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call it the greenhouse effect or whatever
but it just doesn't rain like it used to.
I particularly remember the rains of the
depression era.
there wasn't any money but there was
plenty of rain.
it wouldn't rain for just a night or
a day,
it would RAIN for 7 days and 7
nights
and in Los Angeles the storm drains
weren't built to carry off taht much
water
and the rain came down THICK and
MEAN and
STEADY
and you HEARD it banging against
the roofs and into the ground
waterfalls of it came down
from roofs
and there was HAIL
big ROCKS OF ICE
bombing
exploding smashing into things
and the rain
just wouldn't
STOP
and all the roofs leaked-
dishpans,
cooking pots
were placed all about;
they dripped loudly
and had to be emptied
again and
again.
the rain came up over the street curbings,
across the lawns, climbed up the steps and
entered the houses.
there were mops and bathroom towels,
and the rain often came up through the
toilets:bubbling, brown, crazy,whirling,
and all the old cars stood in the streets,
cars that had problems starting on a
sunny day,
and the jobless men stood
looking out the windows
at the old machines dying
like living things out there.
the jobless men,
failures in a failing time
were imprisoned in their houses with their
wives and children
and their
pets.
the pets refused to go out
and left their waste in
strange places.
the jobless men went mad
confined with
their once beautiful wives.
there were terrible arguments
as notices of foreclosure
fell into the mailbox.
rain and hail, cans of beans,
bread without butter;fried
eggs, boiled eggs, poached
eggs; peanut butter
sandwiches, and an invisible
chicken in every ***.
my father, never a good man
at best, beat my mother
when it rained
as I threw myself
between them,
the legs, the knees, the
screams
until they
seperated.
"I'll **** you," I screamed
at him. "You hit her again
and I'll **** you!"
"Get that son-of-a-*******
kid out of here!"
"no, Henry, you stay with
your mother!"
all the households were under
seige but I believe that ours
held more terror than the
average.
and at night
as we attempted to sleep
the rains still came down
and it was in bed
in the dark
watching the moon against
the scarred window
so bravely
holding out
most of the rain,
I thought of Noah and the
Ark
and I thought, it has come
again.
we all thought
that.
and then, at once, it would
stop.
and it always seemed to
stop
around 5 or 6 a.m.,
peaceful then,
but not an exact silence
because things continued to
drip
  drip
    drip
  

and there was no smog then
and by 8 a.m.
there was a
blazing yellow sunlight,
Van Gogh yellow-
crazy, blinding!
and then
the roof drains
relieved of the rush of
water
began to expand in the warmth:
PANG!PANG!PANG!
and everybody got up and looked outside
and there were all the lawns
still soaked
greener than green will ever
be
and there were birds
on the lawn
CHIRPING like mad,
they hadn't eaten decently
for 7 days and 7 nights
and they were weary of
berries
and
they waited as the worms
rose to the top,
half drowned worms.
the birds plucked them
up
and gobbled them
down;there were
blackbirds and sparrows.
the blackbirds tried to
drive the sparrows off
but the sparrows,
maddened with hunger,
smaller and quicker,
got their
due.
the men stood on their porches
smoking cigarettes,
now knowing
they'd have to go out
there
to look for that job
that probably wasn't
there, to start that car
that probably wouldn't
start.
and the once beautiful
wives
stood in their bathrooms
combing their hair,
applying makeup,
trying to put their world back
together again,
trying to forget that
awful sadness that
gripped them,
wondering what they could
fix for
breakfast.
and on the radio
we were told that
school was now
open.
and
soon
there I was
on the way to school,
massive puddles in the
street,
the sun like a new
world,
my parents back in that
house,
I arrived at my classroom
on time.
Mrs. Sorenson greeted us
with, "we won't have our
usual recess, the grounds
are too wet."
"AW!" most of the boys
went.
"but we are going to do
something special at
recess," she went on,
"and it will be
fun!"
well, we all wondered
what that would
be
and the two hour wait
seemed a long time
as Mrs.Sorenson
went about
teaching her
lessons.
I looked at the little
girls, they looked so
pretty and clean and
alert,
they sat still and
straight
and their hair was
beautiful
in the California
sunshine.
the the recess bells rang
and we all waited for the
fun.
then Mrs. Sorenson told us:
"now, what we are going to
do is we are going to tell
each other what we did
during the rainstorm!
we'll begin in the front row
and go right around!
now, Michael, you're first!. . ."
well, we all began to tell
our stories, Michael began
and it went on and on,
and soon we realized that
we were all lying, not
exactly lying but mostly
lying and some of the boys
began to snicker and some
of the girls began to give
them ***** looks and
Mrs.Sorenson said,
"all right! I demand a
modicum of silence
here!
I am interested in what
you did
during the rainstorm
even if you
aren't!"
so we had to tell our
stories and they were
stories.
one girl said that
when the rainbow first
came
she saw God's face
at the end of it.
only she didn't say which end.
one boy said he stuck
his fishing pole
out the window
and caught a little
fish
and fed it to his
cat.
almost everybody told
a lie.
the truth was just
too awful and
embarassing to tell.
then the bell rang
and recess was
over.
"thank you," said Mrs.
Sorenson, "that was very
nice.
and tomorrow the grounds
will be dry
and we will put them
to use
again."
most of the boys
cheered
and the little girls
sat very straight and
still,
looking so pretty and
clean and
alert,
their hair beautiful in a sunshine that
the world might never see
again.
and
Purcy Flaherty Jan 2018
From Alan Lomax to the commercial art and now the money machine.

At the turn of the century; when sound recording 1st became available to the masses, recording a song was an opportunity for folk to reach out; and tell the world something up front and personal.
It meant that people were able to put themselves on “The record” A way of leaving a permanent audio statement, an epitaph, an audio sound bite immortalising ~ life, mood, emotion captured and bottled for all eternity.
(A medium that conveyed messages from artists and storytellers of all kinds)

A recording was also a great addition to "The family album" something more tangible, a window to a real person, with a real life, a message and a point of view; a legacy, a blast from the past.
Few people expected sound prints to be re-designed, homogenised, formulated, copied, repackaged and that art and the message would be played over and over again by new artists in the form of "cover music" or that the style of the messages would become secularized, seperated into distinctive groups, or constrained by an elite clique or commercial genre.
Labelling and streamlining art & music mostly benefits the commercial art & music industry; and no longer the artists and creators.

I've no problem with good business, or the multi-billion pound industrys that have gained commercial success.

However the process of mass homogenisation, product synthesis, marketing, streamlining and then packaging fashion, sound and synthetic culture to sell a product, leaves very little room for creative people to just be creative.

A medium originally open to many for self expression, a historical record, an archive, a voice, a personal message;
Is now just a vehicle for advertising and perpetuating a genre of nonsense, so much so that there is now more white noise immortalised than messages.

To re-cap ~ I Think that creativity and expressionism; like story telling conveys moods and messages from the present and past!
Artists and musicians should have the opportunity to create and produce more information than they copy; thus creating a richer more colourful tapestry, whilst not devaluing the message of their predecessors!

Purcy Flaherty.
From Alan Lomax to the commercial music machine.
A culture of cover singers, blinkered snobbery and the hermetic music industry !
Jayantee Khare Jun 2017
Day                         and                      night

Dark                   and                   light

     Sunset          and             twilight
  
are
on
the
same
planet
parallel
coexisting
but­
miles apart
seperated
by
moments
compliment
each other
and
so
we
are
liz  Sep 2014
I Exist
liz Sep 2014
Laughs echo down
the halls around you.
Your are seperated from
the happiness.
You have to remind yourself:
I exist.

Everyone around you
is talking.
You are seperated from
their madness.
You have to remind yourself:
I exist.

Lives seem to move on
around you.
You are seperated from
the adventure.
You have to remind yourself:
I exist.

In night and day:
I exist.
In time and history:
I exist.
I have flesh and a heart:
I exist.

As painful as it is to walk, it's the most beautiful thing.
Dawn Bunker  Aug 2018
Howard
Dawn Bunker Aug 2018
Howard Dully was twelve years old
when Dr. Freeman felt so bold
to dig around inside his head
a wonder that he isn't dead.

The year was 1963,
when Howard had his lobotomy.
He never even had a clue,
of what his parents planned to do.

                  ORBITOCLASTS
The name Freeman gave to his personally designed
lobotomy knives.
They went under Howard's eyelids 3 centimeters
from the mid line and parallel with the nose.
Driven to a depth of 5 centimeters he pulled the handles
laterally, returned them halfway, and drove 2 centimeters
deeper.  He touched the handles over the nose, seperated
them 45 degrees, elevated them 50 degrees, and at this point
he probably
smiled to himself.
For now they were parallel,
and ready for photography before removal.

An angry stepmom arranged it all,
she made the final judgement call.
They labeled Howard as insane....
opened him up, and juggled his brain.

Howard survived because he was still growing.
Not fully developed,
his brain would keep going....
off in directions he couldn't control
but never condeming
the depths of his soul.

Not long ago I read his book.
I felt intrigued to take a look.
I hope, dear reader, you do the same.
Remember his story,
remember his name.
Howard Dully's book was published in 2007, and it went on to become a New York Times bestseller. Howard coauthored the book with Charles Fleming, and it is titled My Lobotomy.
Emily Tyler  May 2013
Those Girls
Emily Tyler May 2013
"Oh, hey Emily, will you be on our team?"

It was the very bad ending to a very bad day.

Three tests, forgotten homework, stuttered lines,
And this is what got me in the end.

Those girls,
The ones with the
Perfect long blonde beautiful hair
And the pencil skirts
And uggs,
The girls who even manage to make gym clothes look good.

We had lined up for
Captain ball
Which is really just
A mix of
Soccer and basketball.

And we had to line up,
Every inch of back touching the wall,
And the first seven people from each side would play, and then the next seven.

But of course
Those girls
The ones who can't bear to be
Seperated
For two minutes and forty-seven seconds
Had to have the perfect team.

No.
Just no.

I won't "be on your team."

There are no teams.
Agh this is a poem-like rant...
Umi May 2018
Only in the best season,
The forgotten gateway opens up a field of bell flowers in two colours,
White, the colour of light and love, as pure as it sounds like,
Golden, alike the majestic rising sun in the early morning,
They never cross the road, but are seperated by it, I wonder why...
Perhaps it is the harmony, created by the untouched nature,
Or is it the order they chose to grow in, while the warm weather can be felt through body and soul, through emotions and the mind,
Only the chirping of the locusts, hopping from bell to bellflower,
The road is frankly short, leading to a near forest, yet the sensation, brought to the optic nerve and to the nose through the sweet smell,
This is what makes it something which cannot be truly conveyed in words, because, the untouched nature is art in its very own way,
Until the greed of humanity destroys its gift with their toxity,
What remains are the memories of harmony and grace.

~ Umi
In the elevation of spirit, I am seperated;
Drawn apart from the land-dwellers,
I am propelled into the arms of clouds.
Eagerly embracing my new fate amongst stars,
I rewrite the patterns that form my destiny,
As a god amidst the heavens.

I fabricate new avenues as I venture,
Liberated from the fetters of ground,
I find freedom - escaping to new planes.
My sole duty to self,
Uplifting ego; regal in posture,
I am kept aloft of storms in my flight;

A seer, with third eye opening
To envision silver linings and goals.
And even in my solitude I am connected,
Solar energy soaring through veins,
Spreading wings to swallow sun,
I fly with Nut, drifting in meditation,
Each breath an inhalation of frequencies.

As subtle as Oshun,
I am deity as tranquil as stream,
Unbounded and infinite;
A soul of fire, air, ice and earth.
I am element, atom, and energy,
One with universe, a sound ensemble,
I am cosmic pneuma -
A human.
Half Moon  Oct 2013
Seperated
Half Moon Oct 2013
I met you
You saw me
We made that moments
We fell for each other
Did you?

Time flies as we knew, we grew up as another person we wanted to be
The shy changes color as it should
And, you change too

You reply my email shortly
You look sleepy when i tell you my secret
And leave at the moment...

I thought you just punch me with your jokes
But it was unanswered questions
Ah..

That feelings, you know what?
Sad, missing and honestly disappointed.
jeffrey conyers Sep 2012
Even after parting.
We did it as friends with benefits.
To the evil thoughters its that.
To us.
It more.

A friend that will listen.
Even if they don't have to speak.
A friend that will support you.
When so call friends turns from you.

Yes, we're friends with benefits.
And it has nothing to do with that.

Those who think it.
Does so because they can't keep it seperated..

We call each other up out of the blue.
Because we know we'll be headed later to different homes.
When we understand.
It's our choice to be alone.
Julie Grace May 2012
The Fire-Horse snorted Fire and was gone
The Wood Dragon was left
In a forest of lost dreams
A reason in mind she could not see

And the Sheep she bleated
And the Monkey she chatted
'Is this what I want?'
Said the thousand little voices in her head

The busy bee flew in her ear
And down the long and twisty hall
Alive with thoughts unwanted
The Dragon sat with a knotted tail

Mummy we need you
Mummy we need you
Mummy we need you
Woke the Dragon from her reverie

She flew off and flew with a flurry
For to save her children dear
Found in the wicked paw
In the midst of a were-wolfs lair

Now his ears' being in tune with the ether
The Fire-Horse flew across the sky
In a blaze he was beside her
Saving their children dear

And the Sheep she bleated
And the Monkey she chattered
'What took you so long?'
Said the thousand little voices in her head.

Well in anger they breathed their worst
And together their fire raged
This time not at each other
But at the wolf in his cave

Out he came very coward
With his tail between his legs
Oh he pleaded a greasy mercy
But they sent him packing in a burning blaze!
When I was just a little girl
I wanted so much for my life
to resemble a beautiful secret garden,

I'm aware that this may sound
crazy and bizzare - if it does,
then please do beg my pardon.

A secret garden in the woods
with such beauty hidden deep within,

Full of secret pathways and passages
that only special people would know about,
fitted with padlocked gates - so not to let
any bad people in.

Pretty little flowers
in vivid colours
that please the heart and soul -
seen through the eyes of everyone,

Butterflies dancing above pristine hills -
with hedges making mazes;
for a touch of fun.

Crimson tree-tops and rose bushes
in every beautiful colour
ever created,

A place that is so unique - from it,
no soul could stand to be seperated.

Ineffable in its beauty,
like a magnet souls are attracted,

This secret garden,
like a heavenly day dream,
in a daze -
from it, you cannot be distracted.

Whether there was a blue sky,
or dark clouds, as a daily rooftop,

Love and happiness
would be nonstop.

A place where loved ones
always felt safe and secure,

Never wanting to find
the secret garden's door.

They'd always be free
to be themselves,

A wish
That we all have for ourselves.

When I was just a little girl
I wanted so much for my life
to resemble a beautiful secret garden,

Now I'm all grown up,
and still trying
to bring this aspiration to life;
this vision, is one,
I am never, ever discarding,

I really still want my life
to be just like a beautiful secret garden,

And if this sounds crazy or bizzare...
then, please do beg my pardon!

By Lady R.F ©2017
å  Dec 2012
giraffe.
å Dec 2012
So i think back,
back to our prime.
Thinking of love,
the feelings we believed.
"We're going to get married,
i know it, so just..
wear this promise ring."
But those mundane miles,
they turned to huge, empty voids
that seperated us and we fell.
I'll never forgive you,
New Mexico.

— The End —