Free Poets

srmeaney · 2005-08-11 19:40:23

The Warlord

Down, down the nation goes,
along the dark and shadowed roads.
Forget, forget the lost and old.
Oh how they crossed the Delaware
Paddled cross in dark and cold,
to murder men on Christmas
that a young nation might grow old.

-srmeaney 2005

clark · 2005-08-12 21:29:47

I post my poetry in another thread friend.

However, I must say, this poem... well done.

The *only* suggestion, and it is a personal prefrence, would be to include "to murder men on Christmas eve"

Personal prefrence, it just sounds more compelling,

Otherwise, really, I have not enjoyed a poem like that in a very long time. Thank you.

srmeaney · 2005-08-20 06:05:28

Married or maybe not

Have you got written permission?
From your lawyer of course.

Please give thought to what I said.
A nuptial is no joke.

It can be peace of mind, you know,
like a loaded fourty-five under your pillow.

Yes dear, I know you dont like guns,
But it is all for the best.

And lets not forget the importance
of seperate rooms and beds.

Yes, I know she up and left him.
There is no reason to retrieve her scraps.

Of course Ken needs a real Woman.
But if Barbie takes him back?

Yes Dear, I know you are only twelve.
But it is all for the best.

-srmeaney

John Creighton · 2005-08-20 12:18:33

Married or maybe not
Have you got written permission?
From your lawyer of course.
Please give thought to what I said.
A nuptial is no joke.
It can be peace of mind, you know,
like a loaded fourty-five under your pillow.
Yes dear, I know you dont like guns,
But it is all for the best.
And lets not forget the importance
of seperate rooms and beds.
Yes, I know she up and left him.
There is no reason to retrieve her scraps.
Of course Ken needs a real Woman.
But if Barbie takes him back?
Yes Dear, I know you are only twelve.
But it is all for the best.
-srmeaney

I don't get it.

srmeaney · 2005-08-20 19:59:59

I don't get it.

TO:Michael Creighton
If ya dont get it, ya is too old.

TO: Clark
Never Censor the Poetry, ever. It detracts from the spontaneous purity of it.

srmeaney · 2005-08-20 20:29:01

The Lost Dolphins

Behold the Azure Land
Beneath a Sapphire Sea,
We left one to sail the other
And know not where we be.

-srmeaney

clark · 2005-08-21 21:36:59

Stream of consciousness? Even Kerouac self edited.

You want stream, I can do stream...

Midnight and golden glory sunrise burning bright through dirty windowed paned never morning and the silhouetted tomorrow sleepy with day dream promise, a promise, my promise, I promise; wake up noon long past when the last blue bird jay bird sung a note, singing yelling off key while shower hello starts the gray day in full color, cold! Hot coffee and the kiss of porcelain mug against lips pressed hard, pursed hard for a walk out a door that opens one way, my way, that way- this way, over there and the lines forms down the street and I find a number amongst a crowded intersection of a midsection of a downtown on my way uptown, turned around, hailing a taxi cab confessing what I should have done on a broken down subway in circles one night when she was there to hear me, but the dark skinned driver doesn’t understand or care. And the moon hides howling at two in the morning when the last star has fled and gray morning long away slips into the edge of a drunken revelry waving goodbye once more singing to the mad men down below cold in the empty littered streets of concrete shadowed flower blooming dawn in every drooping petal of steel or brick. Shouting shouting like a broken horn on a broken bus on a broken turnpike somewhere over a river named for something someone somewhere on a plaque lost in harbor fog, and the dull eyed listless hope of strangers passing in crowded confusion losing lost and found, a place by a statue and the buzzing drones of voices long since asleep still sleepwalking in a daydream never night where the midnight morning sun waits at five am and the last train to some anonymous stop and some anonymous house that some anonymous person calls home, just for a night, just for tonight, kissing fast awake the arms that will hold as long as the eyes can stay shut and the morning evening never comes lingering in gray dawn with her and him and them and us and stuck fifteen miles from anywhere but right here, for now.

John Creighton · 2005-08-25 10:18:53

Bitter martyr born of hate
Unease thigh furry by killing and rape
Draw and quarter shoot and bomb
Fill your void with horror and wrong

Genocide to you is a necessary amputation
To fight the cancer of the evil in enemy nations
Unless you find anther operation
Perhaps a bomb to deliver radiation

Down shall fall all civilization
By Relegion though wrath and fury
they force a transformation
in the hope to birth a pure and just nation

With such purpose the hate goes on
With such ideals can they be wrong
Even in the worlds end
Has not the martyr brought gods awmen?

John Creighton · 2005-08-31 14:59:57

Iron Fist has fallen down
order broken society unbound
flood of warriors rush to fill the void
the cost of order is blood
ideals drowned in filthy mud
beheadings torture rape and guns
rampant hate and rhetoric has begun
the promise of peace smudged by greed
black filthy oil stained harts,
distrust of all different then we
foreign segregated symbols
walking targets, flaunt decadence
freedom order piece, amidst a civilization
founding on the ultimate sacrifice
and dedication to a right way of life
what tolerance will there be
to this foreign symbol against a way of life
in a world we jihad is right
in a world were we mock thier way of life
and take from them to fuel our decadence
and give money to build upon their strife,
it don't mater what good we could bring to them
all that matters is what is taken
all that is seen is what is forsaken
a negative story were the outsider is always at fault
because of the entrepreneurial cultural assault
until we can lean to live without
and sacrifice money as well as a few boy scouts
until we are all prepared to pay the price
for true order and justice in life
hate will always be fed upon
jealousy distrust greed and lust
until the stick is broken
the shield shattered
and the officers back is broken

srmeaney · 2005-09-08 05:19:44

Dark Age

What religion are you?
Sneer. Wrong Answer!
Whip. Whip. The scream.
Heretic Dog! The agony.
Bent Backward over the
ever-sacred altar.
Blood stained walls
crimson with the moment.
What religion are you?
Die Heretic! Blade slashing.
More flesh to feed the
great tallow inferno.
Walls painted with the
crimson red of life.
Ceilings caked with
the rancid tallow blackness.
The still trembling heart
pulsing in an open palm.
What religion are you?
Heresy! Is the mad scream.
Repent dog! Repent!

-srmeaney

srmeaney · 2005-09-08 05:24:50

John & Clark,

You both realy need to name the poetry, else you wind up like one of those insane spiritual poets who write a continuous poem occupying multiple books. All under the same title: What I thought while coming back from my Opium nightmare...

Ps Hope you all like the new one. Try and visualize it. Its much scarier...

clark · 2005-09-08 08:51:50

You both realy need to name the poetry, else you wind up like one of those insane spiritual poets who write a continuous poem occupying multiple books.

Wind up? Little late for the warning, thanks.

Labels can be so confining.

John Creighton · 2005-09-08 17:47:47

Dark Age
What religion are you?
Sneer. Wrong Answer!
Whip. Whip. The scream.
Heretic Dog! The agony.
Bent Backward over the
ever-sacred altar.
Blood stained walls
crimson with the moment.
What religion are you?
Die Heretic! Blade slashing.
More flesh to feed the
great tallow inferno.
Walls painted with the
crimson red of life.
Ceilings caked with
the rancid tallow blackness.
The still trembling heart
pulsing in an open palm.
What religion are you?
Heresy! Is the mad scream.
Repent dog! Repent!
-srmeaney

I'm enjoying the poems in these threads. They seem very real. They get right to what some might not want to face.

John Creighton · 2005-09-08 17:59:40

John & Clark,
You both realy need to name the poetry, else you wind up like one of those insane spiritual poets who write a continuous poem occupying multiple books. All under the same title: What I thought while coming back from my Opium nightmare...
Ps Hope you all like the new one. Try and visualize it. Its much scarier...

I usally do. I guess I got lasy. Anyway I thought the drug of poets wasabsinth

srmeaney · 2005-09-08 18:37:09

Autumn Lions

Behold the cry of stone
This is no avalanche.
The overwhelming stench
This is no cespit.
The acrid smell of saltpetre
This is no battlefield.
The whilrwind of sparks
This is no bonfire.
The Blizzard of fine dust
This is no sand storm.
The hammers thundering
This is no anvil.
The Sweat and blood.
This is no smithys forge.

-srmeaney 2001

dicktice · 2005-10-10 08:35:14

A LOVE SONG

Cindy, my darling,
My whole heart applauds you,
I am lost in a true
Maelstrom of love!
I regard your demure glances,
My sweetheart, as bless-ed,
Sharp cupid-kissed tokens of love.

My true heart, my sweet heart,
Your being delights me,
Sings to me, brings to me,
The essence of ecstasy,
Joyously carries my burden of love,
Delightedly, load-lightly,
To havens of wonder so far above!

Cindy, this poet is clumsy,
Expresses hmself in slips of the tongue,
Shamefacedly gauche,
In things said so wretchedly wrong,
Now tries to say simply,
"I adore you completely"
In the warmth of great love!

by Bob Cunningham
[commisioned by Dicktice]

Palomar · 2005-10-10 09:45:10

A LOVE SONG
Cindy, my darling,
My whole heart applauds you,
I am lost in a true
Maelstrom of love!
I regard your demure glances,
My sweetheart, as bless-ed,
Sharp cupid-kissed tokens of love.
My true heart, my sweet heart,
Your being delights me,
Sings to me, brings to me,
The essence of ecstasy,
Joyously carries my burden of love,
Delightedly, load-lightly,
To havens of wonder so far above!
Cindy, this poet is clumsy,
Expresses hmself in slips of the tongue,
Shamefacedly gauche,
In things said so wretchedly wrong,
Now tries to say simply,
"I adore you completely"
In the warmth of great love!
by Bob Cunningham
[commisioned by Dicktice]

:oops: Thank you, Dicktice. I'm truly honored. Such a wonderful gesture, and the sentiment is appreciated.

This poem couldn't have arrived at a better time (having a bit of "the blues" lately). Thanks again. You're a sweet man.

--Cindy

dicktice · 2005-10-27 10:55:05

All credit goes to Bob Cunningham (84) who now rides around town like a demented demon on a powered three-wheeler, his sight not being up to driving a car any longer. We have been getting him up and running on the Internet, under "The Wit and Wisdom of Bob Cunningham," with pictures and all. Try the weblog to see if it works, please: www.boblinks.tk

Martian Republic · 2005-10-27 12:40:55

I’m not into writing poems, but I did write a small story though. But, it does need to be cleaned up a bit though. It about twenty pages long. I wonder if I should try to publish it? The stories name is:

Memoir of Lawrence Morehead And The Court Jesters President

I also e-mailed Candi Rogue too, to try a speed getting on the line, because of the importance of what I had to say too and I didn’t know how much time I had left, before they would come and get me. I also expressed the importance of having to get on quickly too and as soon as possible. It seemed that Candi got my e-mail and was ready to receive my call and interview went like this.

Morehead: Hello Candi, this Congressman Lawrence Morehead and it a pleasure to talk to you.

Candi: I hear you really caused a stir last night. Is that so?

Morehead: Oh, I suppose that so. But, that not what I want to talk about. But, before I do. Who Ike?

Candi: Mm, why did ask that question?

Morehead: I heard that you have a hot head on later today by the name of Ike.

Candi: Oh, you must mean, Ike Malhol and I wouldn’t call him hot either.

Morehead: Well, what ever you say. But, now back to what I wanted to talk to you about today.

Candi: You can’t call the other host on Free America Radio hot head. Not on my show, you will have to apologize and right now or I will break off this Connection right now. Because, I’m not going to put up with that even if you are a Democratic Congressman. Do you hear, me!

Morehead: Vice President got Impeached today and I was the one that made the motion to Impeach him.

Candi: WHAT! Vice President Impeached?

Morehead: Yes! And President with him also. But, now it has to go to the senate for there removal from office. Not only that, we also Impeached head of Definse, Carl Rove and bunch of the other people in the current administration too. You see I have been busy in the House of Representatives and I have been kicking asses as you can see.

Candi: Wow, Vice President is probably heading over to the Senate right now to stop any possibility of them getting removed from the Vice Presidency right now and “HE WILL BE FURIOUS TOO”! I hope they will be ready for his ranting and raving.

Morehead: Your probably right. That why I’m in very biiig trouble. If I don’t see you guys again, you will know what to me. I will also like to post my standard list of who got Impeached on your web site, if you wish Candi.

Candi: Of course, you can! Take care congressman and call again if your able.

Morehead: Take care and good by.

Candi: You heard it people. Congressman Morehead put his head on the line for us and now it time for us to put our head on the line for Morehead. I still don’t know what he did last night, but if it anything like what he did this morning, it must have been something pretty good. Oh, well, it time for my next caller that was actually my first caller. But, I’m sure you understand by what Congressman Morehead had to shared with us and for it important for us to hear about.

Next caller: No problem! Boy, that was a class act! And how do you top something like that anyway?

Candi Rogue went on with the rest of her show and I went on about my business.

Here a little section of it.

Larry,

Palomar · 2005-10-27 13:27:09

All credit goes to Bob Cunningham (84) who now rides around town like a demented demon on a powered three-wheeler, his sight not being up to driving a car any longer. We have been getting him up and running on the Internet, under "The Wit and Wisdom of Bob Cunningham," with pictures and all. Try the weblog to see if it works, please: www.boblinks.tk

*The page opens with a brief bio of Mr. Cunningham with an image of him as the page's background, and selection headings. Unfortunately the other photographs don't show up; they're just white boxes with a small red "x" in them. I can hear the audio clip which has been installed; seagulls and ocean waves.

But again, the photos aren't showing up beside the selection headings.

--Cindy

dicktice · 2005-10-27 18:28:55

Thanks, Cindy. Will get rignt on it, for my own purposes as well as Bob's.

Martian Republic: Consider publishing, weblog-wise, on the Internet. You'd be surprised (shocked?) where it goes and the comments you get, once you'd learned how and got it debugged.... Just don't be expect to be paid.

Martian Republic · 2005-10-27 23:24:27

Thanks, Cindy. Will get rignt on it, for my own purposes as well as Bob's.
Martian Republic: Consider publishing, weblog-wise, on the Internet. You'd be surprised (shocked?) where it goes and the comments you get, once you'd learned how and got it debugged.... Just don't be expect to be paid.

Yes, I already figured that I would have to take to a publisher or someone that does short stories for profit. Even then I would probably only get a small amount for it. But, it a good enough story that it might be worth something. It got a lot of intrigue in it and the story does a lot of twisting and turning and there are a lot of surprises in the story. Also I have never written anything before and it generally easier if you got name recognition or have written something before.

Where this story does go and who ever does read this story, I retain all rights to this story.

Larry,

dicktice · 2005-11-07 19:34:40

A Scottish friend, in response to my email regarding Mars Society poetry, wrote me the following which he had written to his three children simultaneously attending respectivie universities, pregrad, postgrad and PhD, to wit:

The Marmelade Jar and 2 cups of Scottish tea

When things in your life seem almost too much to handle, when 24 hours in a day are not enough, remember your Great Grannie's tale of the Marmelade jar and the 2 cups of Scottish tea...

Your great Grannie stood before the Kitchen table one driech day in Lochee and had some items in front of her. When I came in and began to haver about whatever, wordlessly, she picked up a very large and empty glass marmelade jar and proceeded to fill it with hard-boiled eggs.

She then asked me if the jar was full. Quizzicaly I agreed that it was. She then picked up a box of blaeberries and poured them into the jar. She shook the jar lightly. The berries rolled into the open areas between the eggs. She then asked me again if the jar was full. I agreed it was. Next she picked up a box of salt and poured it into the jar. Of course, the salt filled up everything else. She asked once more if the jar was full. I shouted an excited "yes". She stooped down and from under the table she then produced two cups of cold Tea from under the table and poured the entire contents into the jar, effectively filling the empty space between the salt. I jumped up and laughed more at the thought of the random mess she creeated than any thing else.

"Now," said my Grannie, as my laughter subsided, "I want you to recognize that this jar represents your life. The eggs are the important things: your God, your family, your children, your health, your friends, and your favorite passions -- things that if everything else was lost and only they remained, your life would still be full. The blaeberries are the other things that matter like your job, your house, and your car. The salt is everything else -- the small stuff." If you put the salt into the jar first," she continued, "there is no room for the blaeberries or the eggs. The same goes for life. If you spend all your time and energy on the small stuff, you will never have room for the things that are important to you. Pay attention to the things that are critical to your happiness. Play with your children. Take time to get medical checkups. Be attentive to your partners. Play another hand of dominoes. There will always be time to dig the garden and fix the garbage."

Take care of the eggs first -- the things that really matter. Set your priorities. The rest is just salt.

I was puzzled and inquired what did the tea represent. She smiled as only she could. " I'm glad your listening for once. It just goes to show you that no matter how full your life may seem, there's always room for a couple of cups of Scottish tea with a friend."

dicktice · 2005-11-07 20:04:43

Cindy: Re. Boblinks.tk I checked it out with my web guy, and we can find no problems with accessing the photos embedded in the text(s). I assume you have broadband since you include elaborate pictorials. I wonder if anyone else gets only white boxes in place of photos ... anyone?

dicktice · 2005-11-07 20:23:16

Thanks, Cindy. Will get rignt on it, for my own purposes as well as Bob's.
Martian Republic: Consider publishing, weblog-wise, on the Internet. You'd be surprised (shocked?) where it goes and the comments you get, once you'd learned how and got it debugged.... Just don't be expect to be paid.
Yes, I already figured that I would have to take to a publisher or someone that does short stories for profit. Even then I would probably only get a small amount for it. But, it a good enough story that it might be worth something. It got a lot of intrigue in it and the story does a lot of twisting and turning and there are a lot of surprises in the story. Also I have never written anything before and it generally easier if you got name recognition or have written something before.
Where this story does go and who ever does read this story, I retain all rights to this story.
Larry,

Yes, yes: Name recognition is what publishing your first book on the internet is all about! It will be copied (you can bet on it) translated and maligned ... who cares, as long as they get your name rignt. I use a pen-name, since I plagiarize old fiction plots a lot in my science fiction stories (or speculative fiction, as my writing group insists on calling it to gain more general acceptance within the university community, here).

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