Mira

This is pretty much all I know...

 

• This whole life thing is going to hurt like hell. It wouldn't be worth it if it didn't.

Apparently there is still reason to fear...

 

Thanks for the comments.

We have left the Nuclear Age

Have forgotten that we're gonna kill us all

The fallout washed over me like rays of the sun

Warm on my arms and upraised face

 

I've never once feared that I'd be vaporized

as I drew ragged breath under a meager desk

(I suppose my father had, I've never thought to ask)

I see signs for shelters and laugh.

 

I have seen a silo before,

seen it empty and derelict

The middle of the Arizona desert, 1995

But I can't understand what it was for

I can't comprehend Thermonuclear War

 

What ever happened to all that fear?

 

Hopped a train and said its goodbyes

Came back a moment later under different guise.

All your days should be great, Birthdays only better. Hope this one is.

Music softly blaring all around

And two dance slowly to the silent sound

A pair of hearts fill in for the missing drum's pound

The melody played out by their feet on the ground

They escape away to the place that they've found

A place just beyond the night's hidden bound

And though the groups of people still surround

They are alone,

In love.

 

"Dispell this pernicious ennui"

I'm just going to quote Steinbeck on this one...

 

"A man is a lonely thing."

A subtle shift of languid light

Slips lazily through the curtians

Red tinted but bloodless

Rebounds off

The old grandfather clock

And ancient vase

That stand in the corner

As silent sentinels

Who watch over me

With gazes of contempt

As I lie lifeless on the floor

As always, I thank you for your comments Wyvern.

My decisions have to be made after dark

For they can not stand the light of day

Under the accusing light of the sun

I stand powerless to act

Immobilized by a single castigating ray

But with the sun safe in bed

My soul is set free

And I am granted the will to act

To finally let the me be me

 

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

 

Naked with the lights on

I'm ugly; perverse.

Hewn from soft sandstone; an unrhythmic verse.

But as the lights fade and finally die

My mind leaves my body and is set loose to fly

Wildly though the black open sea that is time.

Aimlessly though the open summer night sky.

 

I am allowed to dance with the questions that try,

With some measure of luck, to keep me awake as I lie

Upon my bed,

Still naked, now beautiful.

How evil are you?

Some slight changes

 

My rivers are dammed up

 

Jammed up

 

Straining to break free

 

 

 

And she won't take

 

and he won't take

 

and I won't take me as me

 

 

 

But what then?

 

When the levies break

 

and my world becomes the sea

 

What then my friend?

 

Can I continue to be?

 

 

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

 

 

Am I a young man who's stumbled into an old man's world,

 

Or are all of the old stuck in mine?

 

Blowing around like yesterday's news;

 

slightly soggy and past their prime.

 

Their moth-eaten ideas so covered in dust

 

are rendered useless to me

 

I've spent so long trying to get young

 

and now that I'm here I'll reserve my right

 

to disagree.

I've written these over the past twenty four hours. Hopefully I can do something with them later.

 

 

#68

 

The eldritch noise of AM radio waves

 

wakes me from my sleep

 

What time is it?

 

11pm or 3am

 

For all I know I might be dead

 

This is hell or purgatory

 

Surely not heaven, not for me

 

But I'll settle for this place;

 

out of time and out of space

 

An existence that may only lie within my mind

 

And a voice in the dark that sounds a lot like mine

 

Says "Go to sleep friend, it will be alright"

 

A lie

 

But I don't mind

 

 

 

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

 

 

My rivers are dammed up

 

Jammed up

 

Straining to break free

 

 

 

And she won't take

 

and he won't take

 

and I won't take me

 

 

 

But what then?

 

When the levies break

 

and my world becomes the sea

 

What then my friend?

 

Can I continue to be?

 

 

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

 

 

Am I a young man who's stumbled into an old man's world,

 

Or are all of the old stuck in mine?

 

Blowing around like yesterday's news;

 

slightly soggy and decades past their prime.

 

Their moth-eaten ideas so covered in dust

 

are rendered useless to me

 

I've spent so long trying to get young

 

and now that I'm here I'll reserve my right to disagree.

 

 

You know I'm glad you're back.

A very Lo-Fi demo of this song can be found here Thanks for listening.

 

 

Verse 1:

Dusts commin' up on a westbound wind

It blows me away and I'm gone

I'm livin my life on a hope and a prayer

And a worn out, torn out song

 

Chorus:

Well take me away from here

I need to get out of this place

Make me afraid of fear

And wipe the smile off my face

 

Verse 2:

I'm ten thousand miles from where I've been

And ten thousand from where I'm goin'

I've grown so tired of the same old thing

So sick of what's right and what's wrong

Chorus:

Take me away from here

I need to get out of this place

Make me afraid of fear

And wipe the smile off my face

 

Verse 3:

Been shovelin' smoke for twenty years

Please tell me this 's not where I belong

I thought I'd grow out of my teenage fears

Well it looks like I was wrong

Chorus:

Take me away from here

I need to get out of this place

Make me afraid of fear

Wipe the smile off my face

 

Take me away from here

Just throw me into outer space

 

Wipe the smile off my face

Wipe the smile off my face

Wipe the smile off my face

Congratulations to all.

April 10, 2006.

 

A Supermarket in California

Allen Ginsberg

 

What thoughts I have of you tonight, Walt Whitman, for I

walked down the sidestreets under the trees with a headache

self-conscious looking at the full moon.

In my hungry fatigue, and shopping for images, I went into

the neon fruit supermarket, dreaming of your enumerations!

What peaches and what penumbras! Whole families shopping at

night! Aisles full of husbands! Wives in the avocados, babies in the

tomatoes!--and you, Garcia Lorca, what were you doing down by the

watermelons?

 

I saw you, Walt Whitman, childless, lonely old grubber,

poking among the meats in the refrigerator and eyeing the grocery

boys.

I heard you asking questions of each: Who killed the pork

chops? What price bananas? Are you my Angel?

I wandered in and out of the brilliant stacks of cans

following you, and followed in my imagination by the store detective.

We strode down the open corridors together in our solitary

fancy tasting artichokes, possessing every frozen delicacy, and never

passing the cashier.

 

Where are we going, Walt Whitman? The doors close in an

hour. Which way does your beard point tonight?

(I touch your book and dream of our odyssey in the

supermarket and feel absurd.)

Will we walk all night through solitary streets? The trees

add shade to shade, lights out in the houses, we'll both be lonely.

Will we stroll dreaming of the lost America of love past

blue automobiles in driveways, home to our silent cottage?

Ah, dear father, graybeard, lonely old courage-teacher, what

America did you have when Charon quit poling his ferry and you got out

on a smoking bank and stood watching the boat disappear on the black

waters of Lethe?

 

 

[This is the first Ginsberg poem I ever read, and is still one of my

all-time favorites. There are a lot of similarities between Ginsberg

and Walt Whitman, maybe the most famous American poet, who wrote a

hundred years earlier. Both wrote poetry for and about ordinary

people, used a style that's almost conversational, and were gay.

Ginsberg teases out the similarities here, especially the loneliness

of being gay in America: "through solitary streets ... home to our

silent cottage." I adore the strange dreaminess of this, and the

vivid language and images. What peaches and what penumbras!]*

* Commentary is by the Yahoo user who created and chose these poems. I wish I could say I have some idea of who she is, but I honestly don't. Contact me if you're interested in some links that can give you more information about her or her Yahoo newsgroup.

I love Ginsberg and Whitman, so this poem is wonderful. I do not however agree with some of the comments made by the Yahoo Reviewer.

Congratulations.

Thanks for the comments all.



Well damn the ubiquitous They

But They say
And They say

They say that I've gone away
To boldly flee another day
To form my image in brittle clay
Well I think this time I'll decide to stay
For just one more act in this endless play
For just one more stroll down this forgotten way
Beneath the moon, and the stars, and the trees

Thank you for the comments both of you.

 

 

 

 

As for the whole italics thing if you looked back at my works almost everyone of the 66 or more poems posted here are italicized. Its just something I do, though I understand what you're saying about the "They"'s not sticking out. Also as far as the first line of the third stanza goes, I debated about removing the first two words, but decided to keep them since I felt it gave it a bit more lyrical quality when read aloud. I suppose I'm just going to have to record it or something.

Damn the ubiquitous "They"

Well They say
And They say

They say that I've gone away
To boldly flee another day
To form my image in brittle clay
Well I think this time I'll decide to stay
For just one more act in this endless play
For just one more stroll down this forgotten way
Beneath the moon, and the stars, and the trees

Sorry I didn't say it earlier....

 

 

Thank You.

Eh, Harry Potter wasn't that good; mostly over hyped. The characters stay pretty much the same through the six or so most dynamic years of their lives and despite mountains of ineptitude, always seem to come out on top.

 

As for really good books...

 

I'd have to say the best book I've read lately has either been John Steinbeck's "East of Eden" or Jack Kerouac's "On The Road" both of which left me speechless.

 

Oh, and on a book related note I have some sad news. Jim Rigney, a.k.a. Robert Jordan, the author of one of the most successful fantasy series of recent years, The Wheel of Time, has been diagnosed with amyloidosis and been told he's got around 4 years to live. I hope he beats the disease, and from the press release he sent out last week, it sounds like he fully intends to.

Some recent good films I've watched were...

 

Good Night, and Good Luck, Jarhead, The Weather Underground, No Direction Home, The Station Agent, and Blade Runner.

Cool

Sorry, this one's a little silly and not all that good, but I was bored on my lunch today.

I have no room for waste or error
My words they must be terse
Writing on napkins I fear
Has proved to be a dreadful curse
And even though its just begun
This poem has reached its end
Punctuated by a ketchup stain
I once had called my friend