Stage Coaches, Hands No Longer - How It Is How I Am Otherly Conformed
...because in that moment you'll have gone so far
I'll wander mazily over all the earth, asking,
Will you come back? Will you leave me here, dying? - Pablo Nerud
You ask out of the blue: How are you?
(You want to test the waters first)
My answer: I thirst
Going into the wild west, I am
I am stage coaches
Hands no longer in my lap or yours
In a country of glow worms there are
no retreats only circles of wagons overturned
petticoats surrendered
ubiquitous white moon of buffalo skulls
curved horns
a spider web dew-dropped
between parted lips where
an arrow always misses/
rots the over-spun plot
thin thin
with only
you the
main
Me?
How now I am all scalp
and lips savaged free
untethered from the noun
the verb of thee
Who's driving the coach the dust will never reveal
poem by Warren Falcon
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Related quotes
Don't Go Far Off
Don't go far off, not even for a day, because --
because -- I don't know how to say it: a day is long
and I will be waiting for you, as in an empty station
when the trains are parked off somewhere else, asleep.
Don't leave me, even for an hour, because
then the little drops of anguish will all run together,
the smoke that roams looking for a home will drift
into me, choking my lost heart.
Oh, may your silhouette never dissolve on the beach;
may your eyelids never flutter into the empty distance.
Don't leave me for a second, my dearest,
because in that moment you'll have gone so far
I'll wander mazily over all the earth, asking,
Will you come back? Will you leave me here, dying?
poem by Pablo Neruda
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Pretty in Placerville
Hands are made for grasping
Gold, dust in brown canvass bags, nuggets
For teeth impressions.
Dust trails lead in and out
Of toil and thirst. The thirst for
Gold, soul of the merciless mine.
The gold is mine.
My fingers are worn short
From rolling in the abrasives;
My lips made thin by kissing
The sun come down to earth.
poem by Stan Petrovich
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In You The Earth
Little
rose,
roselet,
at times,
tiny and naked,
it seems
as though you would fit
in one of my hands,
as though I’ll clasp you like this
and carry you to my mouth,
but
suddenly
my feet touch your feet and my mouth your lips:
you have grown,
your shoulders rise like two hills,
your breasts wander over my breast,
my arm scarcely manages to encircle the thin
new-moon line of your waist:
in love you loosened yourself like sea water:
I can scarcely measure the sky’s most spacious eyes
and I lean down to your mouth to kiss the earth.
poem by Pablo Neruda
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In The Hair Full Of Wind I Will Tell Thee
Broad air thin breathe a good place to be
A sorrow here soon thereafter or forever
Alike, handshake heir in the land of ‘never’
In a fruit full of juices I will tell thee
The dust is the dust, ash - a dusk mask of glow
Colours spreading painted tainted hues of blue
Above the moon too high beneath the earth too low
The skyline’s a skull line made for me and you
In over bridged horizon the sun I will tell thee
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Blow, Bugle, Blow
THE splendour falls on castle walls
And snowy summits old in story:
The long light shakes across the lakes,
And the wild cataract leaps in glory.
Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying,
Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying.
O hark, O hear! how thin and clear,
And thinner, clearer, farther going!
O sweet and far from cliff and scar
The horns of Elfland faintly blowing!
Blow, let us hear the purple glens replying:
Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying.
O love, they die in yon rich sky,
They faint on hill or field or river:
Our echoes roll from soul to soul,
And grow for ever and for ever.
Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying,
And answer, echoes, answer, dying, dying, dying.
poem by Alfred Lord Tennyson
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The Splendor Falls
The splendor falls on castle walls
And snowy summits old in story:
The long light shakes across the lakes
And the wild cataract leaps in glory.
Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying,
Blow, bugle; answer, echoes dying, dying, dying.
O hark, O hear! how thin and clear,
And thinner, clearer, farther going!
O sweet and far from cliff and scar
The horns of Elfland faintly blowing!
Blow, let us hear the purple glens replying,
Blow, bugle; answer, echoes dying, dying, dying.
O love they die in yon rich sky,
They faint on hill or field, or river:
Our echoes roll from soul to soul,
And grow forever and forever.
Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying,
And answer, echoes, answer, dying, dying, dying.
poem by Alfred Lord Tennyson
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The Grammar Lesson
A noun's a thing. A verb's the thing it does.
An adjective is what describes the noun.
In "The can of beets is filled with purple fuzz"
of and with are prepositions. The's
an article, a can's a noun,
a noun's a thing. A verb's the thing it does.
A can can roll - or not. What isn't was
or might be, might meaning not yet known.
"Our can of beets is filled with purple fuzz"
is present tense. While words like our and us
are pronouns - i.e. it is moldy, they are icky brown.
A noun's a thing; a verb's the thing it does.
Is is a helping verb. It helps because
filled isn't a full verb. Can's what our owns
in "Our can of beets is filled with purple fuzz."
See? There's almost nothing to it. Just
memorize these rules...or write them down!
A noun's a thing, a verb's the thing it does.
The can of beets is filled with purple fuzz.
poem by Steve Kowit
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Verbs v. nouns
Nouns…
they’re dead things; names
you give to things to render them
immobile; to make them yours, your very own; fit for nothing
except scrapheaps, museums, dictionaries, armchairs;
but they make you feel good;
you have control over their world;
you don’t have to think about them any more;
they’re all locked up safe in your collecting-box,
the noun for which is head:
you can sound important with nouns:
this government’s raft of measures
for fiscal stimulation of the economy
but verbs… ah, verbs!
you can’t own them, push them about,
collect them, be important about them;
they own themselves;
they’re outdoor words: going about their
lawful business, doing what they're best at,
measuring their own life as they work;
adapting themselves to what needs to be done
which nouns can’t do without a committee
and then it’s too late; happy
to be themselves, being; even
being while they’re doing.. don't you wish
you were a verb?
Nature – (that’s a verb, by the way,
not a noun) – is all verbs; evolution
is a verb (not a theory):
DNA’s a verb – you can’t own it
like a noun…it doesn’t even
want to own you…
so, be a child – put your boots on,
run, splash, shout look at all those verbs;
how bright the world, what fun,
nothing to put in your pocket to take home
(or if you do, it’ll change to a noun, your noun,
in your pocket, in your drawer, gathering dust:
verbs don’t have the time to gather dust…)
verbs are for observing; verbs are for
seeing for the first time; wow! Verbs are for
inventors, explorers, tree-climbing,
coming home after a day of verb-watching
tired and looking forward to tomorrow
and sleeping soundly, maybe even
thanking, laughing, giving, living;
God is a verb.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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The Black Argument
Driving the moment
you swoop on the clock
expanding the grief of
blue mind.
You said,
I want to know the name
of spilled blood on the dirt road
to freedom of thoughts. The noun
was more repugnant than the verb.
The crowd was becoming
restive.
You cannot raise your children
by feeding them with your hands
and making them sleep in your bed.
Where were the books? the scraps
and waste?
You could have identified the code
of forgotten gods.
poem by Satish Verma
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Water On The Brain
(hicks / clarke / nash)
Ive just come in from out of the rain
Its wet outside the water runs down a drain
I go to bed cause my heads full of pain
And drip drip its driving me wild
Drip drip its driving me wild
Outside the window theres a pipe wearing thin
It lets the water do a dance on a tin
I try to sleep but its making a din
And drip drip its driving me wild
Drip drip its driving me wild
Water on the brain water on the brain
Water on the brain water on the brain
Drip drip its driving me wild
Drip drip its driving me wild
I toss and turn and my patience is weak
Go to the bathroom door and I take a peak yeah
The bath tap has started a leak
And drip drip its driving me wild
Drip drip its driving me wild
Drip drip its driving me wild
Drip drip its driving me wild
song performed by by Hollies
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Janice and You and the Spider
You stood
in the playground
of St Jude's school
which was really
the basement
of a bombed out house
which had been gutted
and the basement tarmaced
and the walls
were still there
where kids climbed up
and around
the thin ledge
when Janice
put her hands
over your eyes
and said
guess who?
and you put
your hands
into the pockets
of your short trousers
and said
Miss Murphy
or Miss Ashdown?
no
Janice said
it's me
and she removed
her hands
from over your eyes
and you turned around
and looked at her
and she had
her red beret on
and a pink scarf
around her neck
to keep out
the cold
you must
have known
it was me
she said
who else
would put their hands
over your eyes?
her eyes were bright
and you thought
you could see yourself
in them
as if they were small mirrors
Jupp might do
or maybe Carmody
you said smiling
she didn't smile back
but pulled her lips
tight in a line
then she took your hand
and pulled you
along the path
that led
to the school toilets
and pushed you
inside a cubicle
and shut the door
behind you both
and said
don't you love me?
there was a large spider
hanging from
the cistern chain
close to
her red beret
and it hung there
suspended
swaying back
and forth
and you said
of course I do
right down
to your white socks
but there's a spider
above your head
and she looked up
and screamed
and a voice
outside the door
asked
are you all right
in there?
Janice's eyes widened
and she watched
as the spider
moved up the chain
and she said
yes it's all right
Miss Murphy
just a small spider
and you stood there
next to Janice
wondering what
Miss Murphy
would say
if she saw you
and Janice
in the lavatory
together
and the voice said
ok as long
as you
are all right
and the footsteps
moved away
and Janice took
your hand in hers
and you sensed
how cold it was
slightly blue
and it was just
9 year old Janice
and the big spider
and 9 year old you.
poem by Terry Collett
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The Brushfire While it Lasted
1. On Top of Smokey Mountain
Dawn is pale on these waifs’ faces,
Sun rays striking their thin backs.
The colour of refuse here is bright:
Worms sepia, cans gooey, faeces black.
A country will rise from excreta.
2. Slumdogs
Rain coming through this window is warm
Slithering from hot tin gutters;
Bullet-hot roofs sizzle in the rain,
Bloated foetuses float in city waters.
“The baby’s wet! Plug the roof hole, Lakay.! ”
3.People Power
It is the hunger on brown wrinkles
lined in the irony of parched lips
parted in smile that convulses
the clot of flames violent in the blood
of these gnoméd comrades now
crouched in the muck of this burning river.
The anger was good while it lasted.
poem by Albert B. Casuga
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Earth & Sun & Moon
In the morning we will wake up and take to the air
Look back at the planet - Im glued to my chair
Southern half is burning as we climb through the cky
Sea birds softly falling, smoke way up high
Theres the contours of the mountains, the deserts and plains
And a hurricane is blowing, and it turns once again
Now theres oil spills in the water where columbus once sailed
And theres history and mystery and its rolling away
I wish you could see this great mystery
Earth and sun and moon, human tribe, thin blue line
Earth and sun and moon will survive
Sediment is flowing from river to sea
Now where are the mighty nations, no lines to be seen
An axe upon the broken ground the sigh of the trees
And its floating in the ether, it brings me to my knees
Too messed up to care
Anyone got a wing and a prayer
In the blink of an eye
Thank you and goodnight
Earth and sun and moon, human tribe, one thin blue line
Earth and sun and moon will survive, will survive, we will survive
(moginie)
song performed by by Midnight Oil
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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West Of The Moon
Words and music by bob seger
Out on those trails
Out neath that sky
Rivers of old
Still rushing by
Eagles still soar
White mountains loom
Down in those valleys
West of the moon
West of the stars
Far from the chase
Far from the crowds
Far from the pace
Horses run free
Winter comes soon
Out by those mountains
West of the moon
And everywhere
Everywhere
Wild things are free
Free in the wind and the sun
Everywhere
Everywhere
As it should be
Left on their own while they run
Out by those mountains
West of the moon
song performed by by Bob Seger
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Thin
Thin, thin was the soup
ladled into the bowl.
It was watered down to make it last
as if it would keep them whole.
Thin, thin were the bodies
that sat 'round the table to eat.
They shared the watery sparseness of soup
with nary a piece of meat.
A time of discontent was here
and stomachs were never full.
This was the time they'd heard about,
stories that seemed so dull.
These stories were told with passion
by those who came before.
They jumped out of windows and stood in lines
saying, 'Please may I have some more? '
Thin, thin are the excuses
given by those in power.
No substance to substantiate the lies
given us hour by hour.
And so where does this leave us,
facing a 3rd world war?
For times become prosporous.
Isn't that what wars are for?
Thin, thin are the hopes now
that sanity will pervade the mind
of those who reap the profits
while our youth again will find
that they have been used as fodder
to bring our economy back.
Thin, thin are the excuses
for us being on the wrong track.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Bianca
Her cheeks are hot, her cheeks are white;
The white girl hardly breathes to-night,
So faint the pulses come and go,
That waken to a smouldering glow
The morbid faintness of her white.
What drowsing heats of sense, desire
Longing and languorous, the fire
Of what white ashes, subtly mesh
The fascination of her flesh
Into a breathing web of fire?
Only her eyes, only her mouth,
Live, in the agony of drouth,
Athirst for that which may not be:
The desert of virginity
Aches in the hotness of her mouth.
I take her hands into my hands,
Silently, and she understands;
I set my lips upon her lips;
Shuddering to her finger-tips
She strains my hands within her hands.
I set my lips on hers; they close
Into a false and phantom rose;
Upon her thirsting lips I rain
A flood of kisses, and in vain;
Her lips inexorably close.
Through her closed lips that cling to mine,
Her hands that hold me and entwine,
Her body that abondoned lies,
Rigid with sterile ecstasies,
A shiver knits her flesh to mine.
Life sucks into a mist remote
Her fainting lips, her throbbing throat;
Her lips that open to my lips,
And, hot against her finger-tips,
The pulses leaping in her throat.
poem by Arthur Symons
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Night (II)
I know a little Druid wood
Where I would slumber if I could
And have the murmuring of the stream
To mingle with a midnight dream,
And have the holy hazel trees
To play above me in the breeze,
And smell the thorny eglantine;
For there the white owls all night long
In the scented gloom divine
Hear the wild, strange, tuneless song
Of faerie voices, thin and high
As the bat’s unearthly cry,
And the measure of their shoon
Dancing, dancing, under the moon,
Until, amid the pale of dawn
The wandering stars begin to swoon. . . .
Ah, leave the world and come away!
The windy folk are in the glade,
And men have seen their revels, laid
In secret on some flowery lawn
Underneath the beechen covers,
Kings of old, I’ve heard them say,
Here have found them faerie lovers
That charmed them out of life and kissed
Their lips with cold lips unafraid,
And such a spell around them made
That they have passed beyond the mist
And found the Country-under-wave. . . .
Kings of old, whom none could save!
poem by Clive Staples Lewis
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The Poor, Poor Country
Oh 'twas a poor country, in Autumn it was bare,
The only green was the cutting grass and the sheep found little there.
Oh, the thin wheat and the brown oats were never two foot high,
But down in the poor country no pauper was I.
My wealth it was the glow that lives forever in the young,
'Twas on the brown water, in the green leaves it hung.
The blue cranes fed their young all day - how far in a tall tree!
And the poor, poor country made no pauper of me.
I waded out to the swan's nest - at night I heard them sing,
I stood amazed at the Pelican, and crowned him for a king;
I saw the black duck in the reeds, and the spoonbill on the sky,
And in that poor country no pauper was I.
The mountain-ducks down in the dark made many a hollow sound,
I saw in sleep the Bunyip creep from the waters underground.
I found the plovers' island home, and they fought right valiantly,
Poor was the country, but it made no pauper of me.
My riches all went into dreams that never yet came home,
They touched upon the wild cherries and the slabs of honeycomb,
They were not of the desolate brood that men can sell or buy,
Down in that poor country no pauper was I.
* * * * *
The New Year came with heat and thirst and the little lakes were low,
The blue cranes were my nearest friends and I mourned to see them go;
I watched their wings so long until I only saw the sky,
Down in that poor country no pauper was I.
poem by John Shaw Neilson
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Reveal Yourself
Reveal yourself,
Reveal yourself,
Reveal yourself,
Reveal yourself.
Life on earth is so bizarre,
We must find a way to fulfill,
What we really are,
Yes its true,
I love you,
And theres nothing you do thats wrong,
Find values of your own.
Reveal yourself,
Reveal yourself,
Reveal yourself,
On the living room floor,
Reveal yourself,
Reveal yourself,
Reveal yourself,
Till there isnt anymore.
Reveal yourself,
Reveal yourself,
Reveal yourself,
For there are places even you dont know.
Reveal yourself,
For life is nothing but a movie show,
Or free yourself,
Your heart,
Your mind,
Your soul,
Your sanity,
Just got to see it,
Smell it,
Know that its reality.
Reveal yourself,
Reveal yourself,
Reveal yourself,
Doesnt matter anymore,
Reveal yourself,
Reveal yourself,
Reveal yourself,
Till there isnt anymore.
There are no rules where life is concerned,
Our past must be burned,
For theres nothing we have learned,
And its true,
I believe that we must all be free,
Immortal you and me.
Reveal yourself,
Reveal yourself,
Reveal yourself,
On the living room floor,
Reveal yourself,
Reveal yourself,
Reveal yourself,
Till there isnt anymore,
Reveal yourself,
Reveal yourself,
Reveal yourself,
And maybe youll go down in history.
Oh, how much longer must your life remain a mystery,
It doesnt matter if youre thick and fat or thin and long,
You must find out exactly where it is that you belong.
Reveal yourself,
Reveal yourself,
Reveal yourself,
Doesnt matter anymore,
Reveal yourself,
Reveal yourself,
Reveal yourself,
On the living room floor,
Reveal yourself,
For there are places even you dont know,
Reveal yourself,
For life is nothing but a movie show,
Reveal yourself,
Your heart,
Your mind,
Your soul,
Your sanity,
Just got to see it,
Smell it,
Know thats its reality,
Reveal yourself,
Reveal yourself,
Reveal yourself,
Reveal yourself,
Reveal yourself,
Reveal yourself,
It doesnt matter if the world thinks youre right or wrong,
Reveal yourself.
song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Thin Summer Dress
After the party laughter,
Her lips are still red
As she walks beneath
The soft glow of moonlight.
Lasciviously, she smiles at me
Knowing I already adore her
Even more than my wounded eyes
Could ever reveal
Gazing upon her
Like a pious monk
Upon a sacred icon.
Her thin summer dress
Tenderly breaks my heart,
But this is the type of suffering
In which I desire to linger.
poem by Uriah Hamilton
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