deep wishes in a shiny bucket of stars
cassia
Posts: 277
deep wishes in a shiny bucket of stars
good morning cuz i think it’s good morning
somewhere maybe Africa or Australia and i
wanna be someplace warm where they grow
coffee and speak simple syllables and that’s not
condescending cuz i just wish life was easier
and i’m sorry, i can’t help it if my poems are
sad cuz even the beautiful poems about love
and nature if they look closer they’ll see
they’re poems about real sadness and i see
sadness in the golden rising of the sun or the
shimmering red dirt in my imaginary DreamLand
and kangaroos pretending to be polar bears
and can you ever really KNOW another
human being, or a tree or a red bird.
my heart is breaking softly as the snow,
a hundred words for snow and not one word
for the way i feel,
right now, remembering you and the way you looked
when the color melted at your feet and my eyes ran
back up making you a statue king surpassing the
sculptural velocity of cummings or Michelangelo.
And a bellydancer whispered please come back,
all green silks and nectarine chiffons and pure gold
idea of tassles leading me back to the caravan. But
i woke up, because my poems are full of sadness,
and I wanted to die. I wanted to stay alone in my
room till dust filled my marrow with songs from
times before frogs and angels. I want to say stars
but once when I was little they said stars were angels
only I want Stars to be stars, and stripped of metaphor,
being what they really are, big rocks or gassy condensed
swirlicues
shining brightly, shining alone in their room, only they
don’t know that thousands of sad stars are joining them
there and
I guess when I talk about stars, I am making a Metaphor
girlfriend you crack me up right now cuz I so hear you
looking deep in my ears and saying to me you are so
melodramatic here have some tequila and put on your
big earrings. Tight pants are uncomfortable but my ass
DOES look smaller and this might possibly be the best
of both worlds (if we dance)
ps.~
and
you know, it’s hard to be small, even tiny
and not-so-uniquly copycatting e.e.
who loved to use the little-egoed big EGO ‘i’
totally selfconscious
polka dotted i
on this new software, cuz it will AUTOmatically
change the ii to I
and so you have to like type ii and then go back
and delete a part of yourself.....
And iloveyoualways, even more than my own sadness
and she’s so sad, that when she smiles, the sun rains down
and when it snows
it snows
white butterflies
***
QANIPALAAT
When snow is all you have, sounds
form like snow on your tongue. Falling
begins with invisibility and undiscovered
syllables. It crystallizes, slowly.
Uniquely. Time turns to ice and you
carve meaning white on white on frozen
water. Deep soft snow. Snow like butterflies.
Rabbit-furred clumps of snow. Snow settling.
Snow airborne, falling, drifting.
Fine dust of snow, pinhead small. But always,
Falling. The world is snow, and there is
a word.
*'feathery clumps of falling snow' qanipalaat
****
ii.
deep wishes in a shiny bucket of stars (because you said my poems are full of sadness and that I’m condescending/which I Am but to those who don’t know the meaning of “condescending...”)
and it got me to thinkin’ hey right: and maybe....yeh, a soul doesn’t want to be recognized...and maybe Just Maybe a person writes beautiful happy transcendent poems in Order to be happy beautiful transcendent...when life, uh, ISN’T and maybe just maybe that’s why (some of us) are impelled into the POEM ....in lieu of living life skimmingly on the surface of things...we love words
and can make word pies all day long
like strawberry
or pecan
and the best poems are about love, cuz love’s the best thing there is, only it gets so Cliche and people get vomitty feeling if they see another word spelled LOVE and I understand that. But the letters l-o-v-e are just a symbol for the MOST AWESOME VIBRATORY THRILL and ultimate experience of beauty Ahhhhhhhhh (And all the pervy minds get hung up on vibratory and someone out on left field starts up the redundant spanking again, and we all collapse into giggles and isn’t posting poetry on a message board kinda uh, self-pleasuring...so to speak....)
Well, I’m all for THAT
smurfette
good morning cuz i think it’s good morning
somewhere maybe Africa or Australia and i
wanna be someplace warm where they grow
coffee and speak simple syllables and that’s not
condescending cuz i just wish life was easier
and i’m sorry, i can’t help it if my poems are
sad cuz even the beautiful poems about love
and nature if they look closer they’ll see
they’re poems about real sadness and i see
sadness in the golden rising of the sun or the
shimmering red dirt in my imaginary DreamLand
and kangaroos pretending to be polar bears
and can you ever really KNOW another
human being, or a tree or a red bird.
my heart is breaking softly as the snow,
a hundred words for snow and not one word
for the way i feel,
right now, remembering you and the way you looked
when the color melted at your feet and my eyes ran
back up making you a statue king surpassing the
sculptural velocity of cummings or Michelangelo.
And a bellydancer whispered please come back,
all green silks and nectarine chiffons and pure gold
idea of tassles leading me back to the caravan. But
i woke up, because my poems are full of sadness,
and I wanted to die. I wanted to stay alone in my
room till dust filled my marrow with songs from
times before frogs and angels. I want to say stars
but once when I was little they said stars were angels
only I want Stars to be stars, and stripped of metaphor,
being what they really are, big rocks or gassy condensed
swirlicues
shining brightly, shining alone in their room, only they
don’t know that thousands of sad stars are joining them
there and
I guess when I talk about stars, I am making a Metaphor
girlfriend you crack me up right now cuz I so hear you
looking deep in my ears and saying to me you are so
melodramatic here have some tequila and put on your
big earrings. Tight pants are uncomfortable but my ass
DOES look smaller and this might possibly be the best
of both worlds (if we dance)
ps.~
and
you know, it’s hard to be small, even tiny
and not-so-uniquly copycatting e.e.
who loved to use the little-egoed big EGO ‘i’
totally selfconscious
polka dotted i
on this new software, cuz it will AUTOmatically
change the ii to I
and so you have to like type ii and then go back
and delete a part of yourself.....
And iloveyoualways, even more than my own sadness
and she’s so sad, that when she smiles, the sun rains down
and when it snows
it snows
white butterflies
***
QANIPALAAT
When snow is all you have, sounds
form like snow on your tongue. Falling
begins with invisibility and undiscovered
syllables. It crystallizes, slowly.
Uniquely. Time turns to ice and you
carve meaning white on white on frozen
water. Deep soft snow. Snow like butterflies.
Rabbit-furred clumps of snow. Snow settling.
Snow airborne, falling, drifting.
Fine dust of snow, pinhead small. But always,
Falling. The world is snow, and there is
a word.
*'feathery clumps of falling snow' qanipalaat
****
ii.
deep wishes in a shiny bucket of stars (because you said my poems are full of sadness and that I’m condescending/which I Am but to those who don’t know the meaning of “condescending...”)
and it got me to thinkin’ hey right: and maybe....yeh, a soul doesn’t want to be recognized...and maybe Just Maybe a person writes beautiful happy transcendent poems in Order to be happy beautiful transcendent...when life, uh, ISN’T and maybe just maybe that’s why (some of us) are impelled into the POEM ....in lieu of living life skimmingly on the surface of things...we love words
and can make word pies all day long
like strawberry
or pecan
and the best poems are about love, cuz love’s the best thing there is, only it gets so Cliche and people get vomitty feeling if they see another word spelled LOVE and I understand that. But the letters l-o-v-e are just a symbol for the MOST AWESOME VIBRATORY THRILL and ultimate experience of beauty Ahhhhhhhhh (And all the pervy minds get hung up on vibratory and someone out on left field starts up the redundant spanking again, and we all collapse into giggles and isn’t posting poetry on a message board kinda uh, self-pleasuring...so to speak....)
Well, I’m all for THAT
smurfette
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"and she’s so sad, that when she smiles, the sun rains down
and when it snows
it snows
white butterflies"
and butter pecan pies.
haha just had a Butter Pecan icecream cone Last Night...
the butterfinger chunk Looks good,
but really ISN'T....ooh yeh/ Butter Pecan is A-OK fabulo
(which leads redundantly to the tight pants...)
{{{{{{{{{{belightning}}}}}}}}
i think pe can
i think pe can
i know pe can
i know pe can
hey, is there an echo
in
here
My name is Pumpkin (pie, if you please). Have you seen Peter?
or
Just pe cans
I think pe can
I think pe can
I know pe can
I know pe can
Just needs a little butter to grease 'er up!
And you are SOOOOOOOOO right! There is a major ehco chamber in here, my dear!
Love to you for the smiles, sunshine!
ps. and that ass in tight pants---jesus girl---I just gots to...I can't help it...I just must...that ass be so fine...
SPANK!
LOVE~~~
tambien
si si we salsa in lowrise jeans til the weeny hours of dawn
ole
SONRISA
chiquita hermosa
te amo
cuando
todo los nubes
dicen
Hasta lluego
salsa yr ass off....syao-chica
meringue
2
CALIENTE ***********
muy bueno
and the paper yesterday reporting
on Japanese Snow Flowers, since
each flake unique as flower beuatiful, and sad slow long
wonderful spins and the world comes crashing in sometimes
as if
we accidently let reality
out of its box
stuck up on some closet shelf someplace where we left it,
so let us
sing of the angel stars,
let us romp in the golden dawn of Africa AND Australia,
let us rock on and wash the sadness in the new pecan sun-
day
of newfound blissjoy,
yes my lover,
the pain in the sadness washed from the past
reverbs in present tones
(sadly)
sometimes, but
we are making new reality here, new dreams,
new snow flowers and butterflies,
and how you feel has no word to describe it
which means it is new--
redefining itself
from the words of the past since that
is the limitation
imposed by old languages,
but lingua et. fortuna
and newwords
newworlds
can be made,
and SMACK!
I LOVE YR ASS!
& I AM all over that!
And the beauty of the sadness is that it returns in new light with little smiles and flowers of spring, snow flowers cycling forth into new becomings,
and "I must remember the sadness in order to know that I am happy,"
as yin
requires yang
to make a snowball,
or the sun.
As we truly search to know the OTTER human,
and in that blend of euphoric joy and sadness
is true Beauty:
go deep, no more surface skimming in the muck
(as I always say, yes!).
deep innies
beauteous joy
inside a soulsea
waves washing
new words formed
like strata lain upon
the bottoms, rebuilt,
renewed, emergent,
burying the what-went-before
in a new geologica:
and the sun needs the moon
to understand Beauty
as the moon needs the sun
to understand darkness.
Soft words for snow: ice cream
(butter pecan word pies, butterflies, snow flowers)
you/I--
that's all we need
(love IS all we need)
& I am grateful.
ILY
yr guy
phishgod
I have been DYING to get back to this and i am glad i remembered, cuz life is like that you know??? paved with good intentions??? and then we stay up too early and it's gone...
but it's not gone this time, and neither are you and for that i am happy....
i know to where this aims
now let me eluse (is that a word?)
the pond was getting all murkied up with seriously daft
anaerobic microcosms thoughtbound to timefully young-stylied things... young as in soulyoung, as in "this is the first time my heart ever got broke, no it t'weren't no thang, but i gots a song about it, like to hear it? here it go..." (the reg's muses were all in tahiti getting tans or someshit) and it was over and over the hill and dale and back again like jack and jill put their crowns back together with spit. Grok? Vomit??? No? and then.........
here come the ion bouncers
the thought trogers
the experienced
the read referenced
tons of 'em...
like WAY over ole yella's head
WAY WAY WAY
like i could never even think to say those things
or refer to those things
and things was all getting like,
ooh
I AM A HAYSEED
and i was emotin' this to two
you see what i mean?
it was just a blip
a november in our february
a thankgiving lost heart
which we are (no joke)
{and why i puked that one time}
but i sing threnodies no more because i have been part of a wish in a deep shiney buckey
MUCH love in this
dear lassia
i swear the roller coaster is truly neverending because i believe
i believe what my heart
and my chemistry tells me
though sense screams
that it's wrong all wrong
and should not be
exists only in my mind
but my body remembers
the tastes and smells
that really happened
and it still says
there's much more to come
something great and beautiful
luscious and precious
a private glorious party
where anything is allowed
within the framework
of the blessed couple
only then can i release
this extraordinary wait
{{{felicity}}} this truly elegantly rocks.
thank you for such a
wonderful weave, posted here...i am honored.
yes
yes
I CAN FEEL IT TOO,
a sensual gravity
of Becoming
so near
so near
(the taste,
the tiny quivers)
yes, yes Excellent in beauty
time-precious
the delirious waiting
godyes, so good
Exactly
and i love it when you get
all mind twirled
and
flowy ~~
ride the wave
(good to back/& love)
you
so
get
it
Reflecting love's soar as the night's mountainbird
Love spins roundround my LUNA love girl
when she's dancingbrightlaughingreleasing the world:
Yahoo!
I'm bejewelled!
It is languid.
It is decadent in sound and subject matter.
It is funny and flattering and makes a good first impression, but it is also up to no good.
In this music, time goes sideways
When it goes anywhere at all.
It is four o’clock on a Thursday afternoon and we are at your apartment when we should be at work
The sun shows green through five Rolling Rocks and quarter-full bottle of Tanqueray.
You close your eyes.
It is four o’clock on a Thursday morning and we are in a cab, lost in Chinatown when we should be home in bed.
“Why are we hiding from our friends?” you ask, and I only smile.
It is some time tomorrow
You are on a plane and no longer know what time zone you are in,
No longer know what time it is.
The stewardess brings a double Stoli on the rocks.
You sip it slowly and leave the olive,
Thinking about someone who won’t return your calls,
Someone whose underwear drawer you have recently been through, looking for clues.
You slip out your credit card and reach for the Airfone.
It is dreamtime.
You are in a room full of photographs, or maybe memories.
Everyone here is someone you’d rather not see
Coming this way: an old girlfriend who knows all your faults
And pretends to want to help
Far away, which exactly is where you’d like to be, there is a ticking, like a clock, only faster. Rhythm guitar. Rhythm guitar. Rhythm guitar.
You open your eyes.
--Joe Levy
Cyclone vistas
Valleys of chaos
universes between the sandgrains
Making 506 =
.506127
Koch curves of infinite reach
No boundaries beginning ending
Music is fractal
Love is fractal
Spiral into oneness
again and again and again
deeper
always
I guess