Jun 30, 2008 at 03:45 o\clock
Jun 30, 2008 at 03:43 o\clock
Jun 28, 2008 at 00:44 o\clock
Rock and roll was here to stay but now its stop and stall . We slow down while others on planet earth speed up .Is it to late .The global village is getting tatty round the edges Wasters put in the village stocks . Pump water turns grey .Thatched roofs rot.The old church opens its doors to let God out.Dogs and cats go mad.The Village folk dance around the May Pole early . Round and round . Music scatter gun noise. The sun blinks .Black holes beckon. Lets fast rewind quick
Jun 26, 2008 at 13:45 o\clock
Its in the air that smell of what , its there but hard to click in the memory of past smells reject reject we do not want to know
The people most with looks of strain on faces stretched with adult awareness of this place of healing or dying .
A woman asks for the cancer ward alone she walks carrying her doom with dignity
A child whimpers on the bed Another lying a strange still eyes staring in another place of wonder we hope.
Our patient 4 years old already up and wanting out as she struts around her broken arm of no concern
Its all a Theatre where life stumbles on a stage to either walk off or disappear down some hidden hole
In the carpark the rain falls down the air is fresh and life calls the fit .....
@ Neil furby
Jun 22, 2008 at 05:50 o\clock
Now i may join the pork bones at the bottom of the pot, how the shame on my family would be found at the bottom of the pot with the pork bones and pieces of celery.
I used to have a much better life in the outdoors fresh air plenty of mates to chill with and tell tale stories about escaping from giant rabbits even just chatting to the garden gnome about the caterpillar problem with the lettuce this summer those were the memories i was hanging onto in this spot the big hand had put me in.
The big hand had looked after me right though all the seasons and now the big hand had pulled me from my comfort zone and plunged me into a rather nasty and salty tasting conundrum.
You may ask yourself how will the carrot get out of this sloppy soup he has ended up in well you will have to tune your ears to the ground with the worms for the next update of carrot in your soup...........
's a story i wrote called a carrot in your soup.
Jun 5, 2008 at 14:25 o\clock
5.46, Andheri Local
In the women’s compartment
of a Bombay local
for no personal epiphanies.
Like metal licked by relentless acetylene
we are welded –
flesh and organza,
odours and ovaries.
Kali on wheels.
When I descend
I could choose
to dice carrots
or dice a lover.
I postpone the latter.
© 2001, Arundhathi Subramaniam
From: On Cleaning Bookshelves
Publisher: Allied Publishers, Mumbai, 2001
Jun 5, 2008 at 01:37 o\clock
century. His innovative poems, influenced by French symbolism, countered the earlier poetic tradition of Janos Arany and
Ady left the study of law to become a journalist. After he met Adel Brull, called "Leda" (reversed reading of her name) in many of his poems, he followed her to Paris, where he came in contact with new literary fashions. When he returned to Hungary, his unconventional beliefs and attacks on the Hungarian aristocracy made him a controversial figure. His break with poetic and social traditions came with Uj versek (New Poems, 1906) and continued in nine subsequent volumes. Beginning about 1909 he contributed poetry and prose to Nyugat (West), a leading literary and social journal. Ady's lyrical and religious verse draws on colloquial and biblical sources and explores suffering and death in a world that has lost God.
Jun 5, 2008 at 01:26 o\clock
|The poet of the Hortobágy
He was a large-eyed, Hunnish youth,
Woman and dreams have seized his soul
He often thought of wondrous things,
But he gazed upon the herds
Tr: Anton T. Nyerges
|A Hortobágy poétája
Kúnfajta , nagyszemű legény volt ,
Alkonyatok és délibábok
Ezerszer gondolt csodaszépet
De ha a piszkos , gatyás , bamba
Jun 5, 2008 at 00:57 o\clock
Walking in that strange place of pine trees growing in the steep sided sand dunes with toadstools and rabbits scatchings/ coming across a dusty wine bottle and a plastic cup lying on the river bank/ who would drink alone?/sitting in that place / shipwrecked humanity/ or just enjoying a pleasure in a different setting/ I left the bottle and its plastic cup/ a shrine a sign /hope things get better drinker