Roses are red and sometimes white or yellow orange and peach I have seen before Violets are blue and purple I think any other colors? Im not real sure your friend and cowboy thinks happy thoughts real hard So smile sidekick :) moohaha! Better than a Hallmark card!
Yeehaw! A poetry showdown Tis not the OK Corral but my little darling this cowboy rules the town 'whatsits and damnits' you say? Wish them varmints well and of course to you a very wonderful Thanksgiving Day :)
Twice in my life I experienced almost drowning. I don't know how close, but let's say: I never want to find out how much closer one can get, and breathe again.
Sixty feet down, as a novice diver, I realized my main AND reserve tanks were empty. I sucked desperately on the regulator. The coral reef below me was suddenly much less interesting.
After buddy-breathing with my... buddy... to the surface, guess what? It had turned choppy. And the dive platform (a rickety old fishing boat) was a couple hundred yards away. I was reluctant to drop the rented weight-belt and useless tank. That was a long swim. I drank a lot of the Caribbean.
Is one meant to prefer Michael Smith's approach: floating in stasis at the bottom of Jubal's swimming pool? Maybe when one has achieved mastery. When one no longer has any need of life-support, doctors, prayer networks, or partners. Or compost.
Glad you got some buddy-breathing here. Glad you're getting a friggin' life, however choppy it may be. Glad of many things.
Breathe.
[edit: typo]
[As for the Caribbean: I didn't swallow so much as you would notice. Seemed like a lot to me, tho.]
I wonder if it's partly due to the fact that _thinking_ about poetry (analytically) utilizes such a different brainspace from that used for poetic expression itself.
That's probably also why it's deucedly difficult to write (good) poetry _about_ poetry.
Good poetry is a conduit to the heart of things. In the very best poetry, the poet - and sometimes the poem - disappears.
One might end up with something like John Cage's composition 4'33", which in some ways is reduction-ad-absurdum music _about_ music.
17 comments:
Walk a lot. Eat chocolate. Drink wine. These things help me greatly when life is rocky. And listen to LOUD music so you can't think.
Get a friggin' life.
there's a certain irony to be appreciated in a person anonymously posting on an internet journal entirely to tell someone to get a life.
wonderful thing, that irony. :)
This is officially Listeme's new Poetry Corner!
Roses are red
and sometimes white or yellow
orange and peach I have seen before
Violets are blue
and purple I think
any other colors? Im not real sure
your friend and cowboy
thinks happy thoughts real hard
So smile sidekick :)
moohaha! Better than a Hallmark card!
Yeehaw! A poetry showdown
Tis not the OK Corral
but my little darling
this cowboy rules the town
'whatsits and damnits' you say?
Wish them varmints well
and of course to you
a very wonderful Thanksgiving Day :)
Its called male pattern baldness
and I blame my ancestors
I even tried Rogaine but
my curly brown hair I still miss
I do save money on shampoo
and trips to the barber
my tub clogs less
and I still got my fu manchu
Us hairless cowboys dont cry
we just wear hats
30 days til Christmas
So be good says Mr. Fly :)
Twice in my life I experienced almost drowning. I don't know how close, but let's say: I never want to find out how much closer one can get, and breathe again.
Sixty feet down, as a novice diver, I realized my main AND reserve tanks were empty. I sucked desperately on the regulator. The coral reef below me was suddenly much less interesting.
After buddy-breathing with my... buddy... to the surface, guess what? It had turned choppy. And the dive platform (a rickety old fishing boat) was a couple hundred yards away. I was reluctant to drop the rented weight-belt and useless tank. That was a long swim. I drank a lot of the Caribbean.
Is one meant to prefer Michael Smith's approach: floating in stasis at the bottom of Jubal's swimming pool? Maybe when one has achieved mastery. When one no longer has any need of life-support, doctors, prayer networks, or partners. Or compost.
Glad you got some buddy-breathing here. Glad you're getting a friggin' life, however choppy it may be. Glad of many things.
Breathe.
[edit: typo]
[As for the Caribbean: I didn't swallow so much as you would notice. Seemed like a lot to me, tho.]
I'm sure that the amount of water swallowed was non-trivial. Remember the butterfly effect.
Hey! What happened to the poetry dammit!? signed, A Different Anonymous
HAIKU
- - -
These comments shift tone.
One mourns the loss of poetry.
He should look within.
sure - not a single comment on the previous post, which is _about_ poetry....
you'd think poetry were something integrated with the rest of life, or something....
Heh, I was just going to make the same comment.
I wonder if it's partly due to the fact that _thinking_ about poetry (analytically) utilizes such a different brainspace from that used for poetic expression itself.
That's probably also why it's deucedly difficult to write (good) poetry _about_ poetry.
Good poetry is a conduit to the heart of things. In the very best poetry, the poet - and sometimes the poem - disappears.
One might end up with something like John Cage's composition 4'33", which in some ways is reduction-ad-absurdum music _about_ music.
I like your haiku, em. :)
THANK YOU, ANONYMOUS.
- Emilyiforgotmypassword
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