
sweet melodies conveyed with deep love
to countless ears
all the while searching within
for the sensation that says 'it's right'
meeting other eyes
reading signals and sniffing perfume
to the depths of decadence
and the limits of humility
guided by conscience
embittered by disappointments arow
suffering pain of loss, anguished
seeking safe haven, intimacy
to soothe wounds and become timeless
refusing to accept, or perhaps afraid
to finally discover
the single female presence
the perfect one
waits on a small hill
the third one now
overlooking the ocean
she has flitted from one mound
to another, coming closer, closer
then swinging away again
as you turn to have several more looks
at the temptations that present to you
but true love is patient and wise
all-seeing, all-knowing without judging
sitting tucked on a ledge
weighing the balance
between turning for home alone
or finally resting in familiar open arms

i have looked into the place
of the soul that suffers
unbeknownst to so many
and my heart reaches out
along with my healing hands
to offer comfort and relief
if only for a small moment
or perhaps forever
because that is my purpose
to understand and know you

Goulet

I want someone to grab my
HEART
with both hands
and
pumppumppump
it
and feel the
goodbloodbadblood
and get it all out of there
until it's just you
pumppumppumping
my HEART
because I think that would feel
so strange and so
fine

Goulet

catchcallcatchcallcatchcallinlovewithyourfeetcatchcallcatchcallcatchcallinlovewithyournakedbodyandyournakedmindandyouremotionsandyourwildsideandyourbrainandyoursexylipsandyourdarkhairandyourglassesandyourheartandyourselfesteemandyourconfidencecatchcallcatchcall
I
hope
I
catch
your
call
this
afternoon.

Goulet

when you write an entire concert
that's when I'll start listening

Goulet

haven you ever taken so many drugs
that you get so into a painting that you get scared
because it could be the best
painting you've ever seen
and it was your friend
who painted it
and not some famous guy
who only gets praise because he's famous
and then you take more drugs and your face almost explodes because
you haven't stopped smiling since about 3 weeks ago
and time doesn't matter
anymore
adn you just want to be ARTISTIC
because that's all that can ever reallreallyreally
explain how you feel
blahblahblah

Goulet

start churning the butter
--nah
start hosing the garden
--nah
start disecting the groceries
--nah
start unloading the washer
--nah
start digesting the fruit
--nah
start smoking the ham
--nah
start drinking the water
--nah
start bathing the cat
--nah
start slinging the vittles
--nah
start chilling the cold
--nah
start fluxing the moon
--nah
start beaming the headlights
--nah
start doing something
--nah

Goulet

yeah okay but that is of no consequence to me
because I am great and grand and fullfilling

yikes

Yellow

Goulet

turn that upsidedown frown upsidedown

Yellow

:(





like that???

Goulet

dream cold night hollow moon half in teh dark light sky when driving through teh wind swpet lost year prairie fields home to the house where I stay and sleep and am warm and on teh frost streets with moving cars and exhaust engine fumes we dance and kiss and breath exhaust fumes into and out of our mouths and the sweat of my nervous armpits hangs in the air you hold me tight and say I'm so beautiful and my locked up heart tries to tell you the same when the night drops out and our tired eyes creep out around the blue mornings in a haze about nothing more then what last night was sort of like drinking coffee and breathing in second hand smoke and playing gospel songs all night singing harmony and trying to be confident in ourselves and our musical abilities and out of the slant corner of my eyes I can see you smiling because you don't knwo what else to do and I see you drinking your water bottle and breath slowly in and out and in and fidgeting and smirking with teh rise and fall of the Carter Family songs so we sing abotu love and love into each other's eyes brown-green and hazel and brown and green and black and white-white and glazed

Yellow

lovely

dyaogirl

Originally posted by Goulet
cause my diet
is almost full of fruit
and
berries
and
oranges
and tangerines
and
miss
placed
words

I look into plate of oranges and see my future and history combined to reflect the breadth and depth of my existence.

FinsburyParkCarrots

Originally posted by dyaogirl
I look into plate of oranges and see my future and history combined to reflect the breadth and depth of my existence.

That is because you have the vision of a philosopher-poet, like the seer who could see the Dharma even in the hedge at the bottom of his garden. You're a poet.

Goulet

don't be a poet...think you're a poet

FinsburyParkCarrots

Originally posted by Goulet
don't be a poet...think you're a poet

Do both.

Goulet

that's like saying free will and fate both exist

FinsburyParkCarrots

Critical reception has nothing to do with fate, and much critical reception is prejudiced and uninformed. Some poets, artists and painters would give up being poets if they didn't have self-belief in their stance and identity as poets, in the face of unnecessary negativity. Critical reappraisal might come after the poet is dead, and the people who said in the lifetime of the dead poet, "Ah well, he or she was just a poseur, acting the poet but couldn't string three words together" will be seen in the context of their time as injudicious. Self-construction and poetic self-fashioning is essential to the production of poetry. We all do it. Even taking the standpoint "I'm not apoet, therefore I am one", is a facade. It's a way of double-negativising oneself....creating oneself as a poet by pretending one isn't, just a jobbing scribe with the true art...it's a bigger but more insidious form of proclaiming one's artistic genius!

Goulet

I vote no.

FinsburyParkCarrots

Originally posted by Goulet
I vote no.

True.

dyaogirl

Originally posted by FinsburyParkCarrots
Critical reception has nothing to do with fate, and much critical reception is prejudiced and uninformed. Some poets, artists and painters would give up being poets if they didn't have self-belief in their stance and identity as poets, in the face of unnecessary negativity. Critical reappraisal might come after the poet is dead, and the people who said in the lifetime of the dead poet, "Ah well, he or she was just a poseur, acting the poet but couldn't string three words together" will be seen in the context of their time as injudicious. Self-construction and poetic self-fashioning is essential to the production of poetry. We all do it. Even taking the standpoint "I'm not apoet, therefore I am one", is a facade. It's a way of double-negativising oneself....creating oneself as a poet by pretending one isn't, just a jobbing scribe with the true art...it's a bigger but more insidious form of proclaiming one's artistic genius!

I love you, Mr. FinsburyParkCarrots!

FinsburyParkCarrots

Originally posted by dyaogirl
I love you, Mr. FinsburyParkCarrots!

And I love you too, Ms. dyaogirl! And we've still got a truck load of oranges to come!

Yellow

big scary monsters were coming after my pshyche
and all i had to fight them off were pen and paper
i won
and was proud

so i showed my battles to other people

i never had to show anybody
and just because ppl connected with it
or liked it enough to give me the money they HAD to give away anyway ~ that's not what made me write

i didn't write for the prize
i wrote because i was the only one who could understand myself
and looking at my own fear or sadness or whatever, on paper, somehow comforted me, and just the process alone was cleansing enough

it's kinda like being my own best friend?

anyone else think that way?


oh, and goulet... the thought just occured to me that i am blithering in your pretty poem thread...

i should probably stop