killing time is a hobby i've almost forgotten in the mad rush of busy days and nights, and the frenzy of running in the ratrace has given me temporary amnesia. i've almost forgotten what it's like to wake up late in the day, buried blissfully in soft pillows and blankets, and do nothing but nothing.
Big smiles! This is an old one I've read before, but still love it...especially as today is Monday and I have the week off!!! And I welcome the return of the Marlboro man too !
That is a lovely poem and describes how I feel right now perfectly. (Though I wish I didn't feel this way!) Thumbs up!
the burden of the daily grind is a million pounds less than your voice on the phone with the questions that beg to be asked and the uninvited memories that demand remembering ah numbness...blessed numbness! small talk is the highway to awkward conversation so i choose silence over words and i throw myself to the whirlwind of office hours that i be swallowed up tossed this way and that bruised but unfeeling am i still your friend? maybe... but the burden of the daily grind is a million pounds less than your voice on the phone.
this stanza is just brilliance! i relate so well, and each line is a finely wrought thing, images presented so sharp and eloquent use of language. this was quite the powerful piece, for me... thanks for sharing this gem!
have coffee with me you in the smoke-filled cafe we both love i in this resort i now work in i in the middle of an ocean of trees you in the middle of a puddle of people i bet you're having cappuccino (with the cinnamon smiley face on top) smoking lucky strike after lucky strike your mind wandering i'm having instant coffee (i get it for free here) smoking lucky strike after lucky strike my mind wandering coffee and cigarettes in two places tonight i will dream of having coffee and cigarettes with you once more.
here i sit the mountain air seeping under my denim jacket the nth cigarette burning slowly in my hand there are things to do plans to make a veritable sea of...ah but still! still i find myself mentally traveling back to yesterday when everything was possible and we could do anything and our dreams were bigger than the mountain and the weed was sweetened by our camaraderie and our cares had yet to weigh us down do you remember? we were a flock of birds soaring flying riding the wind our hearts beating to one song but fate had other plans and the wind became a gale that struck us full force and we all flew away and our flock was no more do you remember? the happiest memories can cut like a knife and i have so many unseen scars on my psyche and the weight of my cares makes it hard to fly because i remember the good times and oh, how they sting! night after night as i lie beneath the covers with several glasses of red wine in my head here's to the good times that now are memories that cut as they caress i remember do you? i still smoke the sacred herb it is still sweet but it now has other flavors that color the overall taste and sting the tongue but i still smoke the sacred herb in remembrance of our time in remembrance of our gang do you remember? i do.
A red and orange crumpled leaf Crosses my path Wind in my ears Singing Wind messing my hair My jacket is a Sail Lovers in the shadows Whispering without words Many faces Pass In the distance starlight In the city’s windows Smiles at me.
I A quiet autumn day in Tokyo... ...is a luxury I have denied myselfa treasure I have dug up once more - clear skies a mosaic of YellowOrange andGreen a gentle breeze hard rock beneath me the city sings a duet withthe birds of Hibiya Park while Ithe listenerremain silent. II Sitting with my back against a tree......I travel a thousand milesprobably more to see youthough you do not know it I move without movingmy backside attachedfirmly to the ground How I wish I could sharethis simple feast withYou. III The Rock Is A Storyteller Several million buttsof all shapes and sizes have sat on me Several million pairs of feet have stepped on me kicked me occasionally Lovers have kissed (and sometimesmore than that) while sittingstandingleaning on me I bear silent witness to the seasonsthe yearsthe millennia and to the uncountable storiesof the world. IV Prayer On A Sunday Afternoon In The Park Let me be free like thisall the time - be silent in singing my songbe invisible when presentyet visible when absentlose identity and its heavy burdenof yesterdaytoday andtomorrow - if only that were possible! V Two Strangers Meet In The Park I know not your historynot your caresnot your hopesnot your age (though the lineson your face hint at it) You know not my historynot my caresnot my hopesnot my age (though the lack of lines on my face hint at it) We share nothing but smilesa nod of greetinga few words punctuatedby periods of silence - a few words,then farewell: a few more wordssmilesas you go and return to your historyyour caresyour hopes... as I will soon return to mine. VI Little Brown Bird Little brown birdwho are you? Little brown birdhopping about on the groundhopping peckingeating not knowingunaware you have an audienceof one... Wait! Don't go! VII Hibiya Wine Festival A hundred differentwinessloshing around in my belly a hundred differentfermented grapes,red and white in my brain a hundred different peopleor moreeverywhere sitting on benches oron the ground people talkingpeople laughingpeople saying "Kampai!" a hundred different peoplea hundred different wines one collective sighof Bliss. VIII I must be going but......I yearn for a few moments more of this bliss: of the hard groundI'm sitting onof the tree trunkI'm leaning againstof the contentmentof a lonely wandererresting 'neath this tree one last cigaretteleads to another last cigaretteas drowsinessembraces me like a lover. IX There's a pleasant kind of sadness... ...that caresses youlike a lover who welcomes you after a long exhausting day a quiet luxury brought aboutby a glass of red wine and your favorite cigarettewhile sitting alone in a cornera smile playing, teasinglyforming on your lipswhile you hum an old love songunmindful of the people in the bar. X I’ve run out of words now… …so I must resort to…and…and… …to say what I mean.
In the depths of my soul I find tree leaves framed in twilight blue, red and gold-tinted clouds, the sunset I gaze at the outside world-my soul I find in tree leaves framed in twilight blue, red and gold-tinted clouds, the sunset.
These five poems are the remaining survivors from my old thread in the old Hipforums. I'll see if I can find the others.
The most beautiful sunrise Happened when I woke up Next to you. This moment I have Frozen forever: You, silhouetted By golden light, Framed by the Sand and surf, By the gradually Brightening blue, As we walked on the Beach. That fleeting Bliss was all I had - a Grain of sand in Destiny’s upturned palm, Infinity in a seashell I have added To my vast collection.
tonight i danced in the rain listened to the percussion on the ground the occasional drum roll across the sky every tinkle born out of the collision of water and earth echoes in my mind resurrecting memories of an ancient time when i would dance in the rain because i knew i was the rain and the rain was freedom in tiny packages falling from grey clouds freedom pushed out of the womb and raised in a world of boundaries and social chains freedom rushing down to embrace its son whose real name was freedom: a nine-year-old boy hiding from his elders dancing a secret dance feet splashing blood pumping the thrill of getting caught arousing his heart... i glimpsed heaven that day just as i glimpsed it tonight while dancing in the rain.
Little brown bird who are you? Little brown bird hopping about on the ground hopping pecking eating not knowing unaware you have an audience of one... Wait! Don't go! ~* thank you for your offerings; kind and refreshing are they all *~