| anyone lived in a pretty how town |
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| 11:00pm 19/10/2003 |
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mood:  contemplative
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anyone lived in a pretty how town
(with up so floating many bells down)
spring summer autumn winter
he sang his didn't he danced his did
Women and men(both little and small)
cared for anyone not at all
they sowed their isn't they reaped their same
sun moon stars rain
children guessed(but only a few
and down they forgot as up they grew
autumn winter spring summer)
that noone loved him more by more
when by now and tree by leaf
she laughed his joy she cried his grief
bird by snow and stir by still
anyone's any was all to her
someones married their everyones
laughed their cryings and did their dance
(sleep wake hope and then)they
said their nevers they slept their dream
stars rain sun moon
(and only the snow can begin to explain
how children are apt to forget to remember
with up so floating many bells down)
one day anyone died i guess
(and noone stooped to kiss his face)
busy folk buried them side by side
little by little and was by was
all by all and deep by deep
and more by more they dream their sleep
noone and anyone earth by april
wish by spirit and if by yes.
Women and men(both dong and ding)
summer autumn winter spring
reaped their sowing and went their came
sun moon stars rain
-e.e.cummings |
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| 11:06pm 16/10/2003 |
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torn in the wind
depression descends
breved of hate
but lent from sin
thy will consumes
torn from me
anger thus devours
but one more thing
alone in this land
where thou was once so dear
torn thrice again
heart crying out in fear
let your hate consume
allowed to break and bend
forever left alone
torn in the wind. |
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| 11:03pm 16/10/2003 |
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mood:  artistic
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How can woman ever trust man,
when he would say one thing to her face
and another to a friend?
What need of man has she
that can do on her own
what he couldn't do for she.
Linzy Renee |
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| The Want of You |
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| 08:11pm 14/10/2003 |
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The want of you is like no other thing;
it smites my soul with sudden sickening;
It blings my being with a wreath of rue--
This want of you.
It flashes on me with the waking sun;
It creeps upon me when the day is done;
It hammers at my heart the long night through--
This want of you.
It sighs within me with the misting skies;
Oh, all the day within my heart it cries,
Old as your absence, yet each moment new--
This want of you.
Mad with demand and aching with despair,
It leaps within my heart and you are--where?
God has forgotten, or he never knew--
This want of you.
Unknown |
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| If you were Coming in the Fall |
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| 08:10pm 14/10/2003 |
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If you were coming in the fall,
I'd brush the summer by
With half a smile, and half a spurn,
As housewives do a fly.
If I could see you in a year,
I'd wind the months in balls,
And put them each in separate drawers
For fear the numbers fuse.
If only centuries delayed,
I'd count them on my hand,
Subtracting till my fingers dropped
Into Van Dieman's land.
If certain, when this life was out,
That yours and mine should be,
I'd toss it younder like a rind,
And take eternity.
But now, uncertain of the length
Of this that is between,
It goads me, like the goblin bee,
That will not state its sting.
Emily Dickinson(1830-1886) |
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| for a Lamb |
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| 08:10pm 14/10/2003 |
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I saw on the slant hill a putrid lamb,
Propped with daisies. The sleep looked deep.
The face nudged in the green pillow
But the guts were out for crows to eat.
Where's the lamb? whose tender plaint
Said all for the mute breezes.
Say he's in the wind somewhere,
Say, there's a lamb in the daisies.
Richard Eberhart(1904-?) |
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| A Dialogue between Soul and Body |
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| 08:09pm 14/10/2003 |
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SOUL:Oh, who shall from this dungeon rise
A soul enslaved so many ways?
With bolds of bones, that fettered stands
In feet, and manacled in hands;
Here blinded with an eye, and there
Deaf with the drumming of an ear;
A soul hung up, as 'twere, in chains
Of nerves, and ateries, and veins;
Tortured, besides each other part,
In a vain head, and double heart.
BODY:Oh, who shall me delive whole
From bonds of this tyrannic soul?
Which, streched upright, impales me so,
That mine own precipice I go;
And warms and moves the needless frame
(A fever could but do the same)
And wanting where its spite to try,
Has made me live to let me die;
A body that could never rest,
Since this ill spirit is possessed.
SOUL:What magic could me thus confine
Within another'srief to pine?
Where, whatsoever it complain,
I feel, that cannot feel, the pain,
And all my care itself employs,
That to preserve, which me destroys;
Constrained not only to endure
Diseases, but, what's worse, the cure;
And ready oft the port to gain,
Am shipwrecked into health again.
BODY:But physic yet could never reach
The maladies thou me dost teach;
Whom first the cramp of hope does tear,
And then the palsy shakes of fear;
The pestilence of love does heat,
Or hatred's hidden ulcer eat;
Joy's cheerful madness does perplex,
Or sorrow's other madness vex,
Which madness forces me to know,
And memory will not forgo.
What but a soul could have the wit
To build me up for sin so fit?
So architects do square and hew
Green trees that in the forest grew.
Andrew Marvell(1621-1678) |
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| Much Madness is Devine Sense |
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| 08:09pm 14/10/2003 |
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Much madness is devine sense
To a discerning eye,
Much sense, the starkest madness.
'Tis the majority
In this, as all, prevail:
Assent, and you are sane;
Demur, you're straightway dangerous
And handled with a chain.
Emily Dickinson(1830-1886) |
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| Curiosity |
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| 08:08pm 14/10/2003 |
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may have killed the cat; more likely
the cat was just unlucky, ore else curious
to see what death was like, having no cause
to go on licking its paws, or fathering
litter on litter of kittens, predictably.
Nevertheless, to be curious
is dangerous enough. To distrust
what is always said, what seems,
to ask odd questions, interfere in dreams,
leave home, smell rats, have hunches
do not endear cats to those doggy circles
where well-smelt baskets, suitable wives, good lunches
are the order of things, and where prevails
much wagging of incurious heads and tails.
Face it. Curiosity
will not cause us to die--
only lack of it will.
Never to want to see
the other side of the hill
or that improbable country
where living is an idyll
(although a probable hell)
would kill us all.
Only the curious
have, if they live, a tale
worth telling at all.
Dogs say cats love too much, are irresponsible,
are changeable, marry too many wives,
desert their children, chill dinner tables
with tales of their nine lives.
Well, they are lucky. Let them be
nine-lived and contradictory,
curious enough to change, prepared to pay
the cat price, which is to die
and die again and again,
each time with no less pain.
A cat minority of one
is all that can be counted on
to tell the truth. And what cats have to tell
on each return from hell
is this: that dying is what the living do,
that dying is what the loving do,
and that dead dogs are those who do not know
that dying is what, to live, each has to do.
Alastair Reid(1926-?) |
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| I Felt a Funeral in my Brain |
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| 08:07pm 14/10/2003 |
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I felt a funeral in my brain,
And mourners to and fro
Kept treading--treading--till it seemed
That sense was breaking through.
And when they all were seated,
A service, like a drum,
Kept beating--beating--till I thought
My mind was going numb.
And the nI heard them lift a box,
And creak across my soul
With those same boots of lead again.
Then space began to toll,
As all the heavens were a bell
And beating, but an ear,
And I and silence, some strange race,
Wrecked, solitary, here.
And then a plank in reason broke
And I dropped down, and down,
And hit a world at every plunge,
And finished knowing, then.
Emily Dickinson(1830-1886) |
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| Sighs |
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| 08:06pm 14/10/2003 |
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All night I muse, all day I cry,
Ay me!
Yet still I wish, though still deny,
Ay me!
I sigh, I mourn, and say that still
I only live my joys to kill,
Ay me !
I feed the pain that on me feeds,
Ay me!
Ay wound I stop not, though it bleeds,
Ay me!
Heart, be content, it must be so,
For springs were made to overflow,
Ay me!
Then sigh and weep, and mourn thy fill,
Ay me!
Seek no redress, but languish still,
Ay me!
Their griefs more willing they endure
That know when they are past recure,
Ay me!
Unknown |
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| Roll me Over |
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| 08:05pm 14/10/2003 |
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Now, this is number one,
And the fun has just begun.
Roll me over, lay me down,
And do it again.
Roll me over, in the clover,
Roll me over, lay me down,
And do it again.
Now, this is number two,
And he's got me in a stew.
Roll me over, lay me down,
And do it again.
Roll me over, in the clover,
Roll me over, lay me down,
And do it again.
Now, this is number three,
And his hand is on my knee.
Roll me over, lay me down,
And do it again.
Roll me over, in the clover,
Roll me over, lay me down,
And do it again.
Now, this is number four,
And he's got me on the floor.
Roll me over, lay me down,
And do it again.
Roll me over, in the clover,
Roll me over, lay me down,
And do it again.
Now, this is number five,
And his hand is on my thigh.
Roll me over, lay me down,
And do it again.
Roll me over, in the clover,
Roll me over, lay me down,
And do it again.
Now, this is number six,
And he's got me in a fix.
Roll me over, lay me down,
And do it again.
Roll me over, in the clover,
Roll me over, lay me down,
And do it again.
Now, this is number seven,
And it's just like being in heaven.
Roll me over, lay me down,
And do it again.
Roll me over, in the clover,
Roll me over, lay me down,
And do it again.
Now, this is number eight,
And the doctor's at the gate.
Roll me over, lay me down,
And do it again.
Roll me over, in the clover,
Roll me over, lay me down,
And do it again.
Now, this is number nine,
And the twins are doing fine.
Roll me over, lay me down,
And do it again.
Roll me over, in the clover,
Roll me over, lay me down,
And do it again.
Now, this is number ten,
And he's started once again.
Roll me over, lay me down,
And do it again.
Unknown
Wonder what they could be talking about, eh? |
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| Old Maid in the Land of Aloha |
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| 08:01pm 14/10/2003 |
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(1)An old maid in the land of Aloha
Got wrapped in the coils of a boa;
And as the snake squeezed,
The old maid, not displeased,
(2)Cried: "Darling! I love it! Samoa!"
Unknown
Notes
1) the land of Aloha: Hawaii.
2) Samoa: south-west Pacific islands? `some more!' (south European accent)? |
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| O Death, O Death, Rock me Asleep |
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| 08:00pm 14/10/2003 |
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O Death, O Death, rock me asleep,
Bring me to quiet rest;
Let pass my weary guiltless ghost
Out of my careful breast.
Toll on, thou passing bell;
Ring out my doleful knell;
Thy sound my death abroad will tell,
For I must die,
There is no remedy.
My pains, my pains, who can express?
Alas, they are so strong!
My dolours will not suffer strength
My life for to prolong.
Toll on, thou passing bell;
Ring out my doleful knell;
Thy sound my death abroad will tell,
For I must die,
There is no remedy.
Alone, alone in prison strong
I wail my destiny:
Woe worth this cruel hap that I
Must taste this misery!
Toll on, thou passing bell;
Ring out my doleful knell;
Thy sound my death abroad will tell,
For I must die,
There is no remedy.
Farewell, farewell, my pleasures past!
Welcome, my present pain!
I feel my torment so increase
That life cannot remain.
Cease now, thou passing bell,
Ring out my doleful knoll,
For thou my death dost tell:
Lord, pity thou my soul!
Death doth draw nigh,
Sound dolefully:
For now I die,
I die, I die.
Unknown |
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| The Bells of Hell |
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| 08:00pm 14/10/2003 |
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The bells of hell go ting-a-ling-a-ling
For you but not for me:
And the little devils how they sing-a-ling-a-ling
For you but not for me.
O death, where is thy sting-a-ling-a-ling,
O Grave, thy victor-ee?
The bells of hell go ting-a-ling-a-ling,
For you but not for me.
Unknown |
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