Poetry Corner

[Pedro Xaramillo]

Re: Poetry Corner

Issaquah September (6/20/09)

Indian land
Snoqualmie summer
Hop harvest
Frontier post
Old train town
Immigrant inlet

The engines stopped running
but the ghosts remain
cattlemen, lubmerjacks, coal miners, wildcats
tells stories
of their glory
on the smoke
of wood burned,
saloon stoked,
supper fires

Leaves yield
yellow upon
autumn's approach
the gingko
stills stands
artifact sentinel

wind whistles wildly
through the highland wilderness
rivers roll roaringly
out yonder
whitewater falls
elk grazing gracefully
over cloud shadowed meadows
this Issaquah September

-- freakyfreaky

Nice poem Freaky

[Pedro Xaramillo]

Re: Poetry Corner

Ode to a Long Hot Summer (6/17/09)

Hot lust in the summertime
Much rapture on the grass
But no matter which season
comes or goes
may you be between the legs
of a fine, young lass.

-- freakyfreaky

This one is even better

[freakyfreaky]

Re: Poetry Corner

CARDIAC (1983)

I want a car that I can ride in
a powerpack cadillac a coked-up cadillac
a rustproof dustproof chrome roof cadillac
whacked out cadillac
smokestack cadillac shockstop cadillac
cadillac cadillac lac lac lactose
pure rose cream and shiny
skin tight cadillac fishtit cadillac
switch hit cadillac
fleshtone cadillac shinbone cadillac
assassinated cadillac (that's the JFK
Dallas version of a cadillac)
a poontang cadillac! El Dorado! Coup de Ville!
Fleetwood Custom brand new whitewalls
a dismantled cadillac a D-cup cadillac
Jayne Mansfield's head
in the back of her big pink cadillac
and the chihuahuas lying dead on the highway
by the roofless cadillac that bloody caddy
o caddy, o daddy
Cos this ain't no Honda no Buick Skylark,
es no Toyota, no Yamahaha
Forget Ford Fairlane and Chevrolaylay
they ain't our speedo oh no no no no
This is America and we drive Cadillacs
cadillacs all kinda cadillacs
Yo, swell fins on this here caddy
Hey flag down that big black caddy
that black black cadillac
and come on over here
and step inside your daddy's cadillac
it's got green leather seats
and folding ashtrays
brand new FM all the options
So we take a drive into the night
and then we park it in the darkness
under a werewolf moon
and come on over here
climb into the back of your daddy's caddy
your slow smile surrounds me
and as you crawl over
that green leather seat
your skirt rides up and I can see
I can see oh say can you see
by the green dashboard light
the sudden flash of shiny thigh
we are coiled like hibernating snakes
in the back of your daddy's caddy
your creamy skin laid on green leather
and isn't that the whitest skin
the whitest skin I've ever seen?
and the radio reminds us
Dont forget the Motor City
oh don't forget the Motor City!
and your left leg is hooked over the front
seat and I've got fluid drive
klik klik your legs are locking
klik klik this caddy's rocking
I can feel the blood beneath
the surface of your seamless skin
I can trace the specific contours
of your skull as surely as
that topographer tracing the contours
of the skin of the planet
and is this not America beneath my hands?
Its mountains and rivers and the missile silos
six miles beneath the cornfields of Kansas?
No, that is not this
this is purely human
stroking you in the back
of your daddy's caddy
stoking you in the back
of your daddy's caddy
Listen to my blood humming
listen to my heart coming
and the tumblers fall into place
and the padlock pops up
you slide wide open
and we're wrapped in
this perfect envelope of flesh
in the back of your daddy's caddy
and your private parts are more perfect
than the grillwork on an El Dorado
O caddy, o daddy!
O sweet god of motor cars
there is no cadillac
Cadillac is just one of the
alltime great American words
and I wish I wish I wish
I wish your daddy was here to see it.

-- Max Blagg

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AItnMmLfsHg

[Gary]

Re: Poetry Corner

Every time my eyes are blinkin
in my head im just thinkin
why was your love for me sinkin?
But in my life, i never found the answer to that question
stuck in obsession, but ended up with no succession
from a heart break i went through depression
my head was upside down and fulfilled with aggression
continue livin my life with not another regret,but what you have done
i will never forget without being upset
tryin to carry on with a smile hoping its worth livin for a while
for you I'd walk more than just a xxxxin mile
reality hit me in the eyes it happened to be a surprise
i despise on all your lies kuz my hearts the one who cries
life is a never ending story and the truth may never be told
kuz were living in a world that's so dark and cold

[Gary]

Re: Poetry Corner

I've been stresssin
screamin xxxx God
but let it be a blessin
wit my life i been messin
not thinkin bout the consequences ill been facin
the time ive been wastin
my breath dat ive been pacin
the goals that i was chasin
seems like yesterday
but ma dreams i threw em alll away
gone forever to stay
even the nights dat i used to pray


Don't mind the spelling i wrote it like that intentionally

[Gary]

Re: Poetry Corner

i been stresssin
screamin xxxx god
but let it be a blessin
wit my life i been messin
not thinkin bout the consequences ill been facin
the time ive been wastin
my breath dat ive been pacin
the goals that i was chasin
seems like yesterday
but ma dreams i threw em alll away
gone forever to stay
even the nights dat i used to pray

Don't mind the spelling i wrote it like that intentionally

[Gary]

Re: Poetry Corner

i been stresssin
screamin Fu*K god
but let it be a blessin
wit my life i been messin
not thinkin bout the consequences ill been facin
the time ive been wastin
my breath dat ive been pacin
the goals that i was chasin
seems like yesterday
but ma dreams i threw em alll away
gone forever to stay
even the nights dat i used to pray

Don't mind the spelling

[Gary]

Re: Poetry Corner

My name is Garik
im so psychotic
I'm an alcoholic
i love hypnotique
smoke that California chronic
it's ironic I'm so demonic
faster than super sonic
just don't panic because im satanic! -_-

[MrHyeSev]

Re: Poetry Corner

Oh O
we have a new poet on our hands.

[freakyfreaky]

Re: Poetry Corner

GREEN FIELDS

By this part of the century few are left who believe
in the animals for they are not there in the carved parts
of them served on plates and the pleas from the slatted trucks
are sounds of shadows that possess no future
there is still game for the pleasure of killing
and there are pets for the children but the lives that followed
courses of their own other than ours and older
have been migrating before us some are already
far on the way and yet Peter with his gaunt cheeks
and point of white beard the face of an aged Lawrence
Peter who had lived on from another time and country
and who had seen so many things set out and vanish
still believed in heaven and said he had never once
doubted it since his childhood on the farm in the days
of the horses he had not doubted it in the worst
times of the Great War and afterward and he had come
to what he took to be a kind of earthly
model of it as he wandered south in his sixties
by that time speaking the language well enough
for them to make him out he took the smallest roads
into a world he thought was a thing of the past
with wildflowers he scarcely remembered and neighbors
working together scything the morning meadows
turning the hay before the noon meal bringing it in
by milking time husbandry and abundance
all the virtues he admired and their reward bounteous
in the eyes of a foreigner and there he remained
for the rest of his days seeing what he wanted to see
until the winter when he could no longer fork
the earth in his garden and then he gave away
his house land everything and committed himself
to a home to die in an old chateau where he lingered
for some time surrounded by those who had lost
the use of body or mind and as he lay there he told me
that the wall by his bed opened almost every day
and he saw what was really there and it was eternal life
as he recognized at once when he saw the gardens
he had made and the green fields where he had been
a child and his mother was standing there then the wall would close
and around him again were the last days of the world

-- W.S. Merwin

To the Light of September

When you are already here
you appear to be only
a name that tells of you
whether you are present or not


and for now it seems as though
you are still summer
still the high familiar
endless summer
yet with a glint
of bronze in the chill mornings
and the late yellow petals
of the mullein fluttering
on the stalks that lean
over their broken
shadows across the cracked ground


but they all know
that you have come
the seed heads of the sage
the whispering birds
with nowhere to hide you
to keep you for later


you
who fly with them


you who are neither
before nor after
you who arrive
with blue plums
that have fallen through the night


perfect in the dew

-- W.S. Merwin






ECHOING LIGHT

When I was beginning to read I imagined
that bridges had something to do with birds
and with what seemed to be cages but I knew
that they were not cages it must have been autumn
with the dusty light flashing from the streetcar wires
and those orange places on fire in the pictures
and now indeed it is autumn the clear
days not far from the sea with a small wind nosing
over dry grass that yesterday was green
the empty corn standing trembling and a down
of ghost flowers veiling the ignored fields
and everywhere the colors I cannot take
my eyes from all of them red even the wide streams
red it is the season of migrants
flying at night feeling the turning earth
beneath them and I woke in the city hearing
the call notes of the plover then again and
again before I slept and here far downriver
flocking together echoing close to the shore
the longest bridges have opened their slender wings

-- W.S. Merwin

------------
A real g drinks Alize, like they were chilling in Nassau behind a blunt in da club.