Now Ophelia, she's 'neath the window
For her I feel so afraid
On her twenty-second birthday
She already is an old maid
To her, death is quite romantic
She wears an iron vest
Her profession's her religion
Her sin is her lifelessness
And though her eyes are fixed upon
Noah's great rainbow
She spends her time peeking
Into Desolation Row
Down the street you can hear her scream youre a disgrace
As she slams the door in his drunken face
And now he stands outside
And all the neighbours start to gossip and drool
He cries oh, girl you must be mad,
What happened to the sweet love you and me had?
Against the door he leans and starts a scene,
And his tears fall and burn the garden green
Originally posted by FinsburyParkCarrots I love that song.
when i was 14 (yea yea a long time ago!!) i sat down once with a vinyl copy and wrote down the lyrics .. had to keep picking up the stylus and replaying til i got it all down.. i love this song also
Down the street you can hear her scream youre a disgrace
As she slams the door in his drunken face
And now he stands outside
And all the neighbours start to gossip and drool
He cries oh, girl you must be mad,
What happened to the sweet love you and me had?
Against the door he leans and starts a scene,
And his tears fall and burn the garden green
There's only one thing more spooky than people reading your thread at the same time
and that's guests reading your thread at the same time.
Especially when there are five guests reading your thread at the same time.
Five.
A man could start to get suspicious...
Originally posted by FinsburyParkCarrots There's only one thing more spooky than people reading your thread at the same time
and that's guests reading your thread at the same time.
Especially when there are five guests reading your thread at the same time.
Five.
A man could start to get suspicious...
you must watch the guests.. esp the ones who go through your medicine cabinet .. hehe
Down the street you can hear her scream youre a disgrace
As she slams the door in his drunken face
And now he stands outside
And all the neighbours start to gossip and drool
He cries oh, girl you must be mad,
What happened to the sweet love you and me had?
Against the door he leans and starts a scene,
And his tears fall and burn the garden green
her face lick so many i have seen,
is on my lips so like the beauty of her form,
fireballs and sunbeams are cadence to the spasms i cannot control
yet, it is within me to report that i am helpless,
for she is beautiful
she is so sweet
allows me to forget
for the moment
how frail and mortal
and momentary
we are
serve it to me woman!!
let's give this universe the bang it doth deserve!!
Down the street you can hear her scream youre a disgrace
As she slams the door in his drunken face
And now he stands outside
And all the neighbours start to gossip and drool
He cries oh, girl you must be mad,
What happened to the sweet love you and me had?
Against the door he leans and starts a scene,
And his tears fall and burn the garden green
Mistuh Eddie Vedder
is a clever lil' fella
An' our Stoney's pruddy talented too.
What'd make it even bedder
Is if Mistuh Eddie Vedder
would play along wid Stone on kazoo!!
Jeffy on de tea-chest
Mikey on de whistle
Matty on de spoons - an' it's
a purljum skiffle!
He liked to wear his difference like tweed
from Saville Row, fine cut. His clipped moustache
and wiry arms; his morning runs upon his 'steed';
His redbrick manor, set in Connaught rush:
these were the signs of Empire maintained
In spite of Independence and Partition.
Some loophole in the law saw he retained
his right as landlord, in the Land Commission.
But one dawn, in September 'thirty-nine
He was seen to run his fields red-eyed,
No shoes on, and unshaven, his once fine
cloth bog-muddied, jacket torn and frayed.
Villagers en masse had broken through
His pens that night, and led his cattle out
Toward the ocean tide, to drown. He knew
They would come for him, without a doubt.
Sixty-five years on, I see the red
stonemasonry moss bearded and worn down.
Underneath my boots' half-wary tread,
Rainsoaked rushes lie. The winds have blown
Down the chimney stacks. The door's unhinged.
This redbrick manor, roofless, wouldn't mind
the sheep, now, come a storm. And fringed
with rust, a placard reads a phrase you'll find
Used ironically now: Roman-engraved,
"Forever England." That's all time has saved.
Originally posted by FinsburyParkCarrots He liked to wear his difference like tweed
from Saville Row, fine cut. His clipped moustache
and wiry arms; his morning runs upon his 'steed';
His redbrick manor, set in Connaught rush:
these were the signs of Empire maintained
In spite of Independence and Partition.
Some loophole in the law saw he retained
his right as landlord, in the Land Commission.
But one dawn, in September 'thirty-nine
He was seen to run his fields red-eyed,
No shoes on, and unshaven, his once fine
cloth bog-muddied, jacket torn and frayed.
Villagers en masse had broken through
His pens that night, and led his cattle out
Toward the ocean tide, to drown. He knew
They would come for him, without a doubt.
Sixty-five years on, I see the red
stonemasonry moss bearded and worn down.
Underneath my boots' half-wary tread,
Rainsoaked rushes lie. The winds have blown
Down the chimney stacks. The door's unhinged.
This redbrick manor, roofless, wouldn't mind
the sheep, now, come a storm. And fringed
with rust, a placard reads a phrase you'll find
Used ironically now: Roman-engraved,
"Forever England." That's all time has saved.
i know this one
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.
Thanks, exhale, for being this poem's first audience! Ahh, when the Board goes down for a couple of hours for maintenance, one creates one's own poetry forum. Civilisation's not ruined yet...
Finsbury ruminates a friend's friend's suggestion of dramatising a Greek Tragedy in a space age setting:
Finsbury: Your friend could do Agamemnon set on another planet... Agamemnon has just returned from an intergalactic battle on Troia Six
Other person: lol
Finsbury: and his missus Klytemnaistra is shagging Lieutenant Bruce L. Aigisthos
Other person: LOL
Finsbury: and they plan to trick Agamemnon into stepping into the interstellar vortex vaporiser machine they had installed in Agamemnon's absence
Finsbury: and Agamemnon's son, Galactic Federation deputy Storm Orestres plots revenge
Finsbury: and neutralises his mother and her lover using a reverse polarity gravity neutron atomiser thingy
Finsbury: LMAO
Finsbury: yeah, that would work
Finsbury: Hello?
Finsbury: HELLO?
Finsbury: WHere have you gone?
Finsbury: HELLO????
and so, I shall pour a sprinkle of water upon a lovely garden, for cassia, you say...and I shouldn't want to disappoint the dear lady by having her return to a dry, parched desert where once moist and fertile soils allowed roses to climb and daisies (tripping ) to dance...
Setting
Stretched out on the grass
Sprwaled on my stomach
Staring up...
Granite confirming what I already knew.
A tear traced a path down my face,
Fell from chin,
Moistening the space between us.
And the sky hearing my plea
Opened up?
It came down fast and came down hard.
Made it feel allright to cry...To...
OPEN UP!
It saturated my entire being, it did.
I rolled onto my back and closed my eyes
And remembered
All of those things you said to me...
Still, forever held, a place there will be.
Forget your perfect offering, there is a crack in everything, that's how the light gets in. - Leonard Cohen
finsy...
finsy, finsy, finsy...
i can't even go there today, sorry... i do want your esteemed opinion on my writer's conundrum, i myself am ignorant in many ways...
and miss enlightened? i see your poem and love it, of course... there is a small part of me that can see it clearly, and yes... i think i know all about that
t-n-a's duct taped shut, in lock down at the moment... foaming
Originally posted by Being Enlightened and so, I shall pour a sprinkle of water upon a lovely garden, for cassia, you say...and I shouldn't want to disappoint the dear lady by having her return to a dry, parched desert where once moist and fertile soils allowed roses to climb and daisies (tripping ) to dance...
Setting
Stretched out on the grass
Sprwaled on my stomach
Staring up...
Granite confirming what I already knew.
A tear traced a path down my face,
Fell from chin,
Moistening the space between us.
And the sky hearing my plea
Opened up?
It came down fast and came down hard.
Made it feel allright to cry...To...
OPEN UP!
It saturated my entire being, it did.
I rolled onto my back and closed my eyes
And remembered
All of those things you said to me...
Still, forever held, a place there will be.
My dear B.E., it may be chilly on some of the other thread-deserts but this place is a warm and evergreen biosphere, and you are always welcome.
I had one of those naff toy milk cartons; it looked like the real thing. When you squeezed it, it went "mooooooooo." I think my Dad took it to work with him one day....Never saw it again...
Now, now the willow bough will lean headdown
upon the water, cool; her golden fronds
will be my lover's honeyhair at dawn,
Lain upon my naked breast. The bonds
of dark, that made the willow to the eye
appear blackshadowed by a revenant
of night, are broken in the willow's sigh
of weeping joy at dawning, woken want.
My love, my love: the ripplepulse that moves
in rhythm with the golden, windlipped leaves
will be the motion of a thousand loves
moved in the hearts of those within their graves
who know my lover's love for me; the bliss
of willow river dawn, within her kiss.
Just for my own reference, I'm going to plonk this sonnet I wrote for exhale's thread, down on this thread too! Hope no-one minds! Juss' keepin' thangs tidy, tharr....
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.
Bend down upon the bank. See how the bright
River shimmers, moving to your art.
Each time you breathe upon the stream, your goal
Comes nearer. See the river's quaking soul!
Well, ah woke up dis morning,
The rooster at the crossroads had my jelly roll
ah said ah woke up dis morning,
The rooster at the crossroads had my jelly roll
ah caught the howlin' prairie yawnin'
Wid a wind dat breezed intuh mah very soul
Dah hound had mange, dah cat had fleas
Mah mule had blistuhs on its chin
Ah said mah hound had mange, mah cat had fleas
Mah mule had blistuhs on its chin
Mah rabbit had mix mah toes sees
An mah hamstuh had dis stoopid lil' grin
Oh yeh, mah mojo rise before daylight
Mah John de Conqueror root rise too
Oh yeh, mah mojo rise before daylight
Mah John de Conqueror root rise too
Ah got me geeetar strung up juss' right
An' now ah'll playyy goood blooooes for you.....
For mah Girl Jooooolie, jussss for yooooooo!!!!!!!!!!!
Comments
pfft!
:P
i'd talk to kat and sea,
but you should know
the pay is probably for shit
ads come straight after emails
sending viruses?
Now Ophelia, she's 'neath the window
For her I feel so afraid
On her twenty-second birthday
She already is an old maid
To her, death is quite romantic
She wears an iron vest
Her profession's her religion
Her sin is her lifelessness
And though her eyes are fixed upon
Noah's great rainbow
She spends her time peeking
Into Desolation Row
As she slams the door in his drunken face
And now he stands outside
And all the neighbours start to gossip and drool
He cries oh, girl you must be mad,
What happened to the sweet love you and me had?
Against the door he leans and starts a scene,
And his tears fall and burn the garden green
when i was 14 (yea yea a long time ago!!) i sat down once with a vinyl copy and wrote down the lyrics .. had to keep picking up the stylus and replaying til i got it all down.. i love this song also
As she slams the door in his drunken face
And now he stands outside
And all the neighbours start to gossip and drool
He cries oh, girl you must be mad,
What happened to the sweet love you and me had?
Against the door he leans and starts a scene,
And his tears fall and burn the garden green
and that's guests reading your thread at the same time.
Especially when there are five guests reading your thread at the same time.
Five.
A man could start to get suspicious...
you must watch the guests.. esp the ones who go through your medicine cabinet .. hehe
As she slams the door in his drunken face
And now he stands outside
And all the neighbours start to gossip and drool
He cries oh, girl you must be mad,
What happened to the sweet love you and me had?
Against the door he leans and starts a scene,
And his tears fall and burn the garden green
You're right. It's time to lock up and head for the pub for an hour!
Before all this was a spinning ball shot from the sun
to dance its way ten million years or so.
And I shall see her face again
After the last waves hurl up their secrets,
After the earth sets free its fire
and after the sky decides to die.
is on my lips so like the beauty of her form,
fireballs and sunbeams are cadence to the spasms i cannot control
yet, it is within me to report that i am helpless,
for she is beautiful
she is so sweet
allows me to forget
for the moment
how frail and mortal
and momentary
we are
serve it to me woman!!
let's give this universe the bang it doth deserve!!
As she slams the door in his drunken face
And now he stands outside
And all the neighbours start to gossip and drool
He cries oh, girl you must be mad,
What happened to the sweet love you and me had?
Against the door he leans and starts a scene,
And his tears fall and burn the garden green
is a clever lil' fella
An' our Stoney's pruddy talented too.
What'd make it even bedder
Is if Mistuh Eddie Vedder
would play along wid Stone on kazoo!!
Jeffy on de tea-chest
Mikey on de whistle
Matty on de spoons - an' it's
a purljum skiffle!
Boom jus' fillin
On de harpsichord...chillin'.
from Saville Row, fine cut. His clipped moustache
and wiry arms; his morning runs upon his 'steed';
His redbrick manor, set in Connaught rush:
these were the signs of Empire maintained
In spite of Independence and Partition.
Some loophole in the law saw he retained
his right as landlord, in the Land Commission.
But one dawn, in September 'thirty-nine
He was seen to run his fields red-eyed,
No shoes on, and unshaven, his once fine
cloth bog-muddied, jacket torn and frayed.
Villagers en masse had broken through
His pens that night, and led his cattle out
Toward the ocean tide, to drown. He knew
They would come for him, without a doubt.
Sixty-five years on, I see the red
stonemasonry moss bearded and worn down.
Underneath my boots' half-wary tread,
Rainsoaked rushes lie. The winds have blown
Down the chimney stacks. The door's unhinged.
This redbrick manor, roofless, wouldn't mind
the sheep, now, come a storm. And fringed
with rust, a placard reads a phrase you'll find
Used ironically now: Roman-engraved,
"Forever England." That's all time has saved.
show you
new sky
and a yellow bird
changed
by rainbow light
red, green, blue
over dreaming treetops
free
A daughter's eyes
A mirror in the mirror
i know this one
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.
.... it's ruined....
NOW.
but on "second thought" (the name of the trojan horse that destroyed my stations net hook up today)...
being a fleshie ain't half bad...
i actually like it
my bod digs, too
can i get a witness?
i like "mirror" up there, btw
sweet piece
Finsbury: Your friend could do Agamemnon set on another planet... Agamemnon has just returned from an intergalactic battle on Troia Six
Other person: lol
Finsbury: and his missus Klytemnaistra is shagging Lieutenant Bruce L. Aigisthos
Other person: LOL
Finsbury: and they plan to trick Agamemnon into stepping into the interstellar vortex vaporiser machine they had installed in Agamemnon's absence
Finsbury: and Agamemnon's son, Galactic Federation deputy Storm Orestres plots revenge
Finsbury: and neutralises his mother and her lover using a reverse polarity gravity neutron atomiser thingy
Finsbury: LMAO
Finsbury: yeah, that would work
Finsbury: Hello?
Finsbury: HELLO?
Finsbury: WHere have you gone?
Finsbury: HELLO????
EDIT: I'm still waiting for a response...
Setting
Stretched out on the grass
Sprwaled on my stomach
Staring up...
Granite confirming what I already knew.
A tear traced a path down my face,
Fell from chin,
Moistening the space between us.
And the sky hearing my plea
Opened up?
It came down fast and came down hard.
Made it feel allright to cry...To...
OPEN UP!
It saturated my entire being, it did.
I rolled onto my back and closed my eyes
And remembered
All of those things you said to me...
Still, forever held, a place there will be.
finsy, finsy, finsy...
i can't even go there today, sorry... i do want your esteemed opinion on my writer's conundrum, i myself am ignorant in many ways...
and miss enlightened? i see your poem and love it, of course... there is a small part of me that can see it clearly, and yes... i think i know all about that
t-n-a's duct taped shut, in lock down at the moment... foaming
My dear B.E., it may be chilly on some of the other thread-deserts but this place is a warm and evergreen biosphere, and you are always welcome.
I had one of those naff toy milk cartons; it looked like the real thing. When you squeezed it, it went "mooooooooo." I think my Dad took it to work with him one day....Never saw it again...
upon the water, cool; her golden fronds
will be my lover's honeyhair at dawn,
Lain upon my naked breast. The bonds
of dark, that made the willow to the eye
appear blackshadowed by a revenant
of night, are broken in the willow's sigh
of weeping joy at dawning, woken want.
My love, my love: the ripplepulse that moves
in rhythm with the golden, windlipped leaves
will be the motion of a thousand loves
moved in the hearts of those within their graves
who know my lover's love for me; the bliss
of willow river dawn, within her kiss.
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.
Bend down upon the bank. See how the bright
River shimmers, moving to your art.
Each time you breathe upon the stream, your goal
Comes nearer. See the river's quaking soul!
The rooster at the crossroads had my jelly roll
ah said ah woke up dis morning,
The rooster at the crossroads had my jelly roll
ah caught the howlin' prairie yawnin'
Wid a wind dat breezed intuh mah very soul
Dah hound had mange, dah cat had fleas
Mah mule had blistuhs on its chin
Ah said mah hound had mange, mah cat had fleas
Mah mule had blistuhs on its chin
Mah rabbit had mix mah toes sees
An mah hamstuh had dis stoopid lil' grin
Play dah blooes...
Blues solo...
(Bars 1-4) Deeebooo doobeeedooo beedoooo
Yeeee bahh bahhh dahhh beee dayyy booo dooooo
Yeee boobeeedooo
Yassuh
(Bars 5-8) Yeeeee booo rooobeeedooobeeedooobeee
Reeeepooo dooobeeeee yeeeeebooooodoooobeeeee
Uh huh
(Bars 9-12) Yaaaaaaayble neeenaaafaaaddooo yabbbbbohhh
Ripp zappple yeeble zeeeeble doooooo
Peepibbledeebiddledeeepong, Yippledezonggggg.....
Oh yeh, mah mojo rise before daylight
Mah John de Conqueror root rise too
Oh yeh, mah mojo rise before daylight
Mah John de Conqueror root rise too
Ah got me geeetar strung up juss' right
An' now ah'll playyy goood blooooes for you.....
For mah Girl Jooooolie, jussss for yooooooo!!!!!!!!!!!