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Known to boat
I have been known to boat
On the waters of oblivion,
Bucking for a buoyancy I once knew as a scruff,
You and I rowing over
To the grassy bank to fuck. You were then taking your orals
In English and I was already out
Working for a firm. Weekends Were when we lived for then.
Now I’ve freelanced so long
I can no longer tell the days, Except where a deadline, where money
Is involved. We didn’t stay involved.
You married for money but were soon Back to your wilder ways, and I stayed
Single, lived in a condo, and then could
Afford an expensive loft. I live now in A very expensive view
Where I can still see you
Still in the sway Of our boat, in the sway of
The long grasses along the bank.
You took your ex to the cleaners, I heard, leaving him only
With a very pressed pair
Of grass-stained trousers. I can afford and am addicted to
Morphine now, chemically kissed,
And row that boat farther every day.
On the waters of oblivion,
Bucking for a buoyancy I once knew as a scruff,
You and I rowing over
To the grassy bank to fuck. You were then taking your orals
In English and I was already out
Working for a firm. Weekends Were when we lived for then.
Now I’ve freelanced so long
I can no longer tell the days, Except where a deadline, where money
Is involved. We didn’t stay involved.
You married for money but were soon Back to your wilder ways, and I stayed
Single, lived in a condo, and then could
Afford an expensive loft. I live now in A very expensive view
Where I can still see you
Still in the sway Of our boat, in the sway of
The long grasses along the bank.
You took your ex to the cleaners, I heard, leaving him only
With a very pressed pair
Of grass-stained trousers. I can afford and am addicted to
Morphine now, chemically kissed,
And row that boat farther every day.
LG WILLIAMS OPEN LETTER TO HIS HOLINESS POPE BENEDICT XVI
Your Holiness Pope Benedict XVI,
With regards to your November 21st appeal for artists to embark on "a quest for beauty", I thought it appropriate, in the spirit of open brotherly exchange, to answer your request and make a request: OK, No Problem! Please send a check to: 1687-A Kalauokalani Way #139 Honolulu, HI 96814 Your Brother In Art, LG Williams
LG Williams
The Prudent Jailer by C.S. Lewis
Always the old nostalgia? Yes.
We still remember times before
We had learned to wear the prison dress
Or steel rings rubbed our ankles sore.Escapists? Yes. Looking at bars
And chains, we think of files; and then
Of black nights without moon or stars
And luck befriending hunted men. Still when we hear the trains at night
We envy the free travellers, whirled
In how few moments past the sight
Of the blind wall that bounds our world.Our Jailer (well may he) perfers
Our thoughts should keep a narrower range.
'The proper study of prisoners
is prison', he tells us. Is it strange?And if old freedom in our glance
Betrays itself, he calls it names
'Dope'-'Wishful thinking'-or 'Romance',
Till tireless propaganda tames.All but the strong whose hearts they break,
All but the few whose faith is whole.
Some walls cannot a prison make
Half so secure as rigmarole.
Inside an actor's brain
via guardian.co.uk
Inside an actor's brain | Fiona Shaw performs in a scanner
As part of a new exhibition on human identity, actor Fiona Shaw agreed to have her brain scanned while performing parts of TS Eliot's poem The Waste Land. Stuart Jeffries joined her at University College London
Gift
I took everything from my mother, her liquor, her ghosts,
her sweetness, her heavy lips, her breath of sorrow.
I took her waist and her spools, her ears and her thimble,
I took her green thumb, and the purple cosmos blossoms
that trembled under her kitchen window.
I took her feet and her loneliness, the cities
she lived in, the small towns, their friendless dusks,
her quilts and perfumes and fingers.
I took the sound of her dresses at midnight,
and the goat she kept as a child,
I took the crickets beneath the boards of her first houses
and her lovers; I got lost in their shadows.
I took her hatred of her father,
I ate from her dishes in rooms that smelled of the sea.
I took the war and the horses that pulled the cart
that carried her mother away.
I took the odor of crushed thyme and sweat,
I took a handkerchief embroidered by my great aunt
and the iron in her shoulders and the road signs
of old villages.
I took my mother’s maiden name and her fear of oceans,
I took her bravery and her strangeness,
I took a blessing from her and
the lullabies she whispered, drunk,
and my terror of that dark music.
I took my love for a woman
who walked through a broken doorway
with her eyes closed
following no one.
her sweetness, her heavy lips, her breath of sorrow.
I took her waist and her spools, her ears and her thimble,
I took her green thumb, and the purple cosmos blossoms
that trembled under her kitchen window.
I took her feet and her loneliness, the cities
she lived in, the small towns, their friendless dusks,
her quilts and perfumes and fingers.
I took the sound of her dresses at midnight,
and the goat she kept as a child,
I took the crickets beneath the boards of her first houses
and her lovers; I got lost in their shadows.
I took her hatred of her father,
I ate from her dishes in rooms that smelled of the sea.
I took the war and the horses that pulled the cart
that carried her mother away.
I took the odor of crushed thyme and sweat,
I took a handkerchief embroidered by my great aunt
and the iron in her shoulders and the road signs
of old villages.
I took my mother’s maiden name and her fear of oceans,
I took her bravery and her strangeness,
I took a blessing from her and
the lullabies she whispered, drunk,
and my terror of that dark music.
I took my love for a woman
who walked through a broken doorway
with her eyes closed
following no one.
Ghazals, Calendars and little ol' me
John Van Dusen, the worship leader of the Bridge, has written five ghazals about advent which can be found at:
http://m.facebook.com/notes/john-van-dusen/five-advent-ghazals/183881618068?r8c386c9a&r8571e138&refid=0#anchor_fbid_183881618068 or if you are NOT MOBILE here: http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?v=app_2347471856&ref=nf&id=1427525961
I encourage you to go see them. I like them very much.
John has dropped the gauntlet, so to speak, by issuing a poetical challenge to write some advent ghazals. I plan to take up the gauntlet and try to write a couple myself. Of course they will be posted here when they are fit to be read.
I doubt they will be "advent" poems though. I didn't grow up in a high church with calendars and lectionaries and such. I know Advent has something to do with Christmas but other that I know nothing about the season.
I don't think I have ever written a ghazal either but I ain't scared.
The story of Esther from the Bible would make for some great ghazals. That is probably what I will write about.
Esther was cool! I wish I could bottle her up and market her. I won't say anything else about her story so that my poems will not be ruined before you read them.
A small bit of trivia for everyone- Esther is the only book in the Bible that never mentions God. So all of my atheist friends should be able to enjoy the story without worrying about me getting all preachy! :-)
New Slang lyrics by The Shins
New Slang by The Shins
Gold teeth and a curse for this town were all in my mouth.
Only, i don't know how they got out, dear.
Turn me back into the pet that i was when we met.
I was happier then with no mind-set.And if you'd 'a took to me like
A gull takes to the wind.
Well, i'd 'a jumped from my tree
And i'd a danced like the king of the eyesores
And the rest of our lives would 'a fared well.New slang when you notice the stripes, the dirt in your fries.
Hope it's right when you die, old and bony.
Dawn breaks like a bull through the hall,
Never should have called
But my head's to the wall and i'm lonely.And if you'd 'a took to me like
A gull takes to the wind.
Well, i'd 'a jumped from my tree
And i'd a danced like the kind of the eyesores
And the rest of our lives would 'a fared well.God speed all the bakers at dawn may they all cut their thumbs,
And bleed into their buns 'till they melt away.I'm looking in on the good life i might be doomed never to find.
Without a trust or flaming fields am i too dumb to refine?
And if you'd 'a took to me like
Well i'd a danced like the queen of the eyesores
And the rest of our lives would 'a fared well.
Only, i don't know how they got out, dear.
Turn me back into the pet that i was when we met.
I was happier then with no mind-set.And if you'd 'a took to me like
A gull takes to the wind.
Well, i'd 'a jumped from my tree
And i'd a danced like the king of the eyesores
And the rest of our lives would 'a fared well.New slang when you notice the stripes, the dirt in your fries.
Hope it's right when you die, old and bony.
Dawn breaks like a bull through the hall,
Never should have called
But my head's to the wall and i'm lonely.And if you'd 'a took to me like
A gull takes to the wind.
Well, i'd 'a jumped from my tree
And i'd a danced like the kind of the eyesores
And the rest of our lives would 'a fared well.God speed all the bakers at dawn may they all cut their thumbs,
And bleed into their buns 'till they melt away.I'm looking in on the good life i might be doomed never to find.
Without a trust or flaming fields am i too dumb to refine?
And if you'd 'a took to me like
Well i'd a danced like the queen of the eyesores
And the rest of our lives would 'a fared well.
