Poems Of Any Length

[Moontanman]

Pine trees

 

If time were a direction, down the street,

around the bend, and the further I walked the younger I would be

 

And I could spend an afternoon visiting the past as easy as walking to the lake

 

I would take the direction that leads to a long winding road at the top of a hill

 

Where tall pine trees sway in the breeze, where a young girl with flaming hair waits for me

 

Her blue eyes shine with joy, with lips as sweet as rose petals covered in honeydew

 

If I could again drink deeply of the innocent love that was given to me

 

No distance would be to far to walk; nothing could stop my feet as I walked along that time twisted street

 

To kiss your neck, smell your hair, feel your young heart beating next to mine, look into your eyes so blue

 

How many times would I make that trip to a rendezvous addictive as any drug and just as sure not to last?

 

How did those moments feel to you? Did your heart beat with fear or was it desire?

 

How often would you make the trip along that time twisted path to relive those moments of romance?

 

What would be the cost of each of those trips? Would you trade one day of your future for a day of the past

 

To kiss your sweet young lips, to see the blush between the freckles on your face would be worth any price

 

I am afraid I would walk that past until my future was gone, until only a ghost would walk the street

 

Or maybe I would only walk the twisted street once, pull you up on my motorbike and take you away

 

But would you give up all that has passed into this future for another unsure future roll of life’s dice

 

The past is gone, the future is fixed, but we still have the memories of those days under the tall pines

 

Michael Hissom

[Moontanman]

the Stars Beckon

 

 

Once When Men Looked At The Stars, They Saw Gods

They Prayed And Begged But The Stars Gave Them Not Even A Nod

 

Them Men Became Wise And Saw The Stars As Distant Suns

Trips To These Distant Lights Were Planned In Fun

 

Then The Earth Became Small, And Men Looked At The Sky

Those Worlds Looked Like The Answer To The Crowded Earth’s Cry

 

But The Wise Men Who Make The Rules, The Ones Who Decide

Said “not Yet, We Must Protect Ourselves From The Other Side.”

 

Weapons Of, War, That’s What We Need, More And More, With Godspeed

So They Bought And They Bought With Fear And Pride To Fuel Their Greed

 

So These Men, With No Thought Or Care, Borrowed From Those Yet To Be,

All The Wealth, The Coal, Oil, And Gas, Even The Last Of The Trees

 

When The Others Proved To Be No Longer A Threat

To Move To The Stars Looked Like A Sure Bet

 

But Again The Men, The Men So Sure Their Wisdom Knew No Bounds

Said, “not Yet, To Solve Our Problems, More Wealth Must Be Found.”

 

But Men Made More Men, And The Cry For More Room Grew Louder Still

And Our World Grew Smaller And, And The Future Was Stolen To Pay The Bill

 

One Day The Men In Control Saw The Wealth Had Run Out

Suddenly The Wisdom Of These Wise Men Knew The Pain Of Doubt

 

They Said “where Are Voices That Planned For The Stars?”

The Answer Was “ We Traded Them For More Boats, Planes, And Cars”

 

So The Wise Men Looked For The Riches It Would Take To Reach The Sky

But Nothing Remained, No Oil, No Trees, Not Even Birds On High

 

Just A Small Foul Planet, With Men To Spare

A World Pillaged, Now Filled With Dispair

 

Many Years Later, In The Sky, Appears A New Light

A Mighty Vessel, A Starship, Looks Down From A Height

 

No Longer Do The Works Of Man Dominate The Veiw

Just Clean Air, Pristine Forests, And Oceans Of Blue

 

When These Visitors Stride Across What Was Once Our Land

Through Moldering Cities Built At Mans Command

 

Our Epitaph Transcends The Barriers Of Species And Time

Screams Out From The Ruins The Story Of Our Crime

 

We Took No Bold Steps, We Got What Men Crave

We Provided For Everyone, From Cradel To Grave!

 

 

Michael Hissom

[Tarantism]

I love all of you for making art here. :shrug:

[Tarantism]

Norse code is awakened inside the figure eight

humbled through centuries of muttered beeps

tablature on skinny paper,

and the language is trascribed in dots

dots that drip down the spine in colors of orange, yellow and indago glow

you could see it in an x-ray if you drained your latrine.

 

Scales come from these words;

"I guess you could call them words,

the languages of the past smell and sound like the bellowing of birds

and the screaming of beasts to me".

 

THERE ARE MORE NOTES THAN A-G, infact the extend infinitely

across the sea and through the trees

towards the infinity that is me,

the thing that slowly and surely spouts from these seeds

magic beans, the beginning on which the tree leans

 

wait, that isn't me, it already happened and I am happening

now is not then, and the future is now and soon to be constantly arriving.

[Turtle]

not by me, but of me. muchas gracias y salute monsieurs bierce y delaso! :friday:

 

source

TORTOISE, n.

A creature thoughtfully created to supply occasion for the following lines by the illustrious Ambat Delaso:

TO MY PET TORTOISE

 

My friend, you are not graceful -- not at all;

Your gait's between a stagger and a sprawl.

 

Nor are you beautiful: your head's a snake's

To look at, and I do not doubt it aches.

 

As to your feet, they'd make an angel weep.

'Tis true you take them in whene'er you sleep.

 

No, you're not pretty, but you have, I own,

A certain firmness -- mostly you're [sic] backbone.

 

Firmness and strength (you have a giant's thews)

Are virtues that the great know how to use --

 

I wish that they did not; yet, on the whole,

You lack -- excuse my mentioning it -- Soul.

 

So, to be candid, unreserved and true,

I'd rather you were I than I were you.

 

Perhaps, however, in a time to be,

When Man's extinct, a better world may see

 

Your progeny in power and control,

Due to the genesis and growth of Soul.

 

So I salute you as a reptile grand

Predestined to regenerate the land.

 

Father of Possibilities, O deign

To accept the homage of a dying reign!

 

In the far region of the unforeknown

I dream a tortoise upon every throne.

 

I see an Emperor his head withdraw

Into his carapace for fear of Law;

 

A King who carries something else than fat,

Howe'er acceptably he carries that;

 

A President not strenuously bent

On punishment of audible dissent --

 

Who never shot (it were a vain attack)

An armed or unarmed tortoise in the back;

 

Subject and citizens that feel no need

To make the March of Mind a wild stampede;

 

All progress slow, contemplative, sedate,

And "Take your time" the word, in Church and State.

 

O Tortoise, 'tis a happy, happy dream,

My glorious testudinous regime!

 

I wish in Eden you'd brought this about

By slouching in and chasing Adam out.

[Michaelangelica]

SAID HANRAHAN

by John O'Brien

 

 

"We'll all be rooned," said Hanrahan,

In accents most forlorn,

Outside the church, ere Mass began,

One frosty Sunday morn.

 

 

The congregation stood about,

Coat-collars to the ears,

And talked of stock, and crops, and drought,

As it had done for years.

 

 

"It's looking crook," said Daniel Croke;

"Bedad, it's cruke, me lad,

For never since the banks went broke

Has seasons been so bad."

 

 

"It's dry, all right," said young O'Neil,

With which astute remark

He squatted down upon his heel

And chewed a piece of bark.

 

 

And so around the chorus ran

"It's keepin' dry, no doubt."

"We'll all be rooned," said Hanrahan,

"Before the year is out."

 

 

"The crops are done; ye'll have your work

To save one bag of grain;

From here way out to Back-o'-Bourke

They're singin' out for rain.

 

 

"They're singin' out for rain," he said,

"And all the tanks are dry."

The congregation scratched its head,

And gazed around the sky.

 

 

"There won't be grass, in any case,

Enough to feed an ***;

There's not a blade on Casey's place

As I came down to Mass."

 

 

"If rain don't come this month," said Dan,

And cleared his throat to speak -

"We'll all be rooned," said Hanrahan,

"If rain don't come this week."

 

 

A heavy silence seemed to steal

On all at this remark;

And each man squatted on his heel,

And chewed a piece of bark.

 

 

"We want an inch of rain, we do,"

O'Neil observed at last;

But Croke "maintained" we wanted two

To put the danger past.

 

 

"If we don't get three inches, man,

Or four to break this drought,

We'll all be rooned," said Hanrahan,

"Before the year is out."

 

 

In God's good time down came the rain;

And all the afternoon

On iron roof and window-pane

It drummed a homely tune.

 

 

And through the night it pattered still,

And lightsome, gladsome elves

On dripping spout and window-sill

Kept talking to themselves.

 

 

It pelted, pelted all day long,

A-singing at its work,

Till every heart took up the song

Way out to Back-o'-Bourke.

 

 

And every creek a banker ran,

And dams filled overtop;

"We'll all be rooned," said Hanrahan,

"If this rain doesn't stop."

 

 

And stop it did, in God's good time;

And spring came in to fold

A mantle o'er the hills sublime

Of green and pink and gold.

 

 

And days went by on dancing feet,

With harvest-hopes immense,

And laughing eyes beheld the wheat

Nid-nodding o'er the fence.

 

 

And, oh, the smiles on every face,

As happy lad and lass

Through grass knee-deep on Casey's place

Went riding down to Mass.

 

 

While round the church in clothes genteel

Discoursed the men of mark,

And each man squatted on his heel,

And chewed his piece of bark.

 

 

"There'll be bush-fires for sure, me man,

There will, without a doubt;

We'll all be rooned," said Hanrahan,

"Before the year is out."

 

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Around the Boree Log and Other Verses, 1921

:);)

SAID HANRAHAN by John O'Brien (1878 - 1952)

[Loricybin]

˙puǝɔsuɐɹʇ

[Pyrotex]

In Search of Relativity

by Nelson Thompson

 

 

There may be a time that we happen.

There may be a place where we are.

But they slip through our fingers like butter,

As we ponder the Universe afar.

 

There ought to be rules for the action.

We want to know all of the laws.

Understanding becomes our holiest grail,

As the Universe gives us pause.

 

But it's all so dreadfully difficult,

Not as easy as we think it should be.

(No one asked us for our opinions,

When the stars were put out to sea.)

 

It appears that space may be folded,

And time shifts and shrinks in its wake.

And the constancy of the damned speed of light

Creates in my mind such an ache.

 

Didn't Einstein say it was simple?

The Universe is elegant, sublime?

Yet the laws seem to me...

As arbitrary...

As the words in this doggerel rhyme.