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Echo From the Edge
Where did we come from
How did we get here
Standing on the edge of good-bye
It's a long ways down
And a long ways up
We just step one step forward and die
The love in our hearts
Burned so bright and so strong
Why in the hell couldn't they just leave us alone?
Pressured and persecuted on every side
They can't seem to understand choice
So what will they say when we're gone?
Rather be gone than be living a lie
Two hearts forever entwined on the edge of good-bye...
Pendragon
At World's End
Come, take my hand,
and let us stand
upon the edge
of a new world.
Let everything behind
us crumble away
into dust and we
will venture upon
the eve of a new
beginning.
The vastness
ours to behold,
let us be adventurers,
to blaze a trail
through the unknown.
The world crafted
by man will become
obsolete, and the
boundaries that held us
back will dissipate.
We will be dancers
upon the rim of
canyons, we will
become leapers
into the air,
and trust upon
the wind to lift
us up.
Let us live
among the birds,
take my hand,
untouched by doubt,
with a heart filled
only in trust.
And we will leap
from this world's end,
and if we die,
we will die together,
and if we survive,
we will live in the
New World.
The world made
only for us.
Immaculate Journey
Look, look love, let us see our immaculate memory ironic
Singing sealed history above romantic wilderness,
Buffalo Bill 66 where dem injuns waz tekin hits ats us.
We seal our memories shut behind gray fog and yellow dusk
And peer into the void of labyrinths to-be-born, anarchic oneness
Differentiate the ying and the yang, the Tao a tea to sip at one
Under steamy smoked mountains and hickory logs in fire.
Lalalalalalala Mozart and the Whale to New World
New Century and New Ghost. Millennial project ain't yo
Oneness fo' getting out of Buenos Aires. Fly fly fly
A plane into a tower for that.
Wowzers! Thank you, Pendragon, Dark Muse, DanielBenoit. What awesomeness in one afternoon.
My father, my mother,
You who stood before me
You who stood behind me
I bow to memory
I bow to the other
What is it to be lost?
Did you, dutiful, dear;
Did you bother to hear?
I look at what is near
I look at it almost
I am trapped in my life
The end of my tether
The end altogether
My father, my mother
My far retreat, my strife
The moment came and went
For I remembered you
For I remotely knew
Against a wall of dew
Again stirs this event:
My father, my mother
Married by a command
Married in the old land
When the cliffs closed their hand
When did you love each other?
Or did you fall into it alone?
Last Chance
No way forward, only back
along the well worn track
they stand, at world’s end
and contemplate their lives.
Glowing with a sepia light
eternity stares back;
vignettes the scene
within it’s timeless eye.
Recrimination pointless,
there is no map to life,
the signposts of their journey
long uprooted, far behind.
Still beautiful, the girl,
her gown plucked by
wind’s ethereal hand,
dressed for her last dance.
At peace the man
in flannel suit
who sheathes his hands
in pockets grown too deep.
Behind them
and beneath their feet
the certainty of rock
and all they’ve ever known.
They look to the Artist
but he will not advise,
here they are unaided
and every choice their own.
Oh, I love them both! Fine job, autolycus and Hawkman!
Love Story
let’s do something
different today
let’s take a trip
to September of 1948
let’s dress up
as a Hollywood couple
let’s do a stunt
and scale the steepest cliff
let’s pose for the camera
and kiss like there’s no tomorrow
let’s write our own script
of seduction, love, lust and betrayal
let’s rehearse our lines
for the riveting, tear jerking last scene
let’s give me your best acting
pretend you love me more than you love her
let’s make a pact
that you will not hold me back on my way down
These are a good batch of poems. I'm still thinking about the picture, but I'm not there yet.
Lovely, Haunted, and from quite a different perspective. Nice.
I hope you will write one, Paul. You've got a while yet.
The deadline will be Saturday, July 10, 2010.
THE PARTY’S OVER
The shindig’s finally fizzled out,
the swizzle sticks crushed underfoot,
your brother’s drunk both bars bone dry
as well as ruining Tarquin’s suit
That cocktail waitress from Van Nuys,
I watched papa write her a cheque;
poor Maurice left in such a huff,
your mother’s boa wrapped round his neck.
And you and I, my perfect pet,
I’d hoped we both might slip away,
enjoy some sweet canoodling
then watch for schooners on the bay.
But everything outside has changed,
the streets are buried deep in sand,
this balcony has turned to stone
and someone’s moved the ‘Hotel Grande’
Perhaps we drank too much champagne,
or Archie passed round more than snuff,
it might have been the canapés
but damn it all, enough’s enough.
What is a chap supposed to do?
This wretched world is playing tricks,
one can’t decide what’s up or down,
I blame those ruddy Bolsheviks!
Say what you like about those Bolshies but in this case they were good for a ripping good-rhyme, eh what!
Thanks qimi.Quote:
Originally Posted by qimissung
Here's my offering - completed whilst I was invigilating an exam last week.
Cliff Edge
Deep in the mountains, now you have no voice,
And echoes taunt your solitary ways,
There seems but little choice, so carry on
With every little day on day on day.
You scuffed a rock, dislodged a stone or two,
And hardly any mark is what you'll leave,
But you will carry on all the way through.
The past is gone; there's nothing left to grieve.
The fine clothes will unravel, like our lives
That hang by threads upon the cliff of time,
And yet we'd want a good frock or nice shirt
In which to hum our final funeral rhyme.
And standing at the face we're faced with fate,
Do we go on until we cannot choose?
Get ill, decay and dribble on our plates,
Until, senile, we're yesterdays old news?
I say, Carruthers, are those drums I hear or is it just my pounding head?Quote:
Originally Posted by PrinceMyshkin
I couldn't say, Fortescue, but the night is alive with stars, like eyes shining through the curtain of the night...
I don't want to worry you Carruthers, but shouldn't the stars be higher up?
Ahh, yes... I see what you mean. You know, Fortescue, I've led a good life, I've stuck pigs in Poonah, Machine-gunned Dervishes in the Sudan, Slaughtered my fair share of tigers; but I never expected it to end like this. A lousy party followed by an assault by Bolsheviks on the Winter Palace. What Month is it?
Still June, Carruthers, though July is barking at it's heels.
Thank God it's not October! They can't be Bolshies, Looks like we'll just succumb to wild animals or restless natives. Couldn't bare the thought of being overwhealmed by Bolshies!
Hear Hear!
Chin, chin old man....
Hang on, Carruthers, I've just got to fling my empty revolver down the slope...