Originally posted by dyaogirl I drink my Merlot
with a shot of Tequila Telescopic visions of guardian angels
Paint pictures of stars
Their Distortions of light
Shine on dimly lit paths
Hey, another shot perhaps
I strain and grope for the bridge to heaven
Oh, but for those dimly lit stars
The heavens unfold into wordless nothings
Knowingly I knock the scope to the ground
Yet, here it is
It’s not them never was
It’s me
I’m reflected in those countless the grains of sand
Illuminating perfection on this beautiful beach
My tangerine toes buried in its warmth
I radiate sun and shape the stars
Death is not the bridge to heaven
As I tune in and drink my Merlot
with a shot of Tequila
These days, my heart is wintered and my memory is bare
and twisted as the dark and windworn boughs
The store for spring's deserting me - there's nothing for my ear
But echoes from the fleeing raingull's cries
The hands that gave are stripped and torn, my eyes let in the chill
The path to me is taken by the ice
And i will die like this, to let the stormwind have its will
If time has ceased to lend to me your voice
Before the ferns were red and still, before the river froze
you lay by me and sang, to match my bloom
and all the skies were stretched to light the one unbriared rose
Beneath my young and heavy blossom's gleam
There, the sunning meadows tossed their curls and kept us free
to whisper our wild love inside the breeze
Until an old wind swooped to tear life's flame away from me
The day the first bird rose out for the seas
Tonight will have the cries of wolves come sail through me again:
I'll amplify each near and hunting call.
If my dead frame can sound, to warn the deer that roams alone
to run, then I'll be pleased my heart is still.
If there's so sun returning here, the ravens are my stars
and on these mountain fields, no rose will grow:
the river will not thaw my love, unless you lend your voice -
Return the song that only my ear knew.
That's an older lyric that I used to sing. Strange to read it now. It almost seems to belong to another lifetime. Now, I'll write some new ones for today.
was looking for the words of praise for quite some time...
still none too express the agitation this poem causes in my head.
thank you for sharing
Write. Wind each new thought upon the stream;
and in its contradiction of response,
Or seeming stagnance, see that rippled gleam
That might suggest true movement. If you sense
a hidden wave in what seems blanket still,
Write more, wind each desire, and you'll see
The willows nod and rustle, and you will
hear the rushing babble of the free
gush of water, brimming, charged with light
That is your reader's understanding heart.
Here's one I just wrote a few minutes ago. It's about a homeless woman who sleeps in the reference section of my local public library.
Black woollen hat. Black bomber jacket. Gloves,
fingerless. Socks. Shoes, off. Skin, death grey.
Lips, blanched, vice tight. Eyes shut. She rarely moves,
Slouched at that 'private study' desk all day
(The one she comes to sleep at, from the street).
It's nearly June. She wants the window shut
that might let out the stench or ease the heat.
She's cold. Someone shouts out, "Kick out that mutt."
She snores. A man and woman enter now,
Their stagey whispers hissing in their ears
As they stand right above her. "God! I know
It's her!", this woman splutters, wiping jetted tears
from both her cheeks. "There's nothing we can do",
That man says, making distance. "Come, let's go."
Rushing bejinnied river fumblerumbling bifurcating brilliances of rainbowed veining redorangeyellowbluegreen foamy angel vistas living thriving delivering lopsytopsy bleachysuntizzed burblegleaming shiftfoldecstatic electropulsing waves of forwardshooting fourwardwayward forking courses insideoutveloping leaping mergeshimmersploshing explosions upon explosions, joy upon chaos upon joy, orgasms of sun expanding water, streaking shapeless golds and rolls of flashing whitestar freckles under lightblistering pinking breathing skyeyed salmonshoals pushing pushing pushing the light the motion the jump the force the fizzing reaching shooting of uncapturable nows and nows and nows in this evershifting riverring scene under leafpalms in green, breezenodding the beat from the windweaved cloudbird skypulse convulsing unclosing unsealing forever bright crescents of essence the essence of Yes
A pier-glass, a Circle of Friends statue, Merlot bought from Eddie's market, A bottle of glittering red, and candlelight thriving on living room walls: I travelled to you that first night. I touched your goldenhair in rolling flow And wept when you told of your love for me. Under the dancing tongues of blazing wonder I kissed your lips, lovebalmed for me. Over oceans, but knowing the pulse of earth, Sensing love's path of energy between dimensions of stillness I'll come tonight and hold you in my arms, as I have every night since our first touch. Oh, my love, my love, Blissweaver , Jewelstar, Earthpulse, Heaven, Home.
Those black plugs in the bog, glutting up
the throats of holes in earth, they're not
stagnant mud, there. That's water.
Go up with your wellies.
Sink a boot down. Deeper! See now?
Well, Archimedes, look at the spawn rising,
brimming, spilling life. There's a flow!
Feel it lapping on the rubber, there.
A spring, nearby. This is water
from the ground, not just bucketed from above,
spat down from Slievemore's chin of
Desperate Dan quartzjaw blue,
And left to fester.
This is where you get your images of dull,
choking earth and strangled weeds,
But you don't even go up to the mud
and feel it!
Look there!
Feel! Hear! Here!
It's alive,
adance,
in play ....
See, see now, see
the greenness of the reeds?
Do, do now,
touch a posy,
Shining, hidden
on heatherpurpled headland;
Now, plod
Where otters plod,
Rustle onward
To love,
Where loving rustles are abundant
And know the rhythm of the pulse of mud
Harbouring small life.
Know the shimmerings of forms in rushing grass
And know the life of bogland.
Know of love.
Originally posted by FinsburyParkCarrots ... Some never love in colour
But need to love in grey,
And spoil new loves with dolour
From old chances thrown away?
I mean, hey!
See dawn, today?
Those reds,
those yellows?
No?
You ARE strange fellows,
indeed. Agreed? Oh.
Feeling happiness, most greatest feelings,
Love, turmoil, euphoria above all,
Words go pass me, when tempted to assay
The contraction of my body, brought forth by
Touch, or kiss, or deep look into your eyes…
Time will stop - the gap between filled
With nothing else arousing my curiosity.
Just colours of colours, but different colours
Stroke my eyes, escort me throughout.
Another time…
When shadow comes upon my heart,
When nightmares as release would serve,
When left alone in salvage of my body,
I write, I muse, I write again…
Write. Wind each new thought upon the stream;
and in its contradiction of response,
Or seeming stagnance, see that rippled gleam
That might suggest true movement. If you sense
a hidden wave in what seems blanket still,
Write more, wind each desire, and you'll see
The willows nod and rustle, and you will
hear the rushing babble of the free
gush of water, brimming, charged with light
That is your reader's understanding heart.
Originally posted by FinsburyParkCarrots A pier-glass, a Circle of Friends statue, Merlot bought from Eddie's market, A bottle of glittering red, and candlelight thriving on living room walls: I travelled to you that first night. I touched your goldenhair in rolling flow And wept when you told of your love for me. Under the dancing tongues of blazing wonder I kissed your lips, lovebalmed for me. Over oceans, but knowing the pulse of earth, Sensing love's path of energy between dimensions of stillness I'll come tonight and hold you in my arms, as I have every night since our first touch. Oh, my love, my love, Blissweaver , Jewelstar, Earthpulse, Heaven, Home.
Tears! But good ones!
OMG!!!!! This is just amazing! I even just read it again and the same thing happend!! Darned leaky eyes!!!
Forget your perfect offering, there is a crack in everything, that's how the light gets in. - Leonard Cohen
Originally posted by FinsburyParkCarrots How's everything, B.E.? I sent your love on to cassia for you!
I'd be honoured if you have some poems to share with Ophelia's nun. They'd water her tomato seeds and keep her forever free of the penguins.
I'm okay, thanks! Oh, and much, much thanks for sending my love to sweet cassia!!!!!!!!! YAY!
I've no water for the garden today but it is supposed to rain tonight so...I shall try to shoo those pesky pingu-ins away.
Ears an off the top a me 'ed little un:
I walked beside the drink
And the light said to me,
"Today is yours!"
So, I took her advice,
Embraced Today,
Then we held hands
And together went in search,
of beautiful Tomorrow.
SHOO!!
And how is you???????
Forget your perfect offering, there is a crack in everything, that's how the light gets in. - Leonard Cohen
I'd sleep on the rising tide of your every breath...
Wake to drown in your kisses...
Soak in your succulence...
We'll live like the ocean...
Even if just a while...
Even if just a little while...
Stay with me, honeychile
Sweeten me with your honeysmiles
Even...
if...
just...
a...
while...
(it's a little drizzly, got me dizzy, in a tizzy, gave a little shout and these words just came spilling out... - I do believe that those grey clouds shall part and a beautiful golden sun shall rain smiles upon us all, even if just for a little while... )
Thinking penguins, now thinking Jake and Elwood Blues. "Now a wish sandwich is that kind of a sandwich wherein you do have two slices of bread and you wish you had some meat, bow, bow, bow... What do want for nothing? Rubberbiscuit?"
Forget your perfect offering, there is a crack in everything, that's how the light gets in. - Leonard Cohen
Hey B.E. nice hearing form you again! That was awesome.
Big Fan of the Blues Brothers as well! Now how would you type the rest of that song? hmmmuna hummana bibnbbalballa? somtheing like that maybe? haha
Love ya
If being sane is thinking there's something wrong with being different....I'd rather be completely fucking mental.
(Angelina Jolie)
Lips of shadowed ancient stones
Encase reminiscent times;
Gateways release your breath
Alive in rich dream-color songs
Your music star-formed
Catalyses tree top jewel bright dances,
Spiraling into frenzied snowflake wonder
Winter blue cascades down into
Love’s lamp lit golden beams.
Enfold me into your eternal psalms,
That move the wave within me.
'..... Ah! A perfect illustration of the poststructuralist paradox. Does the signifier "Merlot" correspond with the 'truth' of the bottle I polished off last night, or do we hold in our thoughts a different "signified" of bottle-of-Merlot-ness? Perhaps we're dreaming of the same bottle!" -FinsburyParkCarrots
Yahoo Tuesday!!!
We've got Hendrix '69 jamming Spanish Castle Magic
in sync on Winamp, counted down fivey, fourey, three-ey ...
and you peek out your window to Mount Rainier
as I look out to the big fen skies,
and as that intro comes in, we're seeing that same gold
that ray of cloudtop spanishcastle windowlight
the golden ocean of sun waving through us both
spinning us together
in a spiral into oneness
Just let your mind float around.....
Mica juts and snags of the waterless shore
dig in their chests. Prostrate, like this, all day,
they lay, their arms outstretched beyond their sight,
their hands ungloved and tattered, fumbling
between coarse quartz slabs
for a fingergrip of a shell, an oxymoron,
that familiar hardsmooth touch of brittle softness.
Their necks ache from lifting their heads to the tide,
Greyclouded film, mist, drizzle, sea,
foam spluttering, all nothing, eye-level to their gaze.
Rocks bruise their thighs under oilskin slacks,
and their dull pleasant ache marks the defeat in resistance,
the pride in mad patience defying madness,
the futility of grappling face down in ocean rockpools
from tide to tide, for life in death, and death in life.
Maybe the bucket bottom might be covered yet,
Maybe they'll get a drink in the evening,
Or maybe the currents will turn from Blackrock,
hurrying, waving, merciful, lapping overhead,
smashing down upon them, hooding life in ocean black,
blocking the lungs that know nothing but a reflex
for air they try all day to squeeze from their chests
to die
on the floor of a cockle shore.
They dream of burial in a million watery shells.
Originally posted by FinsburyParkCarrots ... Some never love in colour
But need to love in grey,
And spoil new loves with dolour
From old chances thrown away?
I mean, hey!
See dawn, today?
Those reds,
those yellows?
No?
You ARE strange fellows,
indeed. Agreed? Oh.
halloo mr. fins... i'm a wicked busy girl... nice to see ms. maine out and about... just thought i'd say howdo...
i love a gray day
it's all technicolor thought blossoms
a reverse midnight star
and yet?
it is
Here's a lyric to a song I wrote. The guitar is tuned to CGDGAD (with the capo on the fourth fret) but the chord sequence is a bit complex for this time of night, so anyway, who cares, here are the words:
Have you bought yourself time?
Is your fortress safe from harm,
or is the enemy inside?
Your accounts: are they right?
Have you found oversights?
Is there something you've to hide?
You moved too fast -
your senses blurred to one
And loves don't last -
your first love made you run.....
(Chorus)
There's no faith in blame
in the people who stop to call
There's no faith in blame
Except in the first name of all....
Which you won't spell
(Instrumental break)
Another body in your bed
Keep them unsteady as your tread
(For after all, the first one lied).
A photoflash can take your soul:
You spend your flesh, you dance for all
You dance until the cancer's died
Skin is stretching -
Tighter on the bone
And the tide is scratching
The last place you had to run.....
(Chorus)
There's no faith inblame
In the people who stop to call
There's no faith in blame
Except in the first name of all
There's no faith in blame
Won't you lose your faith in blame
There's no faith in blame
Won't you lose your faith in .....
Originally posted by FinsburyParkCarrots I should be leaving you, hosts.
I've been neglecting my ghosts.
And we shall wait for a post
From the poet with the most
Fins, melikes the BLAME!
And dyao,
Lips of shadowed ancient stones
Encase reminiscent times;
Gateways release your breath
Alive in rich dream-color songs
Your music star-formed
Catalyses tree top jewel bright dances,
Spiraling into frenzied snowflake wonder
Winter blue cascades down into
Love’s lamp lit golden beams.
Enfold me into your eternal psalms,
That move the wave within me.
*sigh*, take my breath away...
{{{{{tenA}}}}}
Forget your perfect offering, there is a crack in everything, that's how the light gets in. - Leonard Cohen
"Irish poets, earn your trade,
Sing whatever is well made,
Scorn the sort now growing up
All out of shape from toe to top,
Their unremembering hearts and heads
Base-born products of base beds.
Sing the peasantry, and then
Hard-riding country gentlemen,
The holiness of monks, and after
Porter-drinkers' randy laughter;
Sing the lords and ladies gay
That were beaten into the clay
Through seven heroic centuries;
Cast your mind on other days
That we in coming days may be
Still the indomitable Irishry."
Slacker poets, ply your trade,
Sing what's only barely made.
Spurn those songs that reach the top
With Happiness and This Way Up,
Sung from smiley, bright-eyed heads
Rarely weighting down their beds.
Sing of "Woe is me" and then
Plagiarise some lines from "Ten",
Plus some song by Ten Years After,
Finished with a tag from "Daughter".
Don't make love to Marvin Gaye
But say your heart is made of clay
Then, rattle off your miseries;
Learn your craft, finding new ways
To speak of "I" and "my" and "me":
And you'll be the uncheerable Slacker-ry.
Originally posted by dyaogirl Lips of shadowed ancient stones
Encase reminiscent times;
Gateways release your breath
Alive in rich dream-color songs
Your music star-formed
Catalyses tree top jewel bright dances,
Spiraling into frenzied snowflake wonder
Winter blue cascades down into
Love’s lamp lit golden beams.
Enfold me into your eternal psalms,
That move the wave within me.
Comments
Love in an active voice.
and twisted as the dark and windworn boughs
The store for spring's deserting me - there's nothing for my ear
But echoes from the fleeing raingull's cries
The hands that gave are stripped and torn, my eyes let in the chill
The path to me is taken by the ice
And i will die like this, to let the stormwind have its will
If time has ceased to lend to me your voice
Before the ferns were red and still, before the river froze
you lay by me and sang, to match my bloom
and all the skies were stretched to light the one unbriared rose
Beneath my young and heavy blossom's gleam
There, the sunning meadows tossed their curls and kept us free
to whisper our wild love inside the breeze
Until an old wind swooped to tear life's flame away from me
The day the first bird rose out for the seas
Tonight will have the cries of wolves come sail through me again:
I'll amplify each near and hunting call.
If my dead frame can sound, to warn the deer that roams alone
to run, then I'll be pleased my heart is still.
If there's so sun returning here, the ravens are my stars
and on these mountain fields, no rose will grow:
the river will not thaw my love, unless you lend your voice -
Return the song that only my ear knew.
That's an older lyric that I used to sing. Strange to read it now. It almost seems to belong to another lifetime. Now, I'll write some new ones for today.
still none too express the agitation this poem causes in my head.
thank you for sharing
and in its contradiction of response,
Or seeming stagnance, see that rippled gleam
That might suggest true movement. If you sense
a hidden wave in what seems blanket still,
Write more, wind each desire, and you'll see
The willows nod and rustle, and you will
hear the rushing babble of the free
gush of water, brimming, charged with light
That is your reader's understanding heart.
Black woollen hat. Black bomber jacket. Gloves,
fingerless. Socks. Shoes, off. Skin, death grey.
Lips, blanched, vice tight. Eyes shut. She rarely moves,
Slouched at that 'private study' desk all day
(The one she comes to sleep at, from the street).
It's nearly June. She wants the window shut
that might let out the stench or ease the heat.
She's cold. Someone shouts out, "Kick out that mutt."
She snores. A man and woman enter now,
Their stagey whispers hissing in their ears
As they stand right above her. "God! I know
It's her!", this woman splutters, wiping jetted tears
from both her cheeks. "There's nothing we can do",
That man says, making distance. "Come, let's go."
Merlot bought from Eddie's market,
A bottle of glittering red,
and candlelight thriving on living room walls:
I travelled to you that first night.
I touched your goldenhair in rolling flow
And wept when you told of your love for me.
Under the dancing tongues of blazing wonder
I kissed your lips, lovebalmed for me.
Over oceans, but knowing the pulse of earth,
Sensing love's path of energy
between dimensions of stillness
I'll come tonight and hold you in my arms,
as I have every night since our first touch.
Oh, my love, my love,
Blissweaver ,
Jewelstar,
Earthpulse,
Heaven,
Home.
But need to love in grey,
And spoil new loves with dolour
From old chances thrown away?
I mean, hey!
See dawn, today?
Those reds,
those yellows?
No?
You ARE strange fellows,
indeed. Agreed? Oh.
the throats of holes in earth, they're not
stagnant mud, there. That's water.
Go up with your wellies.
Sink a boot down. Deeper! See now?
Well, Archimedes, look at the spawn rising,
brimming, spilling life. There's a flow!
Feel it lapping on the rubber, there.
A spring, nearby. This is water
from the ground, not just bucketed from above,
spat down from Slievemore's chin of
Desperate Dan quartzjaw blue,
And left to fester.
This is where you get your images of dull,
choking earth and strangled weeds,
But you don't even go up to the mud
and feel it!
Look there!
Feel! Hear! Here!
It's alive,
adance,
in play ....
See, see now, see
the greenness of the reeds?
Do, do now,
touch a posy,
Shining, hidden
on heatherpurpled headland;
Now, plod
Where otters plod,
Rustle onward
To love,
Where loving rustles are abundant
And know the rhythm of the pulse of mud
Harbouring small life.
Know the shimmerings of forms in rushing grass
And know the life of bogland.
Know of love.
Feeling happiness, most greatest feelings,
Love, turmoil, euphoria above all,
Words go pass me, when tempted to assay
The contraction of my body, brought forth by
Touch, or kiss, or deep look into your eyes…
Time will stop - the gap between filled
With nothing else arousing my curiosity.
Just colours of colours, but different colours
Stroke my eyes, escort me throughout.
Another time…
When shadow comes upon my heart,
When nightmares as release would serve,
When left alone in salvage of my body,
I write, I muse, I write again…
and in its contradiction of response,
Or seeming stagnance, see that rippled gleam
That might suggest true movement. If you sense
a hidden wave in what seems blanket still,
Write more, wind each desire, and you'll see
The willows nod and rustle, and you will
hear the rushing babble of the free
gush of water, brimming, charged with light
That is your reader's understanding heart.
Tears!
OMG!!!!!
I'd be honoured if you have some poems to share with Ophelia's nun. They'd water her tomato seeds and keep her forever free of the penguins.
I'm okay, thanks! Oh, and much, much thanks for sending my love to sweet cassia!!!!!!!!!
I've no water for the garden today but it is supposed to rain tonight so...I shall try to shoo those pesky pingu-ins away.
Ears an off the top a me 'ed little un:
I walked beside the drink
And the light said to me,
"Today is yours!"
So, I took her advice,
Embraced Today,
Then we held hands
And together went in search,
of beautiful Tomorrow.
SHOO!!
And how is you???????
That's down to Julie.
Oh, dyaogirl!
A golden dream
Of golden streams,
I'd sleep on the rising tide of your every breath...
Wake to drown in your kisses...
Soak in your succulence...
We'll live like the ocean...
Even if just a while...
Even if just a little while...
Stay with me, honeychile
Sweeten me with your honeysmiles
Even...
if...
just...
a...
while...
(it's a little drizzly, got me dizzy, in a tizzy, gave a little shout and these words just came spilling out...
Big Fan of the Blues Brothers as well! Now how would you type the rest of that song? hmmmuna hummana bibnbbalballa? somtheing like that maybe? haha
Love ya
(Angelina Jolie)
Encase reminiscent times;
Gateways release your breath
Alive in rich dream-color songs
Your music star-formed
Catalyses tree top jewel bright dances,
Spiraling into frenzied snowflake wonder
Winter blue cascades down into
Love’s lamp lit golden beams.
Enfold me into your eternal psalms,
That move the wave within me.
We've got Hendrix '69 jamming Spanish Castle Magic
in sync on Winamp, counted down fivey, fourey, three-ey ...
and you peek out your window to Mount Rainier
as I look out to the big fen skies,
and as that intro comes in, we're seeing that same gold
that ray of cloudtop spanishcastle windowlight
the golden ocean of sun waving through us both
spinning us together
in a spiral into oneness
Just let your mind float around.....
dig in their chests. Prostrate, like this, all day,
they lay, their arms outstretched beyond their sight,
their hands ungloved and tattered, fumbling
between coarse quartz slabs
for a fingergrip of a shell, an oxymoron,
that familiar hardsmooth touch of brittle softness.
Their necks ache from lifting their heads to the tide,
Greyclouded film, mist, drizzle, sea,
foam spluttering, all nothing, eye-level to their gaze.
Rocks bruise their thighs under oilskin slacks,
and their dull pleasant ache marks the defeat in resistance,
the pride in mad patience defying madness,
the futility of grappling face down in ocean rockpools
from tide to tide, for life in death, and death in life.
Maybe the bucket bottom might be covered yet,
Maybe they'll get a drink in the evening,
Or maybe the currents will turn from Blackrock,
hurrying, waving, merciful, lapping overhead,
smashing down upon them, hooding life in ocean black,
blocking the lungs that know nothing but a reflex
for air they try all day to squeeze from their chests
to die
on the floor of a cockle shore.
They dream of burial in a million watery shells.
halloo mr. fins... i'm a wicked busy girl... nice to see ms. maine out and about... just thought i'd say howdo...
i love a gray day
it's all technicolor thought blossoms
a reverse midnight star
and yet?
it is
love to you
The worst non-elected president of all time will always be worse than the worst elected non-president of all time.
Have you bought yourself time?
Is your fortress safe from harm,
or is the enemy inside?
Your accounts: are they right?
Have you found oversights?
Is there something you've to hide?
You moved too fast -
your senses blurred to one
And loves don't last -
your first love made you run.....
(Chorus)
There's no faith in blame
in the people who stop to call
There's no faith in blame
Except in the first name of all....
Which you won't spell
(Instrumental break)
Another body in your bed
Keep them unsteady as your tread
(For after all, the first one lied).
A photoflash can take your soul:
You spend your flesh, you dance for all
You dance until the cancer's died
Skin is stretching -
Tighter on the bone
And the tide is scratching
The last place you had to run.....
(Chorus)
There's no faith inblame
In the people who stop to call
There's no faith in blame
Except in the first name of all
There's no faith in blame
Won't you lose your faith in blame
There's no faith in blame
Won't you lose your faith in .....
blame
blame
blame
I've been neglecting my ghosts.
And we shall wait for a post
From the poet with the most
Fins, melikes the BLAME!
And dyao,
Lips of shadowed ancient stones
Encase reminiscent times;
Gateways release your breath
Alive in rich dream-color songs
Your music star-formed
Catalyses tree top jewel bright dances,
Spiraling into frenzied snowflake wonder
Winter blue cascades down into
Love’s lamp lit golden beams.
Enfold me into your eternal psalms,
That move the wave within me.
*sigh*, take my breath away...
Sing whatever is well made,
Scorn the sort now growing up
All out of shape from toe to top,
Their unremembering hearts and heads
Base-born products of base beds.
Sing the peasantry, and then
Hard-riding country gentlemen,
The holiness of monks, and after
Porter-drinkers' randy laughter;
Sing the lords and ladies gay
That were beaten into the clay
Through seven heroic centuries;
Cast your mind on other days
That we in coming days may be
Still the indomitable Irishry."
Well......
I was thinking ....
Sing what's only barely made.
Spurn those songs that reach the top
With Happiness and This Way Up,
Sung from smiley, bright-eyed heads
Rarely weighting down their beds.
Sing of "Woe is me" and then
Plagiarise some lines from "Ten",
Plus some song by Ten Years After,
Finished with a tag from "Daughter".
Don't make love to Marvin Gaye
But say your heart is made of clay
Then, rattle off your miseries;
Learn your craft, finding new ways
To speak of "I" and "my" and "me":
And you'll be the uncheerable Slacker-ry.
Gotta laugh at ourselves occasionally, ya know!