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Any monkies here that are Poets?

jdcamb

Tool Time!
Feb 17, 2002
19,851
8,457
Nowhere Man!
Or have an interest in poetry? I love poetry and try to actually write some too. Would it be to forward to ask you to share some here. It doesn't have to be yours, just something you find inspiring or whatever. You show me yours and I will show you mine!

A favorite of mine but not mine......

BEER

I don't know how many bottles of beer
I have consumed while waiting for things
to get better
I dont know how much wine and whisky
and beer
mostly beer
I have consumed after
splits with women-
waiting for the phone to ring
waiting for the sound of footsteps,
and the phone to ring
waiting for the sounds of footsteps,
and the phone never rings
until much later
and the footsteps never arrive
until much later
when my stomach is coming up
out of my mouth
they arrive as fresh as spring flowers:
"what the hell have you done to yourself?
it will be 3 days before you can **** me!"

the female is durable
she lives seven and one half years longer
than the male, and she drinks very little beer
because she knows its bad for the figure.

while we are going mad
they are out
dancing and laughing
with horney cowboys.

well, there's beer
sacks and sacks of empty beer bottles
and when you pick one up
the bottle fall through the wet bottom
of the paper sack
rolling
clanking
spilling gray wet ash
and stale beer,
or the sacks fall over at 4 a.m.
in the morning
making the only sound in your life.

beer
rivers and seas of beer
the radio singing love songs
as the phone remains silent
and the walls stand
straight up and down
and beer is all there is.

Charles Bukowski
 

ridetoofast

scarred, broken and drunk
Mar 31, 2002
2,095
5
crashing at a trail near you...
The Wind
A fickle temptress, you feel her caress
A gift from the sky as she goes blowing by
Never knowing the regret you’ll feel
Trapped in a floating cage of steel
Windswells and whitecaps spread far and wide
Stir emotions strong inside
You close your eyes and soon you’ll see
Hooked and strapped you’re becoming free
Screaming along without a care
Across the water gleaming launching fat air
Free as a child happy and wild
Not a care to be found no longer earth bound
Floating it seems for such a long time
Liking this dream feeling quite sublime
Feeling so good you ask with a smile
Please sweet temptress won’t you stay awhile
Soaring just a little too far
The door of reality begins to creep ajar
Through it she flows leaving you now
Silently you whisper your solemn vow
Whenever I hear your sweet voice calling me
From soft summer breeze or strong winter sea
All of my tasks will I set aside
So that I might once more take you for a ride

Hello Glenn, Letter to a friend, The Wind continued

Arrived in Norfolk but not home just yet
Sailing deprived inspirations to paper I’ve set
Six months I had to feel the breeze
I’m afraid I’ve got the Mad Sailing Disease
The symptoms you’ll see are quite apparent
Equipment I must have, buy, beg, or rent
These things I must have to quench my desire
For if I’m not sailing soon, I’m afraid I’ll expire
For these words I seek not literary fame
Only that others that speak her name
Might see these words and crack a smile
At the mad ramblings of one whose not sailed in a while.
 

BikeGeek

BrewMonkey
Jul 2, 2001
4,573
273
Hershey, PA
There's an ancient, ancient garden that I see sometimes in dreams
Where the very Maytime sunlight plays and glows with spectral gleams;
Where the gaudy-tinted blossoms seem to wither into grey,
And the crumbling walls and pillars waken thoughts of yesterday.
There are vines in nooks and crannies, and there's moss about the pool,
And the tangled weedy thicket chokes the arbour dark and cool:
In the silent sunken pathways springs a herbage sparse and spare
Where the musty scent of dead things dulls the fragrance of the air.

There is not a living creature in the lonely space around,
And the hedge-encompass'd quiet never echoes to a sound.
As I walk, and wait, and listen, I will often seek to find
When it was I knew that garden in an age long left behind;
I will oft conjure a vision of a day that is no more,
As I gaze upon the grey, grey scenes I feel I knew before.
Then a sadness settles o'er me, and a tremor seems to start--
For I know the flow'rs are shrivell'd hopes--the garden is my heart.


HPL - 1917
 

henrymiller

Monkey
May 4, 2002
290
0
Denver-A-Go-Go
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

From The Poems of Dylan Thomas, published by New Directions.
 

BikeGeek

BrewMonkey
Jul 2, 2001
4,573
273
Hershey, PA
Ode to the "Stosh"

Deep down inside
You know it's true
This one star rating
Given to you
Not with malice
Or intent to be crass
Only because
Your post SUCKS ASS!
 

Echo

crooked smile
Jul 10, 2002
11,819
15
Slacking at work
My grandfather used to recite this one at family weddings. Still brings a tear to the eye of anyone who ever heard him say it.


It takes a heap o' livin'
in a house to make it home,
A heap o' sun and shadder,
and ye sometimes have to roam
Afore ye really appreciate
the things ye left behind,
And hunger for them somehow,
with 'em always on yer mind.
It don't make any difference
how rich ye get to be,
How much your chairs and tables cost,
how great your luxury;
It ain't home to ye,
though it be the palace of a king,
Until somehow your soul
is sorta wrapped round everything.


Home ain't a place that gold can buy
or get up in a minute;
Afore it's home there's got to be
a heap o' livin' in it;
Within the walls there's got to be
some babies born, and then
Right there ye've got to bring 'em up
to women good, and men;
And gradually as time goes on,
ye find ye wouldn't part
With anything they ever used,
they've grown into yer heart.
The old high chairs, the playthings, too,
the little shoes they wore
Ye hoard; an' if ye could
ye'd keep the thumb-marks on the door.


Ye've got to weep to make it home,
ye've got to sit and sigh
And watch beside a loved one's bed,
and know that Death is nigh;
And in the stillness o' the night
to see Death's angel come,
And close the eyes o' her that smiled,
and leave her sweet voice dumb.
For these are scenes that grip the heart,
and when your tears are dried,
Ye find the home is dearer than it was,
and somehow sanctified;
And tuggin' at ye always
are the pleasant memories
O' her that was and is no more,
ye can't escape from these.


Ye've got to sing and dance for years,
ye've got to romp and play,
And learn to love the things ye have
by usin' them each day;
Even the roses 'round the porch
must blossom year by year
Afore they 'come a part o' ye,
suggesting someone dear
Who used to love 'em long ago,
and trained 'em just to run
The way they do,
so's they would get the early mornin' sun;
Ye've got to love each brick and stone
from cellar up to dome:
It takes a heap o' livin'
in a house to make it home.
 

jdcamb

Tool Time!
Feb 17, 2002
19,851
8,457
Nowhere Man!
Originally posted by BikeGeek
Ode to the "Stosh"

Deep down inside
You know it's true
This one star rating
Given to you
Not with malice
Or intent to be crass
Only because
Your post SUCKS ASS!

If I knew Stosh better that would be my sig. Your good....very good....jdcamb
 

pnj

Turbo Monkey till the fat lady sings
Aug 14, 2002
4,696
40
seattle
what makes someone a poet?

one, two, three, four
grab my bike and I'm out the door.

no direction, just rolling along.
manualing the curbs and hopping up stairs.
the troubles of the world are not my care.

slipping pedals, smashing my balls.
blood runs down my shins
as I get up from the fall.

rolling again, head hurts from the pain




**** heres another *****

back to the school with the long, low bench.
the idea is to manual it but so far, no luck.
the aproach is bumpy and throws me of track.
I know it's all in my head because the bench is
oh so low
too low to measure
I must go
faster, to manual it.

pedaling quickly, I aproach the bench.
all thoughts now leave my brain, my body knows what to do.
lifting my bike and landing on my rear wheel, i'm rolling.
the end aproaches and I drop off, keeping my front end up.
the manual is mine as we roll the rest of the parking lot,
my bike and I.
at one again.




:rolleyes:
 

jdcamb

Tool Time!
Feb 17, 2002
19,851
8,457
Nowhere Man!
Originally posted by pnj
what makes someone a poet?

one, two, three, four
grab my bike and I'm out the door.

no direction, just rolling along.
manualing the curbs and hopping up stairs.
the troubles of the world are not my care.

slipping pedals, smashing my balls.
blood runs down my shins
as I get up from the fall.

rolling again, head hurts from the pain




**** heres another *****

back to the school with the long, low bench.
the idea is to manual it but so far, no luck.
the aproach is bumpy and throws me of track.
I know it's all in my head because the bench is
oh so low
too low to measure
I must go
faster, to manual it.

pedaling quickly, I aproach the bench.
all thoughts now leave my brain, my body knows what to do.
lifting my bike and landing on my rear wheel, i'm rolling.
the end aproaches and I drop off, keeping my front end up.
the manual is mine as we roll the rest of the parking lot,
my bike and I.
at one again.




:rolleyes:
* POOF * your now a poet. This is what I was looking for! Bike poetry rocks.....jdcamb
 

BikeGeek

BrewMonkey
Jul 2, 2001
4,573
273
Hershey, PA
Originally posted by jdcamb
If I knew Stosh better that would be my sig. Your good....very good....jdcamb
I guess I should have written "Ode to the :stosh:"

The code for the one-star smilie is :stosh:
 
Feb 14, 2004
831
0
SoCal
I know everyone who see's this is gonna rip on me forever but I like it!


LIAR
When I’d felt my last feelings
I thought that’d be my last dealings
With the sleepless nights when I couldn’t let go
And senseless fights I’d had with my heart

I felt like I couldn’t escape from that trap
It was such ****ing crap
I’d be clinging to life with one hand
And holding onto my feelings with the other

I’d felt like I’d burst
But it wouldn’t be a first
If you would see me crash
You could sift through the ash
You’d find the things I’d held onto
The little things you’d said
The things I’d see you hold back and not say
Cause you’d know they’d break my heart
And it’d just make me love you that much more
Cause I’d know you cared about me

I guess I’m a liar
Cause I’ve said things that I don’t mean
It could be a side of me that you haven’t seen
But when I said I’d stopped loving
I’d really believed the words I’d uttered
But when I said them I think I’d stuttered
I still love you!!!!
 

BMXman

I wish I was Canadian
Sep 8, 2001
13,827
0
Victoria, BC
I use to write a lot but I haven't in a long time....I will psot some later when I have time to type it all....no cut and paste feature;)
 

jdcamb

Tool Time!
Feb 17, 2002
19,851
8,457
Nowhere Man!
Originally posted by johnbryanpeters
There is some barrier
Between me and the trail
It is raining
It is cold
I am tired
And if I can just
Go down the stairs
And climb on
And pedal one full circle
I am past and free
Thanks for that.....jdcamb
 
Here's this rock.
It's not new, a babyhead.
But today, it leaps out,
Snags the front wheel,
And I'm down -
Over the bars.
Rolling.
Sliding.
Until, on my back in the leaf litter,
The bike arrives,
Airborne.
And I catch it,
Ease it down,
Take inventory.
Wallet's on the ground,
Hat's on head.
Fool, no helmet,
Just a short jaunt.
Later, my shoulder will talk to me.
 

laura

DH_Laura
Jul 16, 2002
6,259
15
Glitter Gulch
Originally posted by pnj
what makes someone a poet?

one, two, three, four
grab my bike and I'm out the door.

no direction, just rolling along.
manualing the curbs and hopping up stairs.
the troubles of the world are not my care.

slipping pedals, smashing my balls.
blood runs down my shins
as I get up from the fall.

rolling again, head hurts from the pain




**** heres another *****

back to the school with the long, low bench.
the idea is to manual it but so far, no luck.
the aproach is bumpy and throws me of track.
I know it's all in my head because the bench is
oh so low
too low to measure
I must go
faster, to manual it.

pedaling quickly, I aproach the bench.
all thoughts now leave my brain, my body knows what to do.
lifting my bike and landing on my rear wheel, i'm rolling.
the end aproaches and I drop off, keeping my front end up.
the manual is mine as we roll the rest of the parking lot,
my bike and I.
at one again.




:rolleyes:


ha, once again proof of your hippyness.
 

mpd510

Monkey
Nov 4, 2003
176
0
Northern Va
here are a few I wrote.

there seems to be a theme????????? I think i need help:confused: :D



beer beer beer monster
i am here monster
oh dear monster i need a pee
I'm off to the lavatory
Stumbling and falling
through the piss I'm crawling

I'm so glad my girl cant see this
as i struggle to find my penis
but i wonder if ill make it home by chance
in my pissed stained beer soaked pants





F#ckin Drunk

Miller, Miller, Genuine drink
I get so drunk i cant think
What to write , where to go
Out of beer , f*cking no
To the store , drunkin fit
I cant drive a f*cking stick
Grind to second , skip to fourth
Park my car , lock my door
Down the aisle , to the beer
Start to run , im outta here
Out the door, to my car
Beer runs over , drive so far
Light is red , stop my car
Drink my brew , be so happy
With my beer, passed out laughing.