Friday, December 31, 2010

Magpie #46 ~~~ My Love's 21 Matching Gloves ~~~

Her powers; undaunted
Her soft kid leather gloves
subtle yet strong
left so precariously
dangling on a wire
limp as the credenza
unattached this unbridled
wanton lust
of a Wonderwoman

As they sat, still warmed
by the fires of ancient desires
The Porsche's engine starts to purr
waiting for another go
around the palatial estate

As the gloves held each other tight
enfolding into each other's skin
as I look now at them sitting there
perhaps somewhat deflated now
an anti-climax of sorts
after all celebratory flings flung
years and years of bringing bling
to the tables of desirez
she once young a blushing bride
with cheeks aplumb and plump
all pumped up now in stilettos
and ingrain'd leather
remembering his fragrant essence

She cajoled herself laughingly
"those leather phermones"
she thought
was it him or her
as they knew each other so well
"New English Leather"
or "Sandalwood Musk"
or his favourite on her
Freesia...pure as the driven snow
a gift from her groom
to last a lifetime
Love would never lose

And so each were self-made by a society
that made everything
they had made their bed
now they must sleep-in
as the hangover lurched like
a sprung waterbed
leaking their secrets
all over the floor

Each said such subtle clues
wouldn't give away all
"Hold back" the floodgates wait
Persephone's finely classic looks
chiseled profile of a woman begot
yet not everything is so simple
decomposing attributes caused
a rethink and a remake
a delicate flower once claimed
by all-too generous suitors
now the top layer crack'd
how'd she find her way back?
into a fine patina
which reminded her
of Mother?

For all those times before
when they had made mad love
behind the open door
his firm Adonis figurine hands
took his in hers
confirming their pact
in a thousand different ways
The Act in Two Part Harmony
blended together the yeast and flour
his goat skin so soft and strong
like being him
she knew his ways
as coffee-talk over mocha's
that year-long month of Sundays

He was always given gloves as a Christmas present
which harkened back and uttered a threat to her
his broad attachment to the Broads of Broadway
His attention always seeks her
finds her in places she had never been before
He always said "She is such a fine form of a woman"
"Inside and Out" she is the most I can become
as The Baker" stirred the doughy batter
to prep for the party at midnight
"Something else is rising in the kitchen!"
said Persephone
"What is your desire?"
Adonis added his favourite party favour

like the lighthouse beacon
awaits the sailors of the sea
See me, Hear me,
I am man and I Love to roar!
The Man of The Sea
tonight would see in
The New Year 2011
besides himself
his lust for her
hadn't turned to dust
It was rock-hard solid
and waiting in cue
for the Midnight Hour
and their matrimonial bed
of conjugal bliss
thank goodness for extends!

As the gloves waited to come off
as they always eventually did
and for the constant comments
the blantant reminders
the interactive connections
of their friendly chit-char with
a bevy business contacts
personal conversations on cellphones
and decypher'd emails gave a tint of a hint
yet no matter the others attempts to oust
the roost from the nest
they were eternal lovers
still imbued with the scent of each other
their love linger with unquenchable latent longing
no matter all their friends wanted to be with them
to be them
to hold them
to have them
as their own
a possession of sorts

their remembrance of long-lost passion
afield in bright red and blue went out in glory
the steady guiding power behind the wheel
she steered the course, as she had set the table
as their blood-kin the hounds in the kennel howl'd
like Thurston
He wanted it all
and all of them knew him
some in the Biblical way

She combined and blended with all these
on this new eve
those caught briefly this throne of temporal pow'r
Superwoman as Catwoman
Superman without Clark Kent
silly bash fullness, shy
always longing like the virgin boy
always on
as Superman
always is
one on one
like peanut on butter

Suppine Lois Lane in blackish-brown leather
and 1920's flapper
quite a flap!
never a flop
always a flip flop
as another year turns the page

As all primed and ready
frilled and frocked
to wine and dine
and say goodbye to 2010
unleashed a fury of liquid luxury
demonstrative of finite ownership
cylinders and chatelaine fobs
clink and clank like long-lost chattel
lock, stock and barrel
she owned all of him
or so she thought

he would notice this fine form
this classic silhouettes of a woman
She thought
"Aah, to know him again
in the Biblical sense"
without gloves or fear of unleashing
Pandora's box of who knows what
Jason's golden gloves came off
The Champion of Her Cause

As strong, marble fingertips singed her earthly flesh
making for ooh's and aah's to reign supreme
making her sing like a fiery little red canary
from the Greek Isle of Wanton-Lust
she thought to herself
"Moist dew of desire
I mustn't" she said
"Give it away!"
would she or wouldn't she
tonight would know the score
"Yet..."she pensed
"...he needs me so much more than I kneed him
My Greek dough-boy"
She considered, "I'll hold back..."
"keep some ol' bubbly; that Meade nectar on reserve;
For this night of the Bewitching Hour
The Twelfth House; and His Number is surely
"He is Mine!".

As she giving much to get such subtle assurances
her advantage
Love 21
Love 21
How she could conjure magic
said gleefully; "Gee How I Loved all of his 21 Gloves!"

Never could get enough of them
Never would
as all those who had known her knew
21 Gloves in Various States of Patent Desire
was her latest offering at the studio
where studs came and went leaving behind
something that they normally would not want to give
a parting of the closest thing to touch their closest
thing, a glove of sorts, "no matter where", she thought
Already Owned by various parlez players
She Is A One Woman Man however
He like a flea would jump here and there
she knew
did he ever know that she had known
his addiction to this number?

Clock Strikes One
She Has Won
21 Love Glove
The Golden Gloves Champion
The Campion de Champion!
The Contender Upset
like the Last Temptress
Devoured the Competition
like a jungle panther
she licked her pouty lips

the slap of dominant rawhide
across the dash
"It's him
Lord of Stash!
My Main Man
The Pump House Gang-Banger"
Men mostly came and went
she stored them all
in the Glove compartment
This man was her refined deportment

AS she
The Most Masterful
player of the game
Gently Revved her engine
drawing a fine line
the steely Porsche nearly drove itself
down the winding driveway to the gate
as the gloved man waves
distally from all points
and inbetween
their arched templed porch
left vacant
save for Love
that would return
its' volley one day
maybe this year?


Wednesday, December 15, 2010

~~Magpie 45~~~Madonna and Child

"Madonna and Child"

celestial lights
blessed nights

spirit gifts
hearts lift

drums beat
horns tweet

gentle voices
quiet rejoices

Prince O'Peace
souls release


Monday, December 13, 2010

POEM OR TWO A DAY OR Emily Dickinson..."Once more, my now bewildered Dove" 48/1775 (with a kicker)

courtesy Wikipedia "Columba"

A dove Necklace

Once more, my now bewildered Dove by Emily Dickinson

Once more, my now bewildered Dove
Bestirs her puzzled wings
Once more her mistress, on the deep
Her troubled question flings —

Thrice to the floating casement
The Patriarch's bird returned,
Courage! My brave Columba!
There may yet be land

Today I decided to enter into the trance of Miss Emily Dickinson's spirit, or she was calling from the etheric today, anyway, I got a clear message to channel her spirit today!

And amazingly too! Because today I noticed something! Emily just answered my last poem that I wrote below hers called "Heart we will forget him".

Isn't this just too synchornistic?

Let's listen to what Emily is trying to tell me about heart and love. Please!

"there may yet be land".

I am finding this wholly inspiration after the;

Thrice to the floating casement"

So love was drown three times, three loves that broke her heart but now shall be broke again, as Emily hold out hope to love yet again, as she does not give up on love as it is a poet's livelihood.

Chiccoreal Channelling the Spirit of Miss Emily Dickinson who had answered her last poem so consistently with a new poem that she didnt really probably have conscious but rather the unconscious mind came forward or brought forward all this really awakening things that JUST HAPPENED TO BE IN MISS EMILY'S POEM TODAY. it is similar to opening the Bible randomly at the Bible answering prayer! Indeed thank-you for answering Prayer today, and for giving me a lighterness of heart today after wallowing all night on long past midnight dead affairs that linger in the heart-fed memories of "what could have been if". Think I'll use more birds in my poetry too to express a dissimilitude of natural tendency to bulk up on love like it was the last dish I'd ever eat. I just aint! Go on Emily, what else do you have to tell me, I'm all ears and lips!

Poor Emily. Poor me!

Am I the Dove
Or is she?
"My brave Columba"
I wont forget you!

(note: Columba is a wood pigeon, a common carrier pigeon found in the Old World primarily and then in the Americas. Interestingly, Columba is Latin for Dove! Amazing! Sending Messages aren't we? Enjoy!


Poem~A~Day~~~Emily Dickinson~~~"Heart! We will forget him!"#47/1175

Heart! We will forget him! by Emily Dickinson

Heart! We will forget him!
You and I — tonight!
You may forget the warmth he gave —
I will forget the light!

When you have done, pray tell me
That I may straight begin!
Haste! lest while you're lagging
I remember him!

In this heart-felt and directly emotional poem by Emily Dickinson pleas not the amount of exclamation marks!

When Emily refers to "Heart" it is a person personified. In this way Emily has split from her heart seeing it as a separate entity, something to be cajoled, delegated and dispatched.

Like an old friend Emily tells her heart "We will forget him". Like a little colonel Emily is determined to have her heart become the first line of defence when it comes to forgetting "him" but her heart sometimes "lagged" behind and springs to mind feelings and images of him.

In other words, to Emily, her heart brings forth feelings and thoughts that she can not control but she tries to control at all costs "that I may straight begin". Her prime directive of Emily's is to totally "forget him" rather than "remember him". Yet her heart betrays her! So like the heart full of heart-memories!

The paradox here; between "forget him" and "remember him", the beginning she tries to forget him, in the end the love of heart makes her remember him. Emily obviously loved this "him" very much. One can only speculate as to the state of Emily's heart here or whom, exactly, is this special "him". I am considering that it is the beau that did die before Emily tied the knot.

Or it could have been her later day love, the one who was also a writer who she so valiantly tried to win and did impress. Due to Miss Emily's tenacity, she perhaps went "overboard" in her need to attach to this man and it was to her detriment since most men did not appreciate forward women during Victorian times, being forward considered a "faux pas". Perhaps only Virginia Wolfe could just begin to be the whole woman Emily was yearning to become. The road to evolution being paved with many prior suffragettes!

Then again and however, please prove me right or prove me wrong Emily is deceased and cannot speak for herself except in her poetry. The joy is in the reading and the direct experience of words on lips. As much speculating is just that, the joy of discovering something new and learning something new, whether or not it is historically accurate or not, for now and as yet. Time will come when we have all the pieces put together and in place to discover the complete nature of Miss Emily Dickinson who will indeed and does stand the test of time and does stand up amongst the greatests of authentic transcendentalist American poets.

Chiccoreal's Modernist Approach and Take On The Heart That "Him" Stole
or "Emily; Whom or What's Your Heart's Desire?"

You down low you made me grovel in the earthen gravel
and growl and howl at the moon for hours!
you made me stand up and scream
frats and soriety sistas
No faint heart do not lie
do not remember him that made me die
Remembering now
the promises like butter
melted and flowing freely
close the door
there's no more killing floors!
no more blood to mop up
no more bleedin' hearts to mend
that cruel game is up
now for the return volley
from Cupid's bent arrow
as I return full fury
hell hath anone either
Emily you deserve so much better!
What's your heart's desire?


Wednesday, December 8, 2010

The Spirit World: A Perspective

Our spirits are free completely of the physical embodiment when we transition to the spirit realm.

There are no encumbrances to keep us on the earthly plane although we often are still anchored here by ever diminishing energies or luminous lines found in our K-spine area. This energy is condensed cosmic love energy which is powerfully intense and often created within our inner-most being.

As we continue to grow more and more spirit in our bodies, or as we still have the newborn heavenly energies, which eventually wear out and are seeded into a new body energy which is soul + spirit = Spiritus or the combination of the vessel body soul and the accumulation of Spirit energies.

The K-spine name refers to the Kundalini energies which are latently stored in the spine area around the solar plexus. This area can be described as soul-energy which is seeding, reading for the "time" when it transitions into the pure Spirit of One Love Divine Energy. There the karmatic egos are compressed living in the intense mitochondrial energy of the luminous K-spine dna.

This Pure Spirit dna is similar to RAM (random access memory) or spiritual memory storage system as our bodies have been collecting this data since birth and prior to that in other lifetimes. Our spirit memory chips are similar to a very energetic form of atomic energy, as yet to be fully understood to any degree.

When we transition, or we soul travel (if we have found this skill; I will discuss this later) we hold within us the keys to our next journey. If we are able to express the same lightness of soul body we will get to Nirvana. This lightness has nothing to do with weight as we understand weight on earth. It is a higher vibrational level, much higher than any sound in the spectral range that we are able to measure. This range also is a higher light frequency; one we do not encounter on this physical plane. However, some are able to achieve this super range of frequency and communicate with the transitioned and the soul traveller.

Similar to a bridge or gap, or soul bodies must transition through a tunnel which is connected to the physical world and the other gamma opposite world. This tunnel is similar to the brains corpus collosum in that it bridges a dualistic physical reality which switches back and forth from positive to negative fueled energies of existence. The opposite gamma world may be exactly the opposite of this world, but in reverse, like a mirror image, or a polarized negative photograph.

When we understand the mechanism of the physical reality of this particular energy duality which continues ad infinitum to fuel itself in a perpetual motion kind of way, in a back and forth recharge mechanism. Because of the way our bodies seem to hold onto a certain frequency we are basically prisioners of our bodies and their continued travel through the frequency tunel to the next polar opposite world (similar to the movie The Earth Behind the Sun).

As an energy force, not yet understood or recognized, the love plasma field is within and without this physical reality of ours. The frequency of Love is a much higher frequency in both sound and light spectrum. It is not known and not able to be registered as it is a very esoteric energy, or element.

This plasma of love energy is the universe. We live on the outside of this energy and it can be made to encompass our being, our soul being to a point where we become one wlith love, as in a unified Love energy, or as religions would say, Heaven, Nirvana, or Paradise.

This is the plane where we want to arrive, when we "transition, or die and leave this phsycial world for the next physical world in reverse. The ability for us to realize we need a higher frequency to jump the bridge and become of the treadmill of being "born again" into this physical realm of over and over again, ad infinitum, literally!

We must learn how to be love now so that the energy of love may transport us to the higher levels of existence in the spirit realm of love. To be love we must understand love exists in this way, as an entity, as our Creator who is beyond this phsycial plane, that is why communication is so difficult at times because of the distance between or physical plane and the Source of Love. The Creator cannot exist where is is not perfected love, thus the difficulty for so many, but we've all had a feeling of love, that is strong, difficult to sustain for long.

To be this powerful love force, element, energy we must seek Love. We must be love, meditate on love, let love in and give love.

Our transitioned love ones have always wanted to communicate to us, but due to the fact they exist on a higher frequency it is difficult for them to communicate with us, although they have luck when our plhysical defences are down, when are asleep, etc. Then we have vivid dreams of their nocturnal visits and we cannot believe how "real" the experience of their presence has been, it is due to the fact it is surreality, more than what we are use to, and we miss that love we know and we want more all the time, to be one with love, to exist in love forevermore. And this is so possible!

Seek the Source; Seek Love and You will find Love. Everlasting Love. Our sacred communication with the divine is that simple. The psychic plasma field of love is always opoen to our communication of love and is a one way being connected eternally to the omni-present loving Creator.

We can invoke our transitioned love ones, channel their spirit, help them to the Source. Our loved ones can also give us this benefit and are always watching us as they too are part of the love plasma field and are everywhere and here right beside us, all the time! This is how love energy works, sort of a real time, automatic and everywhere state of being!

As we become more aware of our spirit with ourselves we become aware of our spiritual purpose. We intuitively know what to do to set in motion the advancement of love and the balance of our planet and Universe. Love will take our physical world and make it again what it was always suppose to be, a spiritual embodiment of our loving Creator. Our loving creator is Love! And that is what he wants all of us to be and to return to one day!


Evolution of the Spiral Revolutions

Trying to conceive of energy as a vibrational Source got me to thinking, as I pondered the energy of our Universe, primarily our sun. Vibrational chakra energy is an amazing thing, and is fairly new to me and I am not sure why. I thought this should have been something I would have learned by now!

The Sun's energy to me is definitely and infinitely "sound vibrational" and hums with a constant beat. Although I am not aware, at least consciously of the entirely what this means. The vibration is our connection with the infinite Universe, both the inner and outer worlds, the macro and microscopic.

Behind the Sun's energy, behind the flat field plasma that is the Sun's energic core there is the begining hum of the key of "g". This is very musical, as the sun and other celestial orbs ring like bells!

Also I've noted the beat of the heart of the universe. The same heart that beats with all of our hearts beats at the core of the universe! This interaction between orbs and energies of all sorts gives of the rich intraction of energies that I've tried to understand and draw.

I realize that the energies are interactive and they blend.

This blending of energies in art would be similar to transparencies, once the point of touch happens. Thus we have the huge Sun with its yellow-white to orange energy the pivotal and closet active energy source. In other words, the sun has enormous impact on our mood, and energies, and intent. It effects virtuallly every cell of our bodies on a daily minute by minute, second to second basis. The Sun is our primary energy.

Then there are the other interactive energies with the sun, our own earth for example which also has our sun's energy within its core. The earth is a blue energy. How did the earth get this blue energy? The earth got its blue energy from an exchange between the sun's infrared spectrum as diffused all the way from the centrex core of pure white energy plasma at the core of all that is. We are on the outer arm of a distal spiral galaxy and we have become somewhat diffused. That is why the sun's white energy light shows as yellow-white light. And why the infra red is infra red and not atomic white light!

While white yellow light and the dark matter of space do merge to the ultra violet spectrum found in the dark matter spectrum. Since dark matter maybe more intense than the plasma white cosmic light at the centre of our Universe, we have to keep our minds open and suspend disbelief that Light is greater than dark matter. For this moment, please?

Stay with me as I try to explain to the best of my abilities that just maybe the dark matter which is a compression of all light energy matter found in the centre of all galaxies. These galaxies were once huge clusters or one sun entities, and they were or still are HUGE! Is it not amazing that EVERYTHING SPINS AND IS MOVING? Now the Question; is there anything in the Universe that DOES NOT MOVE? Am I looking for a Universal Constant? A Static Field Plasma that precipitates everything and is nothing at the same time. Is this possible for our non-static rather dynamic minds to understand? Is everything in the Universe dynamic on some level?

However in the outer reaches of the Universe, such as where we exist, the sun is often too distant from the core in proximal central region or range to continue being perfectly unified a field and the sun's energy does waiver somewhat from the pure white cosmic energy to the less than core energized sourse of pure white cosmic energy field "point of purchase" central or not to the Unverse is a matter and or bone of much contention. It is difficult to find a centre but not so difficult to find a plasma unified field of this cosmic energy field which is everywhere and anywhere at the same moment unless through time and space this has warped, which looks to be the situation. Again, alignmnet could be a causal of this degree of change in the sustaining cosmic energy field.

To draw "pictures" of the energy is not an easy task since the energy is spiraling left than spiraling right all the time and this goes on and on ad infinitum. At the same time the core is energized by the outer energy of "continual motion of reversed spiral motion" This constant clockwise and counterclockwise spin give the Universe it sustainability.

More on music of the spheres in the next lesson!


~~~MAGPIE #44~~~RB Red Racer Sled

Behind the cold steel fence Jimmy could only stop and stare dreamily about sledding. He watched with great anticipation as a group of boys proudly walked their brand new RB Red Racer Sled up the steep neighbourhood hill.

The RB racer sled was everything Jimmy ever wanted, at least for the last two Christmases. Each year he would ask his parents for the sled, but each year his parents would say "Maybe next year, Jimmy!" Jimmy did not care that it was too expensive for his parents, or that he was still abit too young for the challenging sled. He could sing the song backwards;

"RB Red Racer Sled RB Red Racer Sled, the Faster Racer...On The Hill!" RB Red Racer Sled, RB Red Racer Sled, RB Red Racer Sled"

For many hours Jimmy would watch the other children screaming with tantamount pleasure. As the children would go up and down the hills for hours on end laughing wildly with glee while sledding with wreckless abandon on the Old School House toboggan hill.

To Jimmy it seemed that everyone had a RB Red Racer Sled. Most every child did have a new RB racer. Jimmy did not seem to mind feeling left out of his seemingly simple request for Christmas. He knew that sooner or later Santa would bring him the sled, he just had to be patient.

Today, Jimmy could not stand it any longer, he would be bold. He had to prove to himself the RB Red Racer Sled was everything it was cracked up to be "and then some" Jimmy would alway say to his parents. He absolutely must try the new sled, he felt, to see if it did, in fact, really did go as faster than a jet airplane. The commercial on the radio said it would go faster than anything!

Jimmy would run to the bottom of the hill before the others started to head for the hill early Saturday afternoon. Jimmy was hoping someone would ask him to join them. No one ever did. Jimmy sighed and thought;

"Maybe I should go home, I'm starting to get cold."

With much hopeful anticipation and naive anticipation Jimmy would ask one of the popular boys of the Ladbrooke Road Gang "Can I play with you guys?"

"Hey, Spike; did you hear that? Jimmy wants us to play with us! Jimmy wants to go sledding! Hey guys do want Jimmy to sled with us?" With a quick sarcastic bite "Why don't you go ask your mommy to get you a sled for Christmas".

All Jimmy had wanted for at least the last two Christmases was a brand-new RB sled racer. For Jimmy, that seemed an unlikely request, Christmas would not be the same since his father was laid off from the glass factory.

"No! the boys said in unison, the sandy-haired boy piped in "Yah, go home and wash your dirty dishes!"

Jimmy started to turn his back and sadly walked away. "Thump" Jimmy felt the full wallop of an icy snowball to the back of his head. Jimmy turned around "Hey!" Before he had a chance to feel the throbbing pain decided to "Vamoosh" his favourite word lately. It seemed to be his Dad's favourite word too, and Jimmy took awhile to figure out exactly what it meant when he was told to do the same often.

As the obnoxious gang began running after him, Jimmy tried to use every trick in the book, every tactic possible to deflect any harm. Jimmy knew this did not feel right, that he better get heading home.

Jimmy started running as fast as he could, which was not fast because he was dressed in full snowsuit gear. The old fashioned and overstuffed overboots functioned similar to walking on the moon, slow as molasses in January.

A recurrent dream had been haunting Jimmy lately. Often he dreamt of being chased by boggeymen in little red UFO's. When he looked around him, he felt everything was happening to him in slow-motion, he had nowhere to hide. The gang looked like alien life form, and acted like it too.

Jimmy felt a return to the frozen part of the nightmare the part when he was unable to move a muscle while the aliens crept upon him. Plus he had the added bonus of an upset stomach. "It must have been the Ovaltine" thought Jimmy.

His holey old hockey socks would always bunch down at the ends of his boots creating a very uncomfortable and audible squishy feeling. The effects of being cold and sweaty besides the awkward need to explain his stinking old popcorn feet to him Mom was over-rode by the dangerous numbness he noticed and the bluish tinge starting to threaten to frostbite his feet.

Like a hungry alligator, Spike aggressively grabbed Jimmy by the back of his snow pants, trying to find the wedgy area. Being a size too small, Jimmy was lucky, Spike could not give him the dreaded wedgy; not today anyway.

Spike determined to drag him up the hill by his snowsuit straps. His mother would not be happy as one strap was torn clean off his pants. The other boys followed laughing wildly. "Ha-Ha". Jimmy felt terrified and started to cry.

"Remember you said you wanted to go sledding? Well you're goin' sledding!" Spike yelled out to the other boys; "Hey BB, Get the rope out of the knapsack".

Jimmy soon realized that the boys were no longer headed towards the regular run. Spike had decided to walk through the woods towards The Bluffs, the highest and most dangerous hill in town.

As soon as Jimmy realized what the dastardly crew were up to he began screaming "Noooooo, Help...Help..." to no avail, they were far from earshot.

It was late afternoon by now and it was getting a lot colder as the sun was beginning to set. Jimmy's eyes were wide with terror.

"Here you go little boy, you're finally going to get to try out the new RB sled" Spike's yellow eyes slanted to pinpoints as he tied him face-first onto the sled. "We'll make sure you're going to have an exciting ride". With that Spike, BB, Mikey, Fang and Bulk started to push with all their might the young Jimmy down the steep hill.

It was getting close to midnight. The police had been scowering the area since early evening. There was no sight of the little boy anywhere around the hill. Jimmy's mother and father were frantic waiting at the bottom of the hill, praying for their son to magically appear before them.

An officer yelled out to his Captain "I think we finally found something, Sir". With flashlights the police could make out a distinguishing feature on the ice covered pond. "I think it's says RB Hed Racer".

Late in the evening on the Old Schoolhouse hill in mid to late December, a small voice can still be heard on the biting winter wind singing an old familiar song;
"RB Red Racer Sled, RB Red Racer Sled, RB Red Racer Sled the faster racer ever!"


Sunday, December 5, 2010

The Poetry Bus Driving Through Yellow Snow: The Pub Crawler Clan

sliding sideways out the back door
holding onto your skirt so I wouldnt fall
you cant come in here you're on THE no serve list
fuck sé
I'm learnin' Gaelic
lick mo Dick
landed immigrant status
person non gratis still
I'm not free just cheap
and very easy when I'm drunk n Irish
as I must always be
what the hell else do i got
from these devilish genes!
hey don't look that way
you old sod
got to look good
or Mr. Kelly will put in a headlock!
tie that slipknot over me head
would ya bud?
what you mean I got a big irish potato head?
ya wanna fight; step outside ya bstrd!
boys goin' to town with skirts
pushin' and a shovin'
the air thick with androgen
like a dance that doesnt go anywhere
drunken sailors live it up before the shoreleaves
up your irish kilt!
mines red and green
like Christmas all year
you'd like to see the underwear?
I'll never leave my senses
I've line up for a shot
like John Wayne in The Quiet Man
I'm fricken LOUD when I'm drunk!
more like that redhead
Maureen O'Sullivan
Dont she have a bar?
She's been called to the bar?
That golden one in heaven
God bless her!
at Molly Blooms the Rounds on us
Could you play The Jarabe Tapatío
requests some drunk each night
We're not in friggin' Mexico
Maybe I am!
All laugh and fall to the ground
the crawlers take in the sweat and the mud and the stinky old beer
or When Irish Eyes or Smilin'
Ah shuddup
or Danny Boy?
Somebody die?
rememberin' when we were only a little bit lost
we girl boys who knew not
Not done yet; we're off to meet and have
some meat and potatoes
or the dreaded corn beef and cabbage
Ugh that'll get me goin'
to the place I'm always prayin' too
and maybe some pub food, like tater wedges
now I got a wedgy
feck off!
hey pull that out of my butt?
15 minutes of fame are up; bar none for the Irish
only the best
yet to come!
gonna get some!
Next we meet at the Mighty Quinns and Fancy Lacey's
Round the corner I get the spins Sheets to the Wind!
Geary's on Third
A more refined place
to make music stage right
on fresh line and morris wallpaper
I let go a bowlfull of comeup agin bangers and mash
By now I've downed a Mickey at Rooney's
spit hooved and demonic at Black Donnellys!
The Black Swan was meditative and quiet
as I composed myself somewhat then back again
on the downward backstair spiral
glowing red embers lit the piss made antifreeze
pavement near the gate from Hades at O'Hallorans
the alley bar behooves us, moves us to shake faster
trippin the light fantastic we're not done yet
in with that swank swirlin' dirvishness O'Malley's
faster and faster we go spun out like ceiling fan
splayed like those displayed fish heads on my dish
queasey swish it's coming up again
time for a leak and Timothy Leary's
and I got a flash back
dont need to crawl when I should walk
or at least take Kat's Poetry Bus!
damn dwirlin' swervishness feekn swags!
here the men all look like old hags
and I thought I was one for tonight only
a star I'd sing Karoke drunk as usual
couldnt be from an uppercruster encounter
how will i ever show my face
I'll have to change sex fast
rather than the nitty gritty of underbelly
Uncle Nitty he did it
given me half a chance to prove it
and all this for a chance encounter
with the angel on my shoulder!
twas Micky's secret
prove it to me be a man and move in with us
All night slosh at the endless ontap dregs
got a smoke? pour another, with a head
we've got more swillin' to do
start with shots
20cc od CC
ends with her walkin' out
slam of the door
and the sound of broken bottles
in the back alley
hellish earth-shattering sounds
my baby left me

this needs an audit! Traditional Mexican Hat Dance!
for A very modern version of the Mexican Hat Dance!
Pogue Mahone Irish Pub - 19 reviews - Place page - 777 Bay Street, Toronto - (416) 598-3339
Brazen Head Irish Pub -

49 reviews - Place page - 165 East Liberty Street, Toronto - (416) 535-8787
Overdraught Irish Pub - 9 reviews - Place page - 156 Front Street West, Toronto - (416) 408-3925
Irish Embassy Pub & Grill -

22 reviews - Place page - 49 Yonge Street, Toronto - (416) 866-8282
Pour House Irish Pub - 9 reviews - Place page - 182 Dupont Street, Toronto - (416) 967-7687
Mullins Irish Pub - 3 reviews - Place page - 1033 Bay Street, Toronto - (416) 963-3000
The Westin Harbour Castle -

579 reviews - Place page - 1 Harbour Square, Toronto - (416) 869-1600
More results near Toronto, ON »
IRISH EMBASSY & P.J. O'Brien - Irish Pub in Toronto Irish PubMontreal. Toronto. loading. - Cached - SimilarPogue Mahone Irish PubPogue Mahone's Irish Pub meticulously harnesses all the traditions of Ireland to recreate a genuine Irish establishment in the heart of downtown Toronto. ... - Cached - SimilarGrace O'Malley's Irish Pub and RestaurantGrace O'Malley's East: 1151 Ogilvie Road, Grace O'Malley's West: 1541 Merivale Road, Grace O'Malley's Toronto: 14 Duncan Street. Are you an administrator? ... - Cached - SimilarToronto Irish Pubs13 Oct 2005 ... The Toronto Irish pubs scene is impressive. A number of great Irish pubs are located in the downtown Toronto area. The Toronto-area Irish ... - CachedThe OverDraught Irish PubWe're just a stones throw from the Metropolitan Toronto Convention Centre, The Air Canada ... Metropolitan Community Church of Toronto Christmas Eve Service ... - Cached - SimilarToronto ONToronto's home of Celtic Music. Allen's stands as owner John Maxwell's loving tribute to the ... Traditional Irish Pub. Seating is bench and stool. ... - Cached - SimilarFoggy Dew Irish PubFoggy Dew Irish Pub. 803 King St. West Toronto, ON M5V 1N4 Tel: 416-703-4042. Fax: 416-703-7423. Email: Event Inquiries: events@foggydew. ... - Cached - SimilarBrazen Head Irish PubBrazen Head Irish Pub. 165 East Liberty Street Toronto, ON M6K 3K4 Tel: 416-535- 8787. Fax: 416-535-7878. Email: ... - Cached - SimilarIrish Pubs in TorontoLooking for a friendly place to enjoy a pint? These Irish pubs in Toronto offer great food, drink, and atmosphere. - Cached - SimilarFionn MacCool's, 181 University Avenue (at Adelaide St.) » a Prime PubMacKenzieRo Irish Repertory Theatre Company of Canada · See our calendar for complete listings · Directions to the pub. 181 University Avenue Toronto, ON ... - Cached - SimilarSearches related to irish pub toronto
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Saturday, December 4, 2010

Friday, December 3, 2010

Magpie#43 ~~~The Back Door Bakery

The backyard stage door stood still
like a barn door, a mouth somewhat opened and agap
just hung there becoming somewhat unhinged
a silent screen door, a silent scream
as how could things be fair for the door?
"Who will taste my master's wares?"
as all were so patiently
awaiting fresh strawberry tarts
and ingenues anticipating sweet nectarines
as tender tangerine dreams already had once
and up mr. big beer-bellys alley's
often thought a fat-man's bluff ~ not today!
as an open door all walked in through the out door
and into the rough and ready
and into the polished nd pretty
Party Time!

first at the starting gate was Mama's short-bread
all butter recipe as light as a feather
all-purpose flour rose yeastfully to the ocassion
as icing sugar shifted to a fine dust
gingerbread houses stood the test of time
with jelly-beans, gum drops and sugar plums
pasted the glazed-covered marzipan hands
candied fruitcake pans all rolled and brand new aglow

At Ann McColls the fresh-linen
glistening snow flake and diamond aprons
fresh favours, colours and scents all in a row
cake tins clang little tiny bells on every steeple and shelf
little rolled circles of rum-soaked balls
cute cookie cutters stacked
doe a deer. a snowman, a shiny stra as well as
everything that's ever been imagined at least once!

Soon the crowds pushed forward to enter
paparrazi preferred rolled cheeze panzarotti
to deep-dish pepperoni pizzas on Pisa pieplates
the Chocolate Chip Toll House Opened today
Emailed the Smell of cinnamon buns abaking
wafting on the hallowed air of the kitchen air
Say Cheesecake to die for ~ have you tried it?
five layered chocolate gateau
fresh pastry abound petite fours
crepe suzettes stuffed with lemon zest

Mrs. T's sampled fair trade squares
one a penny two a penny hot cross buns!
give me a penny youll not have any
give me a quarter you'll get mortar
give me a dollar you'll go farther!

all homemade and better than that
try one you'll cry for more
try two you'll cry for four!
try them all you'll run for the door

young faces beam bright through
steam-covered windows
children's for want ply
wanton looks for mocha covered wontons

pioneer ginger snaps slow as molasses
plum pudding stews made many months ago
in Captain January blizzards with Buddy and Shirley
cookies neatly lined up by the dozens
fresh from the oven; what a treat!
muffins baking til fully brimming
their tops suddenly burst the beam
like bulging bellies
pants five sizes too small
caused quite a frantic glance
as all were entranced at the bakery entrance

warm oatmeal and raisin cookies batter
just got to try it
what's the matter?
milk and eggs and flour
basic to fancy is pretty dandy!
make mine a double homemade batch
cookies are ready when just hot enough to touch
as we know how these cookies warm the cockles of the heart
spring-form pans burst forth as the top flipflops
upside down angel cake so top shelf

found all this food the saints edifying edibles
divinities egg-white and nice and light
ambrosia salad heaven can wait!
bring your friends and an appetite
at this time of year there's always much hype
comfort and joy strewn far and wide
with so much love grows true bliss outed bars
Nanaimo stacked to the crafted log cabin rafters
as wind swept snows swirls around ankles jingle
barefoot in the kitchen a pregnant pause that refreshes
with a fresh cinnamon bun in the oven
watching who's who at Tim Hortons?

These enticing icing is a celebratory times
four famous bakers
make merry memories in the millions
such as that which makes whatnots come to life
making chocolate bark
yule logs all lined up on parchment

so many kind of tiny cupcakes
with silver sparkles and golden apples
all ready to find a rolly-poly jolly belly
to curl up in a cozy corner with hot cocoa avec marshmallow
coke floats takes you back home to those good old days

the home fires burn with an inner warmth
stoke the fires of winter desires
as soon as the stroke of midnight appears
magical fragrant oils of
peppermint sticks in ice cream

as red wool suit waits and melts
in a pool of egg nog and nutmeg
dangling candy canes in every corner
multi-coloured seasonalcandy convections

with nuts and nutcrackers of every known kind
large wooden bowls brimming over
clickity clack clickity clack
the first prancing hooves heard on glacee slick
golden labs and licorice retrievers
lightly stroked by big white mitts
stroked and told good boy go get a tidbit

dong't mind us
we're always happily imbibing,
egg-nogged and carolling
wide-eyed, bushy-tail wagging
similarily creatures waiting to catch a glimpse
of all the goodies, far and wide I know how hard
squirrels work to pack their booty stock

apple, cherry and blueberry pies cooling nicely
on the back rack by the window neighbours drooling
as my marachino cherry floats atop blended and whipped creme
delicious toasted coconut drops browned just so
Morning scented drift says wake up and smell the fresh perked coffee

It's a new day to rise n shine
as a slow-drip brews a quickly liveliness
the loveliness of a brand new morning
Wakey Wakey
It's time for eggs and bacy!
bacon and eggs coffee and juice;

french toast and pancakes with real Canadian maple syrup
as last nights brunch it was gluttony too much a pig-out
hoping to bring a bit of a punch to those in need
as guilt builds with each charitalbe commercial
malted milks and frothy lattes may shake again
stay calm the nerves that make the desires rage

to pack a punch and drive home a drunk as a designated driver
as everyone raves so uncontrollable these seasonal cravings
this party central
as I hear someone dunk an almond biscotti
i hear the backdoor slam and cry
"why wasnt I invited?"
by the many passerbys who wandered by
fellow wanderlust of frosting and lightly dusted
Would anyone come to release
The baby it's cold outside
from the baby it's too hot inside?
The Door Bellowed watch out below
I'm coming in!


Friday, November 26, 2010

~~~Emily Dickinson~~~Poem-A-Day~~"I keep my pledge" 45/1775

I keep my pledge by Emily Dickinson

I keep my pledge.
I was not called —
Death did not notice me.
I bring my Rose.
I plight again,
By every sainted Bee —
By Daisy called from hillside —
by Bobolink from lane.
Blossom and I —
Her oath, and mine —
Will surely come again.

Emily Dickinson does indeed keep her pledge in "I keep my pledge". Emily is in fact assured of her promise to herself "life and I".

Life is a rose to Emily. As a metaphor the Rose certainly acts in ways that show it's life cycle and Emily feels that her "Blossom" her life is ready when she will "surely come again".

Emily in this poem is disputing the concept of death as a finality. Emily believes that there is more beyond all this life, this "Blossom", such as

By every sainted Bee —
By Daisy called from hillside —
by Bobolink from lane.

Emily is assured life will continue after life, that death is an illusion. Whether or not this is a credo of the Transcendentalists will be determined at a latter time, for now, we exactly Emily's feelings about the topic of life, Emily and death. The oath, is her faith in the world beyond this, and she has pledged her soul to it's reality, even though it is not a world that allows for the expression of all senses, but of hidden senses that may only be pledged by faith of conviction.

The familiar bird, the "bobolink" has inhabited Emily's poems before as a metaphor of all that is life in her surroundings in the Amherst, MA area. The "sainted Bee" symbolically represents to Emily the buzzing sound beyond life's gateway. The "Daisy" a perrential favourite of Emily's shows life's renewal. Emily's specific symbolism is personal and reflects her own personal philosophic beliefs.

Emily does, indeed, believe in an afterlife.

Chiccoreal's Exclusive and Executive Board Room Drawings on the Poems of Miss Emily Dickinson's "I keep My Pledge"

Solemn Oath ~ To Life

To Life
For Life
Always LIfe
None shall get in the way
of this spirit of life
of this spirit of love
of this spirit Eternal
to renew the Blossom'd Rose
to renew the Chickadee's Flight
to renew the Daisy's Chain
All these things that have meant so much
Will continue to be


Magpie#42 ~~~~~~The Case of The Trophy~~~~~

Keeper's Cup Number Five

buried deep
in backroom
Cerebellum's Corpus Collosum
Column'd Stood Upright
For Old Time's Sake
Those Mighty Left
like Parisian Toiletries
so easily flushed by present
pavers to make room allowances
for returned renewals
leftover makeovers
residual renumeration
somethings borrowed
somethings never new
somethings always blue
who knew?

Footlockers on the Precipice
Winged Nike's Bestowed Gift
Singed Mercury's ankle feathers
Cloaked by Blue Star Dust
Magic Memories
and Faded Washed-up Dreams

A Quick Take
The Cup
Antiques Dealers
Call Out
Hold up the Card
the numbers connected
Soon the once unowned
Won again by me
The Cup
Auctioned Off
to me

These Quaint
and Patina'd
Touched Once
For Prosperity's Sake
This Silvered Orb
All These Thoughts Brought
Bounty to Mount
On Eagle's Wings
The Bounty Bought
Flying on
long wrought
others sought
mine own lessons taught
I've Won Again
This Artifact
A fact
I'm alive again
Eternal Forces
hold onto the prize
once more

As Synapses Gapless
Fired Etchings
in the Fiery Furnace
on the distant star
Ancestral DNA mitochondria
Caved in boxed in Walls
basic chemistry
the iron works
The Cup
as combined energies
dance away the night
moon and sun
return to the very spot
imprint on the acid-free paper
with lightening speed

Pivotal Moments
Mnemonics Muses Recall
Trumpets Blast Triumphant
Bring Forth Cornucopia
those whose once lived lives
The Eternal Internalized

Up Front and Centre
Intensity Imprinted on the Mundane
Left a Mark on The Back Wall
Heroic Efforts to Recall
Yesterdays Yearnings
Afterthoughts Murmurings
Mirror;d Images
on the Spiral Staircase
Cambridge or Oxford
Harvard or Yale
The Man Made The Grade

Earning Alumunus Cup
Forefathers Stood
Toe to Toe
Like Dominoes
Lined Up
Against The Many
Within The Few
The Trophy Case
is Now within
all of US


Wednesday, November 17, 2010

~~~Magpie 41~~~"Imposing"


The sun set on our designs
While Eternity stages
other event horizons


Monday, November 15, 2010

~~~Magpie 40~~~Modern Day Alchemy

Modern Day Alchemy

Changing Monkeys into Men
and Men into Monkeys
Would you know the differences?
As all these Differences and preferences soon blur
into indifference and nonpreferential treatment
Orange Dream Sicle
long lost years past tomorrow
in the funny handle bars of my old bike
the rear view being you
the only view from here
on the passenger side
you keep quipping deep quotes
from deep throat
throttle up!
displayed on the banana seat
baseball cards make me sound
like I'm travelling much faster
through hyperventilated holes
corrugated space collapsing
like a house of cards
with friction the alchemic action
like pistons that pop
and a form of fiction the poison
the old monkey paw
what causes this interplay?
lets let fantasy always get in the way?
we don our monkey suits everyday
who's to say who's the monkey
who's the man?
to all those waiting patiently for a ride
patently awaiting the ladies in patent leather
the throne of all temporal power
now splayed like a dissected specimen
is "Open"
latent or not
all ripped up
you had a ride
didn't you?
"Be a good little monkey!"
Chimes the organ grinder


Sunday, November 7, 2010

Magpie #39 ~~Cockle-Doodle Don't!~~

today the day we bid goodbye
old rooster would certainly die
fate sealed signed and delivered
mad cook round' the corner with axe
shining drool on corner of mouth
wild with lustful desire uncouth
one fell swoop the act went south
flew far back to the chopping racks

quick like a shot the lucky bird flew
looking back in anger not bird stew
out the door Rooster never look back!
soon he found a new place to dwell
in a tree of a neighbour's place
Rooster had been treated most hard
age made old birdy boy mostly lard
hope plus hope to find a new yard
no one noted his sad, lonely face

All would be great save for rooster
he missed his wife and old sooster
he did think things could get better
keep friends and family to boot
waiting on him hand and foot
never having to breath chimney soot
rather on golden eggs he stood
Retirement to a "T" letter

As the days quickened and died like curd
roosters woeful and distant song heard
faded, worn cockledoo ditty
not worth the bother thought the cook
if all else fails he'd choke n' shook
then shakenbake all would have took
nobody's gonna make me a rook
for rooster's "doo" more's the pity


for more Rooster Tales please go here; if you dare; better this than ending up in the stewpot!

Wednesday, November 3, 2010

~~~Poem a Day~~~There's something quieter than sleep 45/1775

picture is a depiction of Georgics Book III, Shepherd with Flocks, Vatican

There's something quieter than sleep by Emily Dickinson

There's something quieter than sleep
Within this inner room!
It wears a sprig upon its breast —
And will not tell its name.

Some touch it, and some kiss it —
Some chafe its idle hand —
It has a simple gravity
I do not understand!

I would not weep if I were they —
How rude in one to sob!
Might scare the quiet fairy
Back to her native wood!

While simple-hearted neighbors
Chat of the "Early dead" —
We — prone to periphrasis
Remark that Birds have fled!

Emily Dickinson

Dear friends of Emily Dickinson; to be honest; this is a very complicated poem in the fact that the word "periphrasis" refers to detailed grammatic syntax.
Aside from complex allusion by Miss Emily to such a "heady" concept, we can define "periphrasis" simply for economy. The term "periphrasis" can be simply defined as;

periphrasis, from periphrazein "speak in a roundabout way," from peri- "round about" (see peri-) + phrazein "to express. circumlocutio; a loan-translation of Gk. periphrasis) "speaking around" (the topic), from circum- "around". — “Online Etymology Dictionary”,

Throughout the many poems read to date, noted is the use of "periphrasis" or roundabout discussion of certain subject matter. Here, Miss Emily is hedging (as she is so wont to do) about her own literary style. Being "non-direct" in regards to subject matter is a way of creating an atmosphere of illusion typical of 18 century pastoral poets who's use of periphrasis is artful.

What exactly in Miss Emily referencing in her didactic periphrasis? Certain evident would be the "hand of death" a prevalent theme in Emily's work, and in the very nature of her mid-eighteenth hundreds, the 19th century fare.

"Some chafe its idle hand —"

There is undoubtedly a morbidity in this concept of periphrasis, sounding like a form of deliberate paralysis of the straight-forward intent. There is a dreamy sense here, a feeling that there is indeed

"something quieter than sleep"

What would be quieter than sleep? Perhaps death? I would definitely adhere to this analysis.

Anyway you deduce the meaning here and the mysterious and esoteric;

"sprig upon its breast"

Death is undeniably the periphrasic word and method here. Death as a metaphor to something unspoken, kept silent but ever present and ever vigilant; trying aptly to
become much more than a passing fancy or "sprig" one wears in grief for the newly departed.

"While simple-hearted neighbors
Chat of the "Early dead" —"

Unusual phrase here "Early dead" and why is it "quoted"? Must be a famous line from a eighteenth century poet or writer of which I can only guess; Edgar Alan Poe? No, he was in the eighteen hundreds! Here, I'll research "Pastoral Poets - 18th Century" Here is the Wikipedia definition;

Pastoral literature began with the poetry of the Hellenistic Greek Theocritus, several of whose Idylls are set in the countryside (probably reflecting the landscape of the island of Cos where the poet lived) and involve dialogues between herdsmen.[2] Theocritus may have drawn on authentic folk traditions of Sicilian shepherds. He wrote in the Doric dialect but the metre he chose was the dactylic hexameter associated with the most prestigious form of Greek poetry, epic. This blend of simplicity and sophistication would play a major part in later pastoral verse. Theocritus was imitated by the Greek poets Bion and Moschus. The Roman poet Virgil adapted the genre into Latin with his highly influential Eclogues. Virgil presented a more idealised vision of rural life than Theocritus and was the first to set his poems in Arcadia, the favourite location of subsequent pastoral literature. He also included elements of political allegory.[3]

Italian poets revived the pastoral from the 14th century onwards, first in Latin (examples include works by Petrarch, Pontano and Mantuan) then in the Italian vernacular (Boiardo). The fashion for pastoral spread throughout Renaissance Europe. In Spain, Garcilaso de la Vega was an important pioneer and his motifs find themselves renewed in the 20th Century Spanish language poet Giannina Braschi. Leading French pastoral poets include Marot and Ronsard.

The first pastorals in English were the Eclogues (c.1515) of Alexander Barclay, which were heavily influenced by Mantuan. A landmark in English pastoral poetry was Spenser’s The Shepheardes Calender, first published in 1579. Spenser's work consists of twelve eclogues, one for each month of the year, and is written in dialect. It contains elegies, fables and a discussion of the role of poetry in contemporary England. Spenser and his friends appear under various pseudonyms (Spenser himself is "Colin Clout"). Spenser's example was imitated by such poets as Michael Drayton (Idea, The Shepherd's Garland) and William Browne (Britannia's Pastorals). The most famous pastoral elegy in English is John Milton's Lycidas (1637), written on the death of Edward King, a fellow student at Cambridge University. Milton used the form both to explore his vocation as a writer and to attack what he saw as the abuses of the Church. The formal pastoral in English died out in the 18th century, one of the last notable examples being Alexander Pope's Pastorals (1709). The form was parodied by writers such as John Gay (in his Shepherd's Week), criticised for its artificiality by Doctor Johnson and attacked for its lack of realism by George Crabbe, who attempted to give a true picture of rural life in his poem The Village (1783). Pastoral nevertheless survived as a mood rather than a genre, as can be seen from such works as Matthew Arnold's Thyrsis (1867), a lament on the death of his fellow poet Arthur Hugh Clough.

[edit] Pastoral romances
Italian writers invented a new genre, the pastoral romance, which mixed pastoral poems with a fictional narrative in prose. Although there was no classical precedent for the form, it drew some inspiration from ancient Greek novels set in the countryside, such as Daphnis and Chloe . The most influential Italian example of the form was Sannazzaro's Arcadia (1504). The vogue for the pastoral romance spread throughout Europe producing such notable works as Montemayor's Diana (1559) in Spain, Sir Philip Sidney's Arcadia (1590) in England, and Honoré d'Urfé's Astrée (1607–27) in France.

[edit] Pastoral plays
Pastoral drama also emerged in Renaissance Italy. Again, there was little Classical precedent, with the possible exception of Greek satyr plays. Poliziano's Orfeo (1480) shows the beginnings of the new form, but it reached its zenith in the late 16th century with Tasso's Aminta (1573), Isabella Andreini's Mirtilla (1588), and Guarini's Il pastor fido (1590). John Lyly's Endimion (1579) brought the Italian-style pastoral play to England. John Fletcher's The Faithful Shepherdess, Ben Jonson's The Sad Shepherd and Sidney's The Lady of May are later examples. Some of Shakespeare's plays contain pastoral elements, most notably As You Like It (whose plot was derived from Thomas Lodge's pastoral romance Rosalynde) and The Winter's Tale, of which Act 4 Scene 4 is a lengthy pastoral digression.

[edit] Pastoral music
Theocritus's Idylls include strophic songs and musical laments, and, as in Homer, his shepherds often play the syrinx, or Pan flute, considered a quintessentially pastoral instrument. Virgil's Eclogues were performed as sung mime in the 1st century, and there is evidence of the pastoral song as a legitimate genre of classical times.

The pastoral genre was a significant influence in the development of opera. After settings of pastoral poetry in the pastourelle genre by the troubadours, Italian poets and composers became increasingly drawn to the pastoral. Musical settings of pastoral poetry became increasingly common in first polyphonic and then monodic madrigals: these later led to the cantata and the serenata, in which pastoral themes remained on a consistent basis. Partial musical settings of Giovanni Battista Guarini's Il pastor fido were highly popular: the texts of over 500 madrigals were taken from this one play alone. Tasso's Aminta was also a favourite. As opera developed, the dramatic pastoral came to the fore with such works as Jacopo Peri's Dafne and, most notably, Monteverdi's L'Orfeo. Pastoral opera remained popular throughout the 17th-century, and not just in Italy, as is shown by the French genre of pastorale héroïque, Englishman Henry Lawes's music for Milton's Comus (not to mention John Blow's Venus and Adonis), and Spanish zarzuela. At the same time, Italian and German composers developed a genre of vocal and instrumental pastorals, distinguished by certain stylistic features, associated with Christmas Eve.

The pastoral, and parodies of the pastoral, continued to play an important role in musical history throughout the 18th and 19th centuries. John Gay may have satirized the pastoral in The Beggar's Opera, but also wrote an entirely sincere libretto for Handel's Acis and Galatea. Rousseau's Le Devin du village draws on pastoral roots, and Metastasio's libretto Il re pastore was set over 30 times, most famously by Mozart. Rameau was an outstanding exponent of French pastoral opera.[4] Beethoven also wrote his famous Pastoral Symphony, avoiding his usual musical dynamism in favour of relatively slow rhythms. More concerned with psychology than description, he labelled the work "more the expression of feeling than [realistic] painting". The pastoral also appeared as a feature of grand opera, most particularly in Meyerbeer's operas: often composers would develop a pastoral-themed "oasis", usually in the centre of their work. Notable examples include the shepherd's "alte Weise" from Wagner's Tristan und Isolde, or the pastoral ballet occupying the middle of Tchaikovsky's The Queen of Spades. The 20th-century continued to bring new pastoral interpretations, particularly in ballet, such as Ravel's Daphis and Chloe, Nijinsky's use of Debussy's Prélude à l'après-midi d'un faune, and Stravinsky's Le sacre du printemps and Les Noces.[5]

The Pastorale is a form of Italian folk song still played in the regions of Southern Italy where the zampogna continues to thrive. They generally sound like a slowed down version of a tarantella, as they encompass many of the same melodic phrases. The pastorale on the zampogna can be played by a solo zampogna player, or in some regions can be accompanied by the piffero (also commonly called a ciaramella, pipita, or bifera), which is a primitive key-less double reed oboe type instrument.

[edit] Pastoral art
Idealised pastoral landscapes appear in Hellenistic and Roman wall paintings. Interest in the pastoral as a subject for art revived in Renaissance Italy, partly inspired by the descriptions of pictures Sannazzaro included in his Arcadia. The Fête champêtre (Pastoral Concert) attributed to Giorgione is perhaps the most famous painting in this style. Later, French artists were also attracted to the pastoral, notably Claude, Poussin (e.g. Et in Arcadia ego) and Watteau (in his Fêtes galantes).[6]

Emily Dickinson was undoubtly influenced by the 18c Pastoral poets, and the early Greek poets at Amherst College. There would be an effort to research the entire cast of influences at this time. It is a start however! Confluence becomes complex for such seeming simplicity! Never underestimate a transcendentalist! They stay firmly rooted on terre firma against the many tides and sifted sands of infinite predecessors. Enjoy this one per your own intrepretation!

Chiccoreal's Animated End of A Tall Tale or Take Five for Fifty Periphrasis!

Silence is Golden; Fleeced and often flocked
never faked, never sought
knowing not what
we choose to forget
you'll find out soon enough
why wait til sprig?
cause i have a bad cause of periphrasis
and need to take a chill pill
to induce that heady sleep
known only when permanent lights
are OUT.
Peace knows no bounds then..
can you guess?

jane jones

Thursday, October 28, 2010

~~~Magpie 38~~~ Soul Walkers by EA Wilson~~~

The Soul Walkers by EA Wilson channelled by Jane Jones

Gone but not forgotten
E A Wilson
trying to piece together
the potsherd fragment
what was left behind
November 29, 1858
This broken soul marker
speaks not of self
but of the Soul Maker
as you Soul Walkers
EA Wilson
who could?
not you!
could ever hold back
how your blood once flowed
pure and innocent
through places unknown
we do know this
you lived!
and shall live again!
but for tonight
in this sleepy keeping room
we've kept these fragmented
those dog-earred photos
you knew these
who were you
these unknown
energies alive

as to most
you're just a faded memory
not to us magpie believers
unless the prophesy
or your progeny and friends
would say
knew more than they could say
your immortalized bones
now just a name
EA Wilson
now just a time
Nov 29, 1885
not much to tell but
you know more
its time
we dig
we shall dig
we will dig deeper
scrying faded newspapers
in the local lake
going over the records
for the records on microfiche
at the local all-night library?

cut out pieces
out of place in a time
E A Wilson
you come back
all came together
for this time
sliver of night
through the new
silver moon
to make you anew
whole in spirit form'd
from earthen vessel'd souls
before fade like a final curtain call
you were once
save for this night
almost completely lost to us

the Soul Walkers
need to speak
of that swift-flighted bird
landed alight to return
quiet now
quote the quail nevermore
save for this night
listen to the rustle of children feet
playing beneath the cemetery's trees
who are you
EA Wilson?
listen to us
speak to us
tell us what happened then
as for now we wait
in this place of your tomb
swaying and swinging
as willow's mentronome-like movement
Beethoven's 5th Symphony
save for the tumult and timbre of time
saved for posterity
these old bones
wanting to tell all
EA Wilson
you who by now
can see far past eternity
so so sad to say
we miss you today
please tell us
about infinity
we need to ask you this
back from the grave
to stay here
but briefly
we need to know
you need to tell us
your story
before all fades away
and long ago goes home
go home
EA Wilson
to the Soul Maker
you the Soul Walker
EA Wilson
we welcome you
The Soul Maker soon
to welcome you
with open arms
with Compassionate Love

Our brains have been given over
like a trance-filled shaman
this physical alchemy
our brain; our omigdula
fearfulness of fear no more
we'll stay
put on the backburner the shiver
with memory's emulsive burn;
the constant erosion of time
evolved this time
our surety

As you are now left
huddled under the altar
crying for Revelation
I am not dead!
the late wait to unravel
split your grave in two
the grave would not hold
could not hold
your innate fierceness
to hold onto life
queued to quickening
your Soul's Independence
the Country's storehouse
a warehouse full
of souls
to claim

the Spirit
who broke the mold
evoke the long dead
that which tried to hold you in...
now released
for this moment only
this Samhain's opening
awaken once more
animated to speak tales
of old
to us in this present

from all that is covered
shall hover for a time
this long gone buried past
reborn this night
from your earthen shroud
the cold cold grave?
what pray tell
E A Wilson
to speak with us
this Samhain
this Hallow'd eve night?
"Wait! Hence! To be revealed..."
says EA Wilson


~~~~Poem A Day Emily Dickinson~~~"If she had been the Mistletoe" 44/1775

If she had been the Mistletoe ~ by Emily Dickinson

If she had been the Mistletoe
And I had been the Rose —
How gay upon your table
My velvet life to close —
Since I am of the Druid,
And she is of the dew —
I'll deck Tradition's buttonhole —
And send the Rose to you.

Dear Friends of Emily: This is a sweet poem! Emily is completely in the anthropomorphic mood today!

Miss Emily is comparing herself to a rose. I believe there have been many romantic poems who did like comparisons of roses and other natural devices of the literary kind, in particular; "shall I compare thee to a summer day" by William Shakespeare.

Miss Emily Dickinson, as a student of the classics would be well aware of this imaginary device and the power it can evoke in the imagination.

Miss Emily is referring herself to a "rose" and her significant "other she" as "Mistletoe" (note the capitalization of proper pronoun referencing an actual person; also known as personification. Now whom exactly is Miss Emily's "Mistletoe"?
Let me be persistent here, I believe this person is Sue Gilbert or Emily's sister, probably Sue Gilbert as other references to Sue Gilbert, Emily's best friend (BFF) have been made before this time.

Emily is suggesting, in this poem, that if Sue Gilbert were "the Mistletoe" and Emily is the Rose;

"I had been the Rose"

This poem perhaps references a story of the "Mistletoe and the Rose" of which I am not familiar; perhaps someone can tell me if they know of any such story. I am feeling it is a King Arthurian tale! Wait a minute! I'll ask my friends on King Arthurian legends to see if there is a tale similar to "Sir Gawain and the Green Knight" for this apocryphial reference! Maybe it is a glaring references which I have never had the pleasure to reference! Undoubtedly!

"Since I am of the Druid"

This is quite a bold statement to make, and considering the Victorian times with which Miss Emily survived periodically, this poem, if it had been released to general readership during "those days" would have been thought much more than presumptious!

Emily has studied the Druid background so she must understand the "witches" of such tales were often "burned at the stake" in early colonial days. Could this be a reason why Emily did not release her works so readily? Not quite ready for parlour usage? Only after her death were these "personal" diary-like poems released! So the plot thickens!

Emily is, beyond doubt, an inquisitve individual would probably, more than likely did not want another Spanish inquistion! Who would? Especially if Emily is beginning to delve into Metaphysica, and other esoteric belief systems such as the esoteric Transcendentalists.

"How gay upon your table
My velvet life to close —"

Self-sacrificial the above statement; definitely romantic of the Romeo and Juliet type sacrifice on the altar of love.

"and she is of the dew"

One cannot get much more sexual than the above statement. Emily is claiming her Mistletoe (a person) is "of the dew". The dew represents renewed spirit and also carnal desires. Since she knows that "Mistletoe" is "of the dew" giving reference and mood to the poem, creating great mystery and intrigue for those "days of yore" found in Druid mysticism. Dew has significant metaphysical properties and used, perhaps in Druid practice of spiritual alchemy.

"I'll deck Tradition's buttonhole —
And send the Rose to you."

These two ending lines of the last stanza are curious and curiouser! So Emily will wear or "deck" or "don" the Mistletoe and send "the Rose" to you. Here Emily is allowing the reader to partake in the ritual of the "Mistletoe and the Rose" as a third party. Emily, by giving herself to us, in the form of "the Rose" is creating a forth wall and extra dimension to her work. After-all we all know what mistletoe references around Christmas time, if one stands under the Mistletoe the person is automatically kissed! Was Emily hoping for this; to be kissed? Who wouldn't? Miss Emily is earthy and sensual here! By "deck" ing "Tradition's buttonhole" (notice the capital "T" in Tradition? Another elusion to personification of Tradition? To me, this sounds very sensual and coy! Miss Emily is "bucking" or "deck"ing "Tradition", that omni-potent "this is the way it is" type of powerful customary contemporary ritual. Is Emily comparing Druid ritual with Victorian ritual? Maybe and perhaps?

I'll keep the rose in my buttonhole and remember the life that inspired it Emily ~ so romantic Emily! And full of daring-do!

Chiccoreal's Contemplative Analytic Poem on "If she had been the Mistletoe"

"If She had been the Rose and the Mistletoe"

Emily's imagination works overtime
it is the time of "don our gay attire"
and all is a swirl of romantic imagery
full of personified plant life
full of perceptions opening up
and becoming something more than "Tradition"
or Traditional
Emily as the rose
in my buttonhole
of my cloche
will remind all of the beauty
of such a quickening life
so soon
"My velvet life to close"

Wear it Well; Wear it close
this Rose of Life
The Mistletoe will always be
Embellished my dear sweet Emily
with each fragrant passing sniff!


Friday, October 22, 2010

~~~POEM-A-DAY~~~Emily Dickinson "Could live - did live -"

Could live - did live -

Could live — did live —
Could die — did die —
Could smile upon the whole
Through faith in one he met not,
To introduce his soul.

Could go from scene familiar
To an untraversed spot —
Could contemplate the journey
With unpuzzled heart —

Such trust had one among us,
Among us not today —
We who saw the launching
Never sailed the Bay!

by Emily Dickinson

Hello again dear friends of Miss Emily Dickinson! It has been awhile, I apologize for lack of lustre for being less than a shining and stellar example of adhesiveness to the Poem-A-Day functionary, however, excuses...excuses!

Excuses begone! Now we are in for a treat this week! I am finding this new poem (well new in a relative sense, new to me!) called "Could live - did live" similar in some ways to a poem I just wrote for Magpie#37 called "Double or Nothing", and this is just not a flagrant attempt at self-promotion either! (although it probably is...). Yes, Miss Emily and me seem to be caught in the same paradoxical literary technique aka "bug" called "life".

What I must wonder about, besides the paradoxical quandry of up/down, left/right, yes/no, you know, that whole yin-yang chestnut is the fact that Ms Emily is alluding to the Christ/Father/Husband/Finance/Boyfriend/aka Saviour of some sort in this work. Definitely I would immediately think this is all about a saving father figure, like Christ.

Through faith in one he met not,
To introduce his soul.

The reference to "faith" is paramount in this poem being quixotically compared and contrasted to Christ. Also referencing "his" and "he" places the oness on Christ.

Emily is, in her own unique manner of expression, and in a round-about way stating that Christ

"Could live - did live"


"Could die - did die"

"Could smile upon the whole"

Emily, I believe, is contemplating the idea that Christ lived and lives now within the Christian, yet she is questioning although he is alive now and "could go" and "could contemplate" the "familiar" or the "untraversed spot" and now (after Christ's death and resurrection) "Could contemplate the journey" his new life as the resurrected saviour "with unpuzzled heart" meaning that Christ no longer questions God the Father as to "Why have you abandoned me" since Christ and the world are now saved. However, Emily questions maybe why she still does not feel 100% saved even though Christ does feel his salvation. Maybe Emily is waiting in lieu for the end of the world to catch up with the redemption and ransom?

Such trust had one among us,
Among us not today —

Emily feels the "trust" of Christ in salvation for all is "among us not today". In other words, no one has true faith of salvation accept for the risen Christ.

We who saw the launching
Never sailed the Bay!

Emily's reference to the Amherst MA bay, or "far shore" again! So "we who saw the launching" is references all of us who know the Bible facts of Christ death and resurrection" but have as yet "never sailed the Bay" reference of Emily's idiom to death and rebirth in Christ only to happen after death and judgement.

A very Christian-themed poem today! Hope you enjoyed it!

Chiccoreal's Expostulates on "Could live - did live"

Would live - would live

Would die - would die

one day anyway
maybe not
sooner than later
the lated always
open up the floodgates!
let the love flow through
get us all wet with dew
now is the time!
to fill up the potsherds
no use to wait til then
now is the time!
let it all in
why wait in lieu?
to taste that taste
bitter flavour
no favour giv'n
the taint of death
the original sin
singeing not singing
on putrified lips
Shout it out loud
Have faith in one's
Jean Val Jean
release the hounds!
Christ can be here today
held close to heart
Not away ~ leagues across the Bay!
and clear to Midland on a good day
Unless you want to visit
sooner than later?
I think not!


Wednesday, October 20, 2010

~~~Magpie 37~~~Double or Nothing

double or nothing

eyes seye

dart trad

back kcab

forth htrof

to ot

you uoy

from morf

me em

who ohw

are era

you? ?uoy

I? ?I


Wednesday, October 13, 2010

~~~Magpie#35~~~Still Photography

Still Photography

Breezes caught in the stagnant air
silver nitrate imprinted thought
tracers light night paths
lacross players send hoops past the vitriolic sky
extinguished the universal expanse in one fell swoop
while whelps barked uncermoniously at the moon
distant echoes muffled cries choked by chichi
seduction whispered could not recall
lady in a green dress silken satin fall away
ran over by a bus
stood waiting
died waiting
passed away
no auditions, no callbacks today
not even one

As the Foregone conclusion
Requiem mass for the huddled masses
on the 33rd yard line
drunk on dreams they were too Far gone
into their grail cups they used to fry
quail eggs
meatless birds and empty promises begone!

Slammed the door on the way O-U-T!
THAT'S all you GOT?
shut IT out LOUD
bottom of the ninth
ully opened up
the tiny butterfly
squashed inbetween LAYERS
OF YESTERDAY'S NEWS doggone dog-earred pages
with no turnover the economy tanked
Doldrums flash frozen accounts
wall street held up by the clever
on account of the heavy water
like concrete for heavy leaded feet
more trick than treat

Unmoveable feast; moved by the beast of burden
that use to swing now swung idle
Eric Idle on drugs
curtain swags that once had swagger, once dapper
no drapes that drooped and dropped like flies
those crusty clowns; simpletons

as suddenly as
life turnaround
as suddenly
she so
she dropped dead
dead ringer

larger than life
this once moved now removed
no nerve so fated to unnervate
sinews disconnected from the skin
now unabated
now unabridged
now unabashedly bashful
shy guy out of control
stop disfiguring the misinformation
no stopping the stop sign
says "Arret already!"
high five
sigh is all lovers could ever do
besides a little adobe hacienda

bones too brittle to bite the dust
the sting of distant memory sand storms
on naked mucuous membranes sensitive
always too sensitive
to be any good
for unkempt keepers kept diaries in keeping rooms
peter's pickled too
the many sling and arrows
the flesh is ere to
dangling like Shakespeare participle
too many diseases that rack up a price
at the tollhouse cookie house
lined up like catecombe bones
lined up in a row
damn cappuchin monkeys!

the strings had begin to unravel
the telemerase shoelaces were trippy
acid burned the akaloid hallowed holes
from the film strip
helium took hydrogen
away into the troposphere
lazurian battle ensued
opposites once attracted
united deep space nothingness
gradiose holes
yin and yang collapsed
spun-out of control
all energy comprised in the middle
of nowhere
under the sheer weight of
she's come undone
the beginnings just begun
the end is never in sight

no subjects found to collect the goods
or reject the capstone
leaving lintels covered in blood
blood red finally got the earthen
energy burnished in my brain
no conjunction
no common meeting ground
continually leaning post teetering
the other ball dropped
fell on my foot
standing up against the wall
caught in the headlights
deer crossing X
waiting for the stun to stop
waiting for the sun to stop stinging
a hole in my already holey retinas
whole and part
living and partially living
how can that not be?
light burns in images leaves
edges all smudgy
we've still got the right
to party
on this last stop
milky way dangling armature
unusuable her suitor
we dont even know if our arm
in the galaxy is right or left
or has a name
the Universal Suitor
did suit her after all
ask for her hand and got known
as the guy around town
as squid shaped galaxy
how many arms is that?
well the big bang didnt care
that we'd be monsters
neither that nor be here nor there
spiritual beings lived lives of mass extinction
use to call us Beatitudes
Tonal quality excellent
Key of G with a slathering of grunts
from channellers intent on healing
instead of Blue Pleidians
Light BEings of Reknown
we're entralled with living
our temporaneous place
removed all files
from Sour faces
Our Source of renewable resources

Obviously it did not suit her!

As in the Beginning
The Alpha
Hooked up with
The Omega
Knowing each forces' struggle
the epic battle ensued
the life and death struggle
framed so beautifully
as once a relay race offset from the discouse
a lecture in posterior analytics
a residual effect of cause
always the protaganist
delayed overdevelopment thrust thus
into the limelight's eerie gauze
the fog caught thick pea soup
on a backwards cusp
moonlight's glowed on my satin sheets
now on flannel moon snuggled
full tilt version
not for the lilty ones
highty flighty
it would figure
talented trekkers
supplanted us
6 feet deep
the weak
the day
the sick
the week
the quick
the month
the dead
the year end
standing room only

empty womb spake mostly the unspoken words
in tongues fast-fried from heated skillets
sizzle and fizzle left-over puzzled looked
these words that sting and bind

vacant symbols the untrained brain long dead
broke ground reawakened
no longer merely a mortal the
abused master of ceremonies
unceremoniously dumped his grounds for
uncertain times
hoping to fertilize the field of dreams
hammer it home so often we said
we will survive
the homefires glow with marshmallows
not sure clouds are marshmallows
or cloud mushrooms

finding the flint in uncertain ceremony
striking the night's radiate air
scratching post
foundlings found once lost
lil kitty; hello Kitty!
returned to dust once sparks
temporarily out of order
the order of every day
close the door!

wasn't wally world
closed for the season
cut down in its prime
of things that were left
on the slide a downward ride
ever slide up?

devoured like prime beef
in a hall full of jocks
a ballroom dance for worshippers
not to hold sway
too close
better stay away
the Queen shouldn't please
dont get any closer and
sin comes from your gyrating hips
and wet lips
that only some could do that
the grind is too much like ground beef now!

dessicated chopped liver
exacted a pound of flesh
pound per pound of fresh fish
Sole on Ice
souls cry out
Remain in me
for the long lost meat
that hung like rancid butter
in the pantry a long time
now dreams ago
past expiration now rotten stinky
smelling like perspiration
all flesh corrupts
sometime got to know when
as too
all life collapse upon itself
a heap of putrifaction
no action then
except decomposition
once alive no just rotting away
again in Margaritavilla
why cant we just live and on
retire to our destiny
happy knowing how we hope
for the unseen there's faith
our convictions
convicted of what?
to love life?
to be happy
don't worry
it'll all come out in the warsh

removed from the banks
the sludge called
the anthema
this tome close
I am Mommy
yes, my tomb
this tome a closed casket
misquoted no more
placed in the grave
a graven image
beside myself my ego
formless now
as spirit long gone
fled the endless song
this banished banquet
from whom and to whence it came
banner unfurled thus
yet nearly a year banned as a best seller
paperback and
written on napkins
far out context
by its mere existence
a statue

as unfair policy holders
kept card dividers
keepers of circles
kept circling error
kept finding ways
to divide nothing from nothing
the dividend always adds up to two or
zero returns of the day

unfair trade policy makers
swaps spit with tree bark
oaks impart energies
old man can
grin and bear it
Grimm's Fairy Tales knew
the dim outlook
the grim reaper raked it in
should be smiling by now
that smile permanently afixed
wouldst it not be a permanent fixture?
a major production or a double feature?

Ay, these many strange stages of life
every actor plays his part to make
life stranger than fiction
contribution to the cause
did you cause this?

a commotion quelched
concurrent currency
money markets clash
put options
reflecting wall street
and the dead trees
left hanging
on the barren landscape
unfixable lousey dreams
will dram stoker
Vlad the impaler
pale ghost rider
and the dead dogs and ancient englishmen
with bad teeth
entrophy does not get a shiny award or trophy
a tisket a tasket once a life in a basket
now just rolled heads, a turkey roll of fools
kicked down endless halls
captured like imprinted coins
hammered inbetween
dare we break the die that made us die?
cast dispersions to the sky?
or do we then
do we just die
we wait
not panicky
not jump out of buildings
nor take the dramamine
we face our enemies
til we see the white of their eyes
we eat til we drop dead and o' gout
die then live another day?
and yet when and if we do die
and become this rare extinction
since all matter seems to never die
we do so thankful and all is so very thankful
that we thank the thanker as thank-you's grow
and I love you stays the same no matter how
often it is said it is always between too
where thank-you maybe only one sided
unless love is too and I was just enough
deluded into believeing that love was something
other than a figment of imagination
it was more real than anything here
that maybe more than the physical
although certainly felt in the natural
we feel love
we be love
we are love
and love is the only infinity
all esle is rotting in the aisles
so what then is for eating and what should it be
does it matter if I had that extra calorie
I'm just dying for that extra once of chutzpah?
and die we do
where's the gong to enter through?

so eat well, clean the plate for tomorrow we die?
what if it is the next day after tomorrow
will we still eat full well knowing our death is
2 days away? and the worms ache to send more food
"down here". Arent we already in a kind of hell?
With worms and all, isnt that funny!

now that we've saved from ever taint
make room for the grand finale
a crash course in clash of the cymbals
symbolizing (homonym lover)nothing
Isn't that fitting!
I think I'll order another fitting
and let out the top button of my pants
we're quite finished here
we're quite done like dinner
I'm stuffed already
like bird with gravy!

even then
the stop-frame gag up here
gap the gang way of wrong way
fell the trees and stop all this barking
about regulations when so irregular anyways
this utter chaos in disorder
everything upside down and sideways
not lining up with the Grand Alignment
offset by 2 degrees of separation
Hah, you thought seven
I'm closing the gap
if you will too?
make it better for the both of us
you over there
me right here

gapping gapping gaping
flippin' trippy!
the stop-gag order was a frame up
who framed the famous welsh rarebit?
What's up doc? don't you remember?
the particulate matter dissolved
into thin air
what's the matter? Nothing.
encompass with your compasses
the final pass of infinite space
where finite space meets Austin city limits
nothing really matters to me either
especially not PBS
go public or stay private
as nothing really should
interfer with your sense of statiated stayedness
remember not to fly too high when watching Ponderosa
flying circles over me
I see you too
dont do anything
I love you the way you are
dont go changin' to try to please me
you never did before
do this in memory of me
brought to you by Jesus Sandals tm
do as does
so like a doe he does do does well
and nothing for nothing is good for nothing often goes
for saying and nothing ever does nothing
to do nothing
peculiar in these parts per million
glitches of spent witches
should have kept her heart
dried up hygrageneas on the range rover
a dry gulch; a greedy gritch big gulp guzzler at the 711

the elemental and sentimental silenced my heart
decries in the vacuum long assumed innocent
Lincoln's log cabin in the woods
screaming his boyhood history
beyond the normal range of hearing
picked up by those who hear with spirit ears
deadbeat bears lifeless souls peace out
flower-dried RIP tears through the corazon
dead end timed out before the starting gate opened
an opening would have been nice
but it closed as quickly as it did
A Fair ride at the Fair?
I think not!
enter through the no door
at your own risk
jokers wild
life's cruel jest
so innane even for those days
who played every day in the park
running thoughts from others telepathy
caught thoughtless trains of thoughts
walked naked as a blue jay
even after the reunion
even-after eternal life crept up
and the emptiness envelopes you yet
unaddressed issues these I
return to sender
Elvis has left the building
so where did he go?
can he find my house on gps?

as spirit evaporated milk into ether
turned sour dough in San Francisco
called wormwood homeless
and it's Medusa face
a shameful existence
for a fallen star
decreed doom?

rotten decay of nonexistence!

a receptacle bins of holding in lieu the queue
the clue...
a quick pickup and deposit
so many years of yesterday's forgotten dinners
unable to recall the details of what was
and that old chestnut; immortality
the fatal glass of beer
the fatal blow
the fatal natale
stocked up on uncooperativeness
laid waste the trash

being love's surety and understudy
as not being too persistent
and not being too personal
stood me in good stead
a steady lover day after day
Dali's persistence of memory
hangs crooked yet straight upon the wall
encapsulates wisdoms
hypostulates theories
incorporates actions
dry as a bone wisdom
creaking old bones
thoughts can't tweak anymore
only memory bent light
prisms rainbow magic
reflected light show of shadows
black and white tv
nothing ok anything
coming from a zombie
black hole deeper purple
the spaced out nine

as memories linger and harken back
remember 911 a call to shore up
all the stores one had in store
means SQUAT
that we may have been once NO MORE
AND all that

I've seen the light it's black and blue
beaten up
but it was a blacklight shining the unseen world
dimly lit city lights; a Parisian backdrop
a polished diamond left bank sunset's purple haze
so blinded by night's poisonous ink all night
tattoo parlours
i just had to write about Love
often drawn as a clown
as to dwell in the mirky depths the most comfort
like bad medicine is a good poison to some

so bright the lights thisnights on broadway
as to extinguished any and all
as remote a glimmer
of thinly veiled hope
the kind of shadowy hope
that lingers like a cellar dweller
drinking fine spirits and hops
taking it down, deconstruct
as we all knew what we know now
in our heart of hearts
always the Queen
who's recent stay reminded me
the window is only slightly ajar today

a flame sqelched, sputtered and hissed
quenched by the "down there" watery grave
every hopeful promise dashed
every wishful thought denied
every dream vision a version of delusion
for naught sweet nitey nites good night
baby bye-bye sweet baby Innane, Insanity's Baby Sister
decadent lover prone to impromptu decay
as wormwood turns inside-out my once steely guts
return to the grave to barter there
there with the other ranks of Humanities outstanding
bright lights grow ever dimmer
restless yet this place
in the day of our disaster
to wit this place of suspended animation
waivering like a flag depossessed by the pole
flying away, furling out of control
the gain is waiting is in queue
waiting for the long awaited never ever after
waiting while you pass the hours praying to your Unknown
waiting while you pass the test
they said you'd never have to do
the same way you entered here X
you exited the X crossed the t's
said a silent slip of a prayer
said a lot of nothing
as this became you
if not nothing, something
you did become
became white becamel sauce
white and creamy, loving and giving
too kind to get in the game you wrote about
whatever else it is
mostly it is simple bs
why you laugh
out loud?

as quickly as this it had begun
the startup turned to finish line done
your last word please
dont sneeze hold on
just a moment please
a hush
a pip
a slap in the face
tell me
be silent clown
the funny game
the funny game is all over
is it?


Really creepy I know! On the creep-o-meter this was pretty creepy for me. More existential creepy, but nonetheless, creepy with a capital "C". Shadowy Creepy creepy when creeper vines harbour spiders kind of kreepy! A Creepy Keepy!