PhillyDave
“The essential doesn't change.” Beckett
Longest? Interesting thread. Never really thought about that before. So, what would be Buk's shortest?
Aren't those excerpts?as Buddah smiles...
Could be; Bill would certainly know.Aren't those excerpts?
Did anyone else have to use Google for this one?“your move”
Aganippe is empty.
we move on to Hippocrene.
That wouldn't surprise me, but Martin did use two of the matchbook poems ("my fate" and "dark night poem," as they are on the matchbooks) in Pleasures of the Damned.I think to recall all the matchbook poems were excerpts off longer poems.
moaning and groaning
she writes: you’ll
be moaning and groaning
in your poems
about how I fucked
those 2 guys last week.
I know you.
she writes on to
say that my vibe
machine was right—
she had just fucked
a third guy
but she knows I don’t
want to hear who, why
or how. she closes her
letter, “Love.”
rats and roaches
have triumphed again.
here it comes running
with a slug in its
mouth, it’s singing
old love songs.
close the windows
moan
close the doors
groan.
rosary for a once
tenderness
the rats and roaches have
triumphed
again
the fury that lifted the rose
is gone
close the windows
close the doors
bury it with shopping bags and
flowers
be kind
kill it
here it comes running
with a slug in its mouth
singing old
love songs.
thoughts while eating a sandwich
we demand that our leaders possess
a certain clever charm, a certain mild wisdom, but no madness,
at least not madness at its
best.
maybe the energy is just not there anymore, maybe
not only is the air polluted, maybe the brain has been
poisoned, maybe the human spirit has been
diluted down to a dim imitation of
itself
until anybody who appears half-right half-the-time is
almost always accepted as our new
hero-leader.
it is more and more difficult—no, it’s just damned
impossible—to accept and admire those who are
deemed great in our time.
they all
are suspect
they all seem to lack:
nobility
originality
intelligence
honesty
and especially that which is most needed:
a simple, good heart.
just bones and more bones
bleaching in the sun.
they say that nothing is wasted:
either that
or
it all is.
was that originally the title of a Hosho McCreesh-poem?"my doom has wire wheels and girls in light green tight green dresses smile at me,"