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leechyna Jul 28
Time is like a shuttle
Leaving in spring, coming back in autumn
Blame flowers whiter and blossom
Whose mind is buried by time

If this dream is like a bird
Can’t fly across the ocean
scared after the dawn
memory is also blank

Even if love is the weakest existence
I still dispel all the haze
Who is waiting for whom
Who couldn’t bear to blame
Time hurriedly go away and come back

I don’t blame
because of you, the dust is falling
I’m not afraid
Be with you, across the mountains anf the sea

Listen to the wind and rain outside the window
toast disappearance of sorrow without restraint
hard to say secret without reservation
who can understand
Whenever time flies
wait for a lifetime
Fearless of past and future
Leone Lamp May 23
Skipping class, ****** off his ***,
Never showed and never passed
Teacher was teachin' it
But Dylan never needed it,
Writ to his own beat
And now he's free wheelin' it
On down the road
A heavy moss laden load
Sixty-one routes
And that stone keeps a-rollin',
The times keep a-changin'
The river keeps flowin'
Rainy day women
And legalized growin'
Bob cantcha spare,
A nickle or rhyme?
A solid gold medal,
Nobel poet sublime?
Sing us a song
Jingle jangle along
The Luckiest Wilbury
In the Wilbury throng
Singin' so right
It must be wrong
Keep doin' your thang
You'll never get gonged
My wife's grandpa had a writing class at MSU (Minnesota State University) with Bob Dylan, but Dylan never showed. He turns 80 on Monday (05/24) and I threw this together in his honour.
Tommy Randell Mar 12
(Dylan & Cohen, talking together in a dream - )

"You think to lead? Lenny, you should know
There is an Art in it - to being noticed
But not being seen. To glance away
At the right moment with nothing to say
And be just the passer-by, the no-one, that day."

"The Poets of the Future are not born yet."
Cohen says, "In these locked down Days,
Prophets, like Yeats & Lorca, as always hold no sway
But lie un-sung in the furloughs!
We 2 are such Heroes, but which of us is which?"

"You don't understand, and I've followed You
From the moment I heard Marianne.
I'm sure you knew. I'm sure you were aware.
You've seen me look away, trying to be Not There,
Hearing but not Listening - Being there Not-Being.

"Success and Failure they are but Creeds
In my calculus of Thoughts and deeds.
The Art of Following is to Be,
To be the Known the Unknown needs -
Hallelujahs, Leonard will never get you Free."

In my dream, Cohen gave a gentle hinting smile
And, a piece more of the Puzzle -
"Watch the sidewalk, Friend," he advised.
"Seek out both, the Truth & the Lies.
Practice your Art, but don't take it Personal."

Tommy Randell - 12th March 2021.
Literally, a dream I had ... I left out Paul MacCartney, it got too complicated/
biche Dec 2020
“Our conversation was short and sweet
It nearly swept me off my feet
And I'm back in the rain, oh
And you are on dry land
You made it there somehow
You're a big girl now

Bird on the horizon, sittin' on a fence
He's singin' his song for me at his own expense
And I'm just like that bird, oh
Singin' just for you
I hope that you can hear
Hear me singin' through these tears

Time is a jet plane, it moves too fast
Oh, but what a shame if all we've shared can't last
I can change, I swear, oh
See what you can do
I can make it through
You can make it, too

Love is so simple, to quote a phrase
You've known it all the time, I'm learnin' it these days
Oh, I know where I can find you, oh
In somebody's room
It's a price I have to pay
You're a big girl all the way

A change in the weather is known to be extreme
But what's the sense of changing horses in midstream?
I'm going out of my mind, oh
With a pain that stops and starts
Like a corkscrew to my heart
Ever since we've been apart”
Simon Carter Nov 2020
Dylan Thomas went wearily, windily to the sea,
Where dogs ran and tongues wagged saltily,
Sea battered boats sang shanties to the bearded shore,
As the sea legged gulls barked and cried hungrily
The shadowy sun surrendered to a once bitten moon,
And the sand stood still by the windy wet dune
A tribute in the style of Dylan Thomas
Pockets Aug 2020
Birmingham I am your first born Ex husband
Birmingham I am 3rd avenue north
Birmingham I am the hands of Vulcan
Birmingham I am an abandoned race course
Birmingham I am your Bob Dylan
Basquiat and Bukowski
Birmingham I am nothing
Birmingham I am blue
Birmingham I’m yours if you let me
Birmingham I am you
Simone Gabrielli Aug 2020
The gypsy hymns and railway trails
which you followed into the valley of your trials
Lady Luck brought you enough street child wisdom and thief given kindness
to turn the tracks around and the train whistle to wake me.
Desert saint of your weathered ways
with your thin wrists and moon gleaming lips
Hope to you was like a blinding sunrise, painful to acknowledge, yet sorely lacking without
Never could be without your Larkspur boquets and marigold wreaths
August heat heavy with the scent of cypress trees
Apollo of the dusty sea, flooded the cliffs with light like withering flames
born from boxcar visions and a desperate hunger for that windblown hallelujah we chased down the starlit trestles like missionaries. Summoned from our streetcar medallions, vagabond nymphs, rumbling through moth-eaten states and barren dusks, lazy moon gazing upon our dolorous times and wild days and all our rough and rowdy ways.
No need to heed the judgements of the stars.
With the arid land so wild and lonesome- we weave our own muse into the railway line- followed back to when you were my home, and the streets were the laurel crown of your vagrant fortune.
Tom Waiting Jun 2020
<>

reversed a verse from “Like a Rolling Stone;
~complements to Mr. B. Dylan, a Nobel man~

you, me, hear what you’re hearing, feeling it,
you, me, hear what you’re thinking, feeling that,
regenerating, excising, pinching a single word of Bobby’s
lyricizing, knowing, you’ve just handbag-snatched a poem full.

the rolling stone sings of next meal scrounging,
he’s talking to you, knowing you, you customizing
his lyrics modifying-jiggering, for your purposeful brain,
emotional crazed notions, your monsanto seed of needs and strains.

nah, I’m fibbing, polite-ly lying,
like clover waves springing up
overnight after a night’s soaking,
raining, picking up hints, misdirections, clues,
***, poem titles dripping from my glassy eyes!

des idées for the next poem, the one, in the garden hereafter,
now called thereafter, all arriving in tranches, backyard bunches,
just to write down the titles fast enough, sometimes, trouble,
oft easy, sometimes rough, but always a fast rush jiggling job.


yeah, I’m liking that word, scrounging,
got character, internal noises aclashing,

so I’m scrounging
while lounging , it’s so ******* easy,

it’s getting borrowed till you! steal
it out from under me,
like an ill reputed
good poet should...


P.S. don’t keep me waiting!
let the scrounging commencin’

tw36
Trev Fisher Jan 2020
I have heard the tautologies of the rich,
the shifty and the shallow
when told of their impending fate
in a medical review

I’ve seen them torturing themselves
over the unfairness of it all
as though it were a deal, to negotiate.
But The Reaper always calls

They don’t go gently into that dark night
but not like that drunken poet meant
many pass with a look that begs
One question, was that it?

It was
I am not a Dylan Thomas fan, I was a palliative care nurse though, these two things are not unconnected. Drunks bore me, never ore so than when they're being brave or deliberately controversial.
Garrett Johnson Nov 2019
Granite mistakes.

Toasting in a rubber slumber.
Quick to act the marrier.
Sliding to creak upon the sullen trips.
Of all the trips that you’ve seen from.
They care not for you.
Only for the oils in your wrist.
& you say nothing.
& stand barren.
Alone with no one to guide you.
With nowhere to go.
& Nothing to see.




Garrett Johnson.
Crawling.
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