City of Love

City Of Love

City of love,
City of love,
City of love,
Once bitten twice shy
No - No regrets at all
Justice - Body smooth take over
Good girls they work the city
Good guys they spike you hard
How they jive ad jingle
When you're in their backyard
Street corner wonder lust
Beckoning the good guy
Take this get that
Have a good time
He young and tactile
He ready for anything that is
How they jive and jingle
They've read the book that gives
We'll be waiting for the night
We'll be waiting for the night to come

Supervise this good treatment
Alternative line by line
So the street guys so observant
Take him for a ride
Have a good time
Like a legend the man he sharp
His woman gladly watching
As he strides out of the dark
Better be quick get away
We'll be waiting for the night
We'll be waiting for the night to come

Good timing has its good price
One trick and you're stuck with the dice
How they jive and jingle
When you're their sacrifice
Fast as lightning
Go - Go get high - He's looking good
Once bitten twice shy
No woman no cry
No woman don't cry
We'll be waiting for the night
We'll be waiting for the night to come

YES

Awaken

Awaken


High vibration go on
to the sun, oh let my heart dreaming
past a mortal as me.
Where can I be?

Wish the sun to stand still.
Reaching out to touch our own being
Past a mortal as we
Here we can be
We can be here,
be here now.
Here we can be.

AWAKEN SUNS HIGH STREAM THRU AWAKEN
GENTLE STRONG DREAMS BEGIN HERE AWAKEN
MASS MASS
TOUCH STAR,SONG,AGE,LESS TOUCHING

Workings of man
set to ply out historical life.
Reregaining the flower of the fruit of his tree.
All awakening, all restoring you.

Workings of man, crying out from the fires set aflame.
By his blindness to see that the warmth of his being
is promised for his seeing, his reaching so clearly.

Workings of man
driven far from the path.
Rereleased in inhibitions
So that all is left for you
all is left for you
all is left for you
all this left for you now.

Master of things. Master of light.
Songs cast alight on you. All pure chance.
Hark thru dark ties. As exists cross divided.
That tunnel us out of sane existence. In all encircling mode.
In challenge as direct. Oh closely guided plan.
As eyes see young stars assemble. Awaken in our heart.

Master of soul. Master of time.
Set to touch. Setting sail.
All impenetrable youth. Over all of our lands.
Ask away. And as we look.
That thought be contact. Forever closer.
With all thats clear. Shall we now bid.
Be honest with yourself. Farewell, farewell.
Theres no doubt, no doubt.

High vibration go on
to the sun, oh let my heart dreaming
past a mortal as me.
Where can I be?

Wish the sun to stand still.
Reaching out to touch our own being
Past a mortal as we
Here we can be
We can be here.

Like the time I ran away
and turned around
and you were standing close to me.

Like the time I ran away
and turned around
and you were standing close to me.

YES

Astral Traveller

Astral Traveller

(Anderson/Foster)

And in the ruins
Caught in the noose around me,
Glasses tell lies.
Wondering when
To do it again of another
Flying to the sky,
Somewhere flying high.
Astral trav'ller,
Leaving without her,
Wond'ring where lives go;
In and out the valley below.
Once in the air,
We could expect a great respect in being.
(Astral trav'ller.)
Memories fly
Over the sky, and oh, the
Sight's worth seeing,
Just believin'.
Astral trav'ller,
Leaving without her,
Wond'ring where lives go;
In and out the valley below.

Yes

Long Trip in a Short Boat

Long trip in a short boat

I knew when I launched -
my Canoe -
Into the river of her -
Whitewater eyes -
That I was in for a troubling
Ride -
And wouldn't be back -
For Days.

Doug Palmer

Originally this was Lane Savant's comment to my poem posted at SENTINEL. I liked it but did not want it to outshine my stuff. Then Doug shamed me into posting it by posting it himself on FEEL FREE TO LAUGH yesterday. Devious critter that Doug.

Glenn

Is It Just Me?

Painting by Mike Riley

Doug Palmer this morning on FEEL FREE TO LAUGH, led off his posting with some
Emily Dickinsonisms. Per usual his dry wit and acerbic humor left me in stitches.

Is It Just Me?

So here's a poem of Emily's.
It's the first one I've ever read that is immediately understandable.
But it's given as an example of a totally incomprehensible one.


A Day! Help! Help! Another Day!
Your prayers, oh Passer by!
From such a common ball as this
Might date a Victory!
From marshallings as simple
The flags of nations swang
Steady - my soul: What issues
Upon thy arrow hang!


How 'bout?


I woke up this morning full of energy
It's kind of scary, even
This is the kind of energy
That can cause great things to happen
Simple beginnings as this
Have created new countries
I've got to stay cool: Who knows
What will happen today?


Or even;


O! What a beautiful morning!
O! What a beautiful day!
I've got a (kind of a scary) beautiful feeling
Everything's going my way.


Or, What the hell'


Goodness - Gracious -
Great balls of Fire!!!


Go figure

Actually,
I woke up today
with a feeling similar to that.
I'd describe it to you,
but I've just done that.
Besides, "feelings" are useless
and have no practical value.

I'm sure that today will be
no more than the usual click
of the conveyor belt
that drags us to the edge
of the big garbage dump
("transfer station" these days)
in the sky.

Doug Palmer August 2008

Sentinel

Photograph by Rick Mobbs.

This is another image prompt by Rick Mobbs--this one from his trip down the Colorado in the Grand Canyon last week.

Sentinel

Karluuk was young,
as spirits go,
when the canyon was birthing,
forming trenches like cosmic claw marks
deeper and deeper
into earth’s brown bosom.

He spent multiple millenniums
observing the mighty Colorado
before it ever had a name,
carving its wet signature
into the sandstone colon
of new cliffs.

Karluuk was wind spirit,
fascinated by
the industriousness of river;
so much so
that he befriended it.
Since river was water spirit
they could see
each other’s faces.

Great Manitou
enjoyed them both,
finding joy in their youthful frolic,
while wind whipped up waves,
river roared deep in its chest;
midst their play,
more so every single day,
a canyon began to form.

One day river requested
that Karluuk hover for a time
in one single spot.
“Oh yes, I could,” said wind,
But why would I?”

“Because I love you,
and our friendship
will be eternal
as you pose for me
and I carve your likeness
on this lovely new cliff”
said river.

So it came to pass
that wind swirled slowly
on one small mesa
for several days,
while river,
the loving artist,
sculpted Karlook’s face
into solid rock—
finally one midday
the masterwork was
completed.

“Why, it looks just like me!”
wind exclaimed,
“Especially my nose
and furrowed brow.”

River laughed,
splashing the nearby banks
with its giddy waves.
“There you are,
and there you’ll be
forever the watcher,
friend and sentinel.

The face is still there,
high above the canyon,
today,
for those who look,
who notice,
who care.

Glenn A. Buttkus August 2008

When Emerald Strikes the Clover

When Emerald Strikes the Clover


The haystack now is melting down,
I see the hoar frost flee,
The wind cuts short her howling moan,
Dark days are blowing over.
A snowbird sings and so will I –
When emerald strikes the clover.

It's calving time and lambing too,
They struggle to breathe free,
Most will live but some just won't,
Cold days are nearly over.
Just hang on for a few more weeks -
Till emerald strikes the clover.

The horses stand in mud unshod,
Their coats hang long and shaggy,
Winter moustache on my bronco's lip,
The shoer is driving over.
They'll be ready again for work -
When emerald strikes the clover.

Springtime fills most every step,
These muddy boots will take,
Don't mind too much the windy cold,
But am glad when it's all over.
I live for days when life ebbs back -
And emerald strikes the clover.

The haystack now has melted down,
And frost takes to the wing,
Breezes wafting light and slow,
Blue skies have taken over.
A songbird sings and so do I -
When emerald strikes the clover.

By Paul Kern