Sanskrit poet's game

The Reason

Dark and smelly, Deep and musty
The wine cellars are seen.
Full of ancient, old wine
Plucked from grapewines
Crushed and smushed..
Too long to make a good wine.

When it's drunk, it makes one blank
And shaky the inexoerienced...
Too little makes one want
Too much makes one faint.
Tis better not to go there..
Tis better not to drink.

I will be sober, I won't faint.
I will not hurt you, nor hit you.
I won't be blurry nor fall down.
All these will happen, If I am not drunk.
That is the reason I never drink—wine...nor let others.

vin1391
© 29th March 2007

On the eveing shores

Sailing the Sea of Dreams

Went of for a sail on the ocean of dreams,
Morpheus’ private realm and domain.
Nothing you see there is quite what it seems,
What looks like pleasure could turn out to be pain.
The white ship will sail you to places unknown,
The whimsies of Chance and the Fates.
To realms where your nightmares grow from seeds you have sown
To Kadeth in the Unknown Wastes.
You may sail on this white ship cross the river Lethe,
Pass Chiron on the barge on the river Styx.
The one has the water to make you forget, you see—
Cross the other lies the Netherworld’s motley mix.
But I hope to sail on by to a place fabled in lore:
And in Paradise rest on the evening shores

Pendragon
© 3/31/07

that's just how the wind blows...

The Rain

Smell of wet earth wafting through
All the musty rooms so cool.
Water sogging all the way through
The Roofs of houses made so crude.

Water coming down the walls
Drizzling, Drizzling over again;
Drops and drops of H2O
Dribbling through the pane again.

Lightning flashing across the skies,
Making thunder all the while.
Distant smoke curling up the sky,
From the trees caught afire.

Windows, doors banging shut,
Loud noises from afar.
Loud and soft, Loud and soft.
Banging noises on and on.

Moaning and groaning as it speeds,
Across the skies and land and seas,
Making certain noises past;
That's just how the wind blows fast.

vin1391
© 1st April 2007

In the computer screen.

Substitute for Hell

You marvel at the resolution,
You love how the graphics move.
You don’t like to wait for a single second—
You type that keyboard or click that mouse,
And baby, some better get in grove.
Like your high-speed connection,
The only way to surf cyberspace—
If there is a blink and you’re cut offline—
You would curse the entire human race.
I hear you talking about the amount of RAM,
The speed of your CPU—
And that special high-end graphics card,
Only the best for you…
But in case you haven’t noticed,
Lately life has been more than average mean,
People killing other people,
Wars over things we once that we understood
But now question what they mean—
You have to live in this rotten world
And not in some fantasy—
You cannot spend your entire life
In the computer screen…

Pendragon
© 4/3/07


I've tried so hard to banish the memories of Texas...

Cowboy Lament

When you’ve seen men die in seconds,
When you’ve lived by the law of the gun;
When you’ve rode all day in the hot humid air—
Trying to keep the cattle on trail to the slaughter pens.
When you can’t sleep sound at night listening for Redskins,
When a creak in the hall sends your hand for a knife;
When you find yourself high on a hangman’s scaffold—
Waiting for that last drop and snap when you’re hung.
When you wonder if you’re still a fast draw,
When you’ve learned to sit with your back to the wall,
When you’ve won and lost fortunes at poker,
It leaves a bad taste in your mouth…
I really wish I could hang up this old six-gun,
Lay off the whiskey and lay down the cards one last time—
But the breeze blows in off of the prairie—
I've tried so hard to banish the memories of Texas...

Pendragon
© 4/6/07

She put the "boot" in Boot Hill...

This is my longest one till date.. :)

On The Boot Hill

On and on she went on,
Towards the distant hill.
Winding up and up the path,
Away from the wizard.

The sun shone down.
With a smile and a sigh,
Looking on and on,
Upon the quiet lass with her little dog.

Walking alone, by the brick road
Along with her trusting dog.
Dorothy was her name
And Toto her dog's.

She had gotten lost here
In this magic place.
Amidst a tornado, from her sweet home,
In Kansas to this land.

She killed the Wicked Witch of the east.
With her house using the twister.
The Witch of the West wanted revenge
Against Dorothy for killing her sister.

The Witch of the North, Good Glinda
Advised her to wear the slippers she found.
And never to take them off.
Maybe it was for protection, maybe for plain fun.

She was told to go to the Emerald city.
To see the wizard, the wonderful wizard of oz,
To get his help and go back home,
Back to Kansas.

So she followed the yellow brick road,
To the Emarald city.
On the way she met some friends
Who helped her till the End.

The Scarecrow with no brain,
The Tin-man with no heart,
The Lion who was a coward
Were her good friends.

They had gone to the city
To see the Wizard of Oz.
He was no help, To all of them
So they left downheart.

As fate went on, she went on.
With the help of her friends,
She killed they Wicked Witch of West.
Sister to the one in the east.

Her friends found out,
That they indeed had all things
They wanted above all.
A brain, A heart and Courage.

Now she wanted to go,
Towards her dearest home.
Tired was she of this land,
Though it offered her a lot more.

So now she walked with her dog,
According to the Good witch,
Towards the hill which is now near,
To take herself back home.

The hill was reached and they stood there,
At the very top of it.
Looking all around, memorizing all,
To her dear hearts content.

The air around glittered as she appeared
Glinda the Good Witch of the North;
She told Dorothy to tap her heels together,
And say the magic words.

And so she tapped and said the words,
"There is no place like home" on and on.
And back she was in Kansas, amidst her Family
In the blink of an eye.

Though all made fun of her story,
She and Toto knew it was true.
To go back there so soon was
Not upto Fate.

So to make the Ruby slippers safe,
They went to Boot hill.
There she took of the ruby boots
And she put the "boot" in Boot Hill...

vin1391
© 11th April 2007

Where the sun shines bright.

Truth Is Hell, Sometimes

If I told you that everything was coming up roses,
And that Depression caught a plane for Timbuktu—
Would you need to keep an eye on how long my nose is,
To know that I was lying through my teeth to you?
Haunted days and haunted nights without sleeping,
Spend too much time doing nothing but staring at the wall.
Sometimes I wonder what there is about me that’s worth keeping,
Or if I should just drive off into the sunset after all.
I learned long ago that drink doesn’t kill the memories,
And I’m on too dang much medication as it already is.
It’s the long lonely days I guess that are really my enemies.
And how much longer I can hold on is anybody’s guess.
Well, if you’ve a mind too, breathe a prayer for this old boy tonight:
I’ve lived in darkness far too long—somewhere the sun shines bright…

Pendragon
© 4/11/07


at the far end of the trail...

Cowboys believe in
endings
like anybody
else

and ends too
pursuant upon
one's dusty strivings
or as something
to pursue

Hell you
do a job
you get
it done
it's over
so it ends

no use

thinking about
time comes
for all of us
when we won't start another

at the far end of the trail...

next:

Glad anyway you found some sort of hobby to keep your mind off things

Tailor To The Stars

Spinning spider silk into Saville Row suits,
Turning moonbeams on the wheel
Into shimmering canary-colored cloth.
I take hold on the night and I make of it a dress,
Dark but sparkling with diamonds that once were stars.
Flame becomes fabric that flickers with each movement,
As the model comes walking down the galactic runway.
You have never seen a blue like the opera cloak
I drew out from the vastness of the ocean;
Or the soft summer suit that I created from an Autumn sky.
You find this verdant robe enticing? Chlorophyll is the answer,
Drawn from the plants and painstakingly stitched.
I think I like this simple tie-dye tee shirt best of all,
Borrowed the colors from the rainbow over Angel Falls,
Goes perfectly with this simple white suit,
Soft and downy like the clouds...

Pendragon
© 8/6/07

and the next last line is?

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by Pendragon

Tailor To The Stars

Spinning spider silk into Saville Row suits,
Turning moonbeams on the wheel
Into shimmering canary-colored cloth.
I take hold on the night and I make of it a dress,
Dark but sparkling with diamonds that once were stars.
Flame becomes fabric that flickers with each movement,
As the model comes walking down the galactic runway.
You have never seen a blue like the opera cloak
I drew out from the vastness of the ocean;
Or the soft summer suit that I created from an Autumn sky.
You find this verdant robe enticing? Chlorophyll is the answer,
Drawn from the plants and painstakingly stitched.
I think I like this simple tie-dye tee shirt best of all,
Borrowed the colors from the rainbow over Angel Falls,
Goes perfectly with this simple white suit,
Soft and downy like the clouds...

Pendragon
© 8/6/07

---

Lovely, lovely poem Pen, but where did you get your last line from? Huh, huh? ;) :)

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by symphony

and the next last line is?

---

Ooops, sorry symphony. I didn't see this page. Still needing a last line though. This is quite a challenge.

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by blp

next:

Glad anyway you found some sort of hobby to keep your mind off things

---

This was supposed to be the next last line. Honestly, keep up.

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by blp

This was supposed to be the next last line. Honestly, keep up.

---

Okay, I'll give it a try.

The Hobby

Every time he walked into the room he caught her, staring into space,
And he looked for the apparition that held her,
Held her like he longed to do,
But seeing him from the corner of her eye, she closed the invisible curtain,
Quickly dropping her eyes to her book or her drawing or her game of solitaire.

In the kitchen she would stare deep into cupboard doors as if practicing her xray vision,
And he would touch her shoulders and ask what smelled so good,
Hoping she would turn and melt into his embrace,
But she would turn to the stove and melt butter instead,
Quickly adding the chopped onions that had put tears in her eyes.

He longed to be her pastime, to be the page she turned, the pencil she held or the card she flipped,
And he tried to be a worthy partner in games or life, whichever came first,
Loving her more than he could ever describe,
But knowing the truth he feared, he smiled and shrugged, saying
Quickly, "Glad anyway you found some sort of hobby to keep your mind off things".


new last line: A time like no other.

Hey ampoule looks like we did this at the same time. I was going to edit, but as you gave no 'next line', I'm just going to let it stand. :)

Your letter arrived
in yesterday's mail
you say you are better
in hospital now
that makes me feel happy
I know you need help
and the way that you felt
was too terrible to endure
You say that the treatment
some drugs and therapy
are important to helping you
regain a degree of sensibility
but what made me happiest
is the fact that you now
are now playing Sanskrit
the poets own game!
This is excellent news
that you now have a hobby
to keep your mind off of things.



last line: pretend you did not hear me say such a thing

No problem Haven, we'll go with yours.

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by ampoule

Lovely, lovely poem Pen, but where did you get your last line from? Huh, huh? ;) :)

---

Forgot whre I was...this thread has been missing for a while, sorry, BLP! I don't think I could have worked that last line into that poem anyway, but then I wouldn't have started down that road if I had remembered that I had to end on that line... Total mind freeze! http://i94.photobucket.com/albums/l1...Kane/Loser.gif

No problem, Pen. And yes, it was a tough last line.

Hellllooooo!!! Yoo-hoo fellow gamesters...

last line: pretend you did not hear me say such a thing

Conversation Interrupting My Lunch

“What? Oh my God! You have got to be kidding me!”
“No! Really? Isn’t he just to die for?”
“Well Mary said that Jill told her that Irene mentioned in passing…”
“Oh my God! You didn’t! You actually told her that?”
“Well, it’s like, I’m standing there minding my own business as usual…”
“Yeah! The nerve of the old cow! I told her where to go in a heartbeat, girlfriend!”
“Oh my God! With Tommy Grant? Isn’t he just babe-a-licious?”
“Tammy? Whoa, girlfriend, there’s a ho and a half, now, for sure.”
“Get real. She is? At the party on Friday night?”
“Pretend you did not hear me say such a thing…”

Pendragon
© 8/7/07


Next line: nobody was faster...

A flash reversed blackness:
figures harshly silhouetted,
a child kneeling, a man swinging a hammer.

Take one step to laugh,
another to weep,
every separate murmur leans heavily, beyond drunkenness,
encircling grime embedded cities,
little gutter rivers reflecting street-lamps,
disappearing down drains,
carrying even the light of Orion.

She was adept
at gathering glittering moments
to press in pages with a sigh.
His words fell like stars
through the vacuum of her universe.

She knew him thoroughly by then,
In demands and withdrawal,
the theory of light’s disappearance in space,
it was apparent to her that
he was traveling faster than she, faster than light
for the solid invulnerability of a black hole.
with wide eyes, and a muted cheer,
she had to admit that
nobody was faster.


next line:

and I will whisper a secret...the end of robots is near. :p

Very lovely.



In Kentucky a wheelbarrow
still stands with the expression
of obtuse discordance,
the metal twists and rusted bolts
bent under strain from wearied hands
grappling with an uncontrolled
inclination to topple without
theft of balance
is still a meaning without focus
and uncentered in this world.

The break of furtive atoms
is no more a mystery than
the way his fingers slide and tumble
in dust like the rolling tongue
of water spread from crackling
valves into mounds of dirt.

In this charged air of an afternoon
his human eye glistens with more spark
than 10,000 atom thrusts at crime,
and I will whisper a secret...
the end of robots is near.



an ink-stain became origami of thought.

Pocket Protector

Welling up inside me, a deep and mournful sigh,
I covered my face and shook my head, why?

He hung his head, shuffling his feet
like some little school boy home from work.

Tight-lipped, tapping my foot, I held out my hand,
Hand it over, and he said, I'm sorry, I forgot.

Running to the laundry I doused the indigo stain
with everything that would lift it white.

Turning the pocket inside out I remembered cranes
folded with love and how an ink stain became origami of thought.


new last line: and the world will begin to shine

I wanted to ask her, Will thou be mine?
But something held me back. Was it the time?
So I waited and silently adored her.
Happy to do that and nothing more.

Fantasies flew faster through my mind
than sheafs of wheat troubled by the wind.
I waited and was happy, still,
I would be happier if I knew her will.

Perhaps one day she'll offer,
without my asking her,
I will be thine!
and the world will begin to shine.

Next last line: Seven pears stood gleaming beside a single apple.

Food Fight

It was a wild night, the fruit got into a fight,
Battled all across the kitchen table.
Don’t really know what started it, but the bananas split,
And the citrus fruits formed a cabal.
What happened next, is anybody’s guess.
But the strawberrys all got creamed.
The grapes were so hard pressed, it was a pulpy mess,
Fermented into wine, or so it seemed.
The oranges and grapefruits knew, it seems a thing or two,
About how to peel a banana by rolling.
Then they set their sights, on the pineapples all right,
And took them out by bowling.
But just when it seemed for sure, citrus would win this war,
The pears and apples formed an new cabal;
Through the exploding juice, citrus waved a flag of truce—
And seven pears stood gleaming beside a single apple…

Pendragon
© 9/3/07


Next last verse: But who was behind the black lace veil?

pen, that's cute. :D

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by Il Penseroso

Very lovely.



In Kentucky a wheelbarrow
still stands with the expression
of obtuse discordance,
the metal twists and rusted bolts
bent under strain from wearied hands
grappling with an uncontrolled
inclination to topple without
theft of balance
is still a meaning without focus
and uncentered in this world.

The break of furtive atoms
is no more a mystery than
the way his fingers slide and tumble
in dust like the rolling tongue
of water spread from crackling
valves into mounds of dirt.

In this charged air of an afternoon
his human eye glistens with more spark
than 10,000 atom thrusts at crime,
and I will whisper a secret...
the end of robots is near.



an ink-stain became origami of thought.

---

wow. you managed to give my silly line some dignity. this is awesome. :thumbs_up

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by Riesa

A flash reversed blackness:
figures harshly silhouetted,
a child kneeling, a man swinging a hammer.

Take one step to laugh,
another to weep,
every separate murmur leans heavily, beyond drunkenness,
encircling grime embedded cities,
little gutter rivers reflecting street-lamps,
disappearing down drains,
carrying even the light of Orion.

She was adept
at gathering glittering moments
to press in pages with a sigh.
His words fell like stars
through the vacuum of her universe.

She knew him thoroughly by then,
In demands and withdrawal,
the theory of light’s disappearance in space,
it was apparent to her that
he was traveling faster than she, faster than light
for the solid invulnerability of a black hole.
with wide eyes, and a muted cheer,
she had to admit that
nobody was faster.


next line:

and I will whisper a secret...the end of robots is near. :p

---

This totally rocks and

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by Il Penseroso

Very lovely.



In Kentucky a wheelbarrow
still stands with the expression
of obtuse discordance,
the metal twists and rusted bolts
bent under strain from wearied hands
grappling with an uncontrolled
inclination to topple without
theft of balance
is still a meaning without focus
and uncentered in this world.

The break of furtive atoms
is no more a mystery than
the way his fingers slide and tumble
in dust like the rolling tongue
of water spread from crackling
valves into mounds of dirt.

In this charged air of an afternoon
his human eye glistens with more spark
than 10,000 atom thrusts at crime,
and I will whisper a secret...
the end of robots is near.



an ink-stain became origami of thought.

---

so does this

The Stallings Case

Old Jacob Stallings and his much younger wife,
Lived in a mansion just outside of Louisville.
There were those that swore they were “trouble and strife,”
And one or the t’other would finally get killed.
Gunshots were heard from the mansion one Saturday Night,
And Jacob was dead and Mrs. Stallings was shot.
The Sheriff investigated with all of his instinct and might—
But there were no guns in the house was as far as he got.
Mrs. Stallings recovered from her wounds to her left side,
(They put off Jacob’s funeral until she was able to attend.)
And she came all veiled in deep black to drop a rose like a bride,
As they lowered Jacob Stallings to his final end.
But, being of suspicious nature, and seeing her move her left arm so well:
Makes me wonder: I don’t think she could. But who was behind the black lace veil?

Pendragon
© 1/12/08

Next last line: But did you have to drop the whiskey, Sam?

They looked in stony silence at the hunched
and sorry prisoner, locked in the bench;
the lights were low; a storm was coming near,
and all that was perceived was rain
that drained the outside world of color, and light
that fought, it seemed, in vain to reach
the grave and solemn atmosphere within.

He vehemently protested, "I'd be strung
and quartered like those Sodomites of old
before I'd ever be caught drinking booze;
I read my Bible, know what it enjoins
What it forbids, and may this sacred State
Be ever anchored in its precepts -- this I pray."

The judges, moved by these fine words of his,
seemed likely to give way to clemency
but of a sudden, thunder boomed and shook,
dissolving all their latent leniency.
For the vigorous vibration had shaken loose
the contraband, the sin, -- the alcohol
which, falling from the prisoner's jacket, clamored
Loudly 'gainst the hardwood, and then rolled
throughout the darkened courtroom, heretofore
in silence -- now in scandalized commotion.
Angry judges dealt swift justice on him.
The bailiffs bore him off to his demise.

A bungled crime is still a crime. He knew
our ways, our righteous customs through
and through: His shame's uncovered, black and bare--
is death as compensation a surprise?
I'm sorry that he's dead, I really am,
but did you have to drop the whiskey, Sam?


new last line: "He totalled all my trikes; he had it coming."

Davey and Phil

Davey, you're such a sweet boy,
What made you do such a thing?
Phil is a bully, a goy,
Who thinks he's the neighborhood king.

But Davey, your words, how cruel,
Where did they come from
Those five, like rocks, just adding fuel?
Who cares, he's just a bum.

They've been rolling around
On the tip of my tongue,
It's time he was downed,
I'm glad that they stung.

But what did he do to deserve such a humbling
He totalled all my trikes; he had it coming.

ampoule, May ThirtyFirst, TwoThousandEight

:sick: :lol: :D :sick: :lol: :D :sick: :lol: :D

new last line: She reached so high she felt low.

Road to Ruin

She just could not be satisfied
Living as a farmer’s wife.
There was so much out there that she was denied
She wanted more out of life.
So she drowned in dreams and fantasy,
Reaching for the stars every day.
She looked for the heavens, but she couldn’t see
How her beauty was slipping away.
Parties and dances, out with the crowd,
The drink and the drugs took their toll.
Soon she found herself out on street in her gown,
Selling what she had left, her body and soul…
She sought after pleasure, a higher plateau:
She reached so high she felt low…

Pendragon
© May 31, 2008


New last line: If not for the Ghost on the stairs...

We said we'd be prepared to raise the duty
if various protectionist policies could be mitigated
by a proportional, concomitant rise in import levies
there was a short break
Various delegates betook themselves without delight
of curling, drying white bread sandwiches from a metal platter along the left wall
and coffee. No parliament, conference or notional
Estates General
will now make change beyond these increments
a type of change once fought for
with more urgency
the right to be this methodical
that cannot now answer the question
what does this ominous figure want?
nor ask it
whether to move backwards or forwards
whether it is getting what it wants
and we would be better off
if not for the Ghost on the stairs.


New last line: But of course these smiles mean very little.

Look back through the foyer of
Your existence.
Each relic and keepsake, memento and trophy
Proclaims your triumph, attests
Your accomplishment
But do the photographs on the wall portray
Your anguish, rejection, depression and heartache?
The wooden bust of Aristotle took months to whittle
But of course these smiles mean very little.




Yet the 12 on the clock was pointing to Mecca.

Vacation starts in the head.
Jumbled images of children playing circles
in the street, riding bikes across
streets baked black, sticky
in disgust, tar sandwiched
in the seams of badly planned
choreography.

The sun still shines on our sandals.
Decaying, a plant tendrils itself
skyward, racing the day's length
to perform a nightcap with stars.

The limosine played songs
whose words are still forgotten,
yet the 12 on the clock
was pointing to Mecca.



next:
purple against her dark blues

On earth damp and darkened,
I kneel in lowered summer,
impeding horn-worm climb
up solid, thickened stem.
Evening Aubergine’s
rakish-capped with crowns
of lime leaned yellow.

Leaves,
a coarse-wrought lattice shade
in waxy gloss impossible,
freckle-hearted babies,
swinging shy and tender.

Indigo and Cornflower
coil round the angel sky,
the berry gleams,
blackened deep
and humble purple
against her dark blues.



next:
helpless as the river's thrum

lurksome shaft
championing it for a forever
it goes there, petitioning
seeming to deal
or be approachable
fine, that it was, unfindable
matcheable only
if you could see it
and speak it simultaneously
(impossible
especially
in those
eye-whitening throes
epileptic tumults
quick blossoming
of roses
in your speaking mouth
sputtering, nonsensical,
not senseless,
only,
in your shuddering unraveling,
helpless as the river's thrum

***

next:

the grey statue, watching

For Rodin

The grey statue watching
The years as they pass
Tourists like ants on a hill
Leaning forward
With his chin on his hand
The Thinker eternally thinks
Does he dream up new plans
Think of tomorrow
Wonder why his friends come and go?
Does he dream about
The quarry where he was first born
Before he was carved into frozen stare?
The people pass him by
They gaze on his face
It never occurs to anyone what he thinks
Busy people pausing
For pictures and contemplation
The grey statue watching them all…

Pendragon
© 1/27/2009

Next: the road goes ever, ever on

A sad fable unfolds.

Fear has left its song in the air,
the snakes coil artfully,
rising from patio tables,
and bird cages
keep us safe from birds.

The whirlpool is strongest here,
cut from the sky,
pieces of starless, moonless night,
hang out at the car wash
and the schoolyards.

Florida was a perfume
in my youth.

There was a calculus of roads
that lead here from true north,
an expectation
written into the simple lines
of mountain lanes
that raised and terrified
the unbaptized.

And the dismal diary,
the rust crumbled from memory,
the trees leaned into the wind’s wake,
how the moss weighted the live oaks
across the vanishing, so we failed to see
the road goes ever, ever on.

***
Next: the proof of rain is defiant