#1960s - Hello Poetry

60 segundos para nascer 60 minutos para morrer 60 gramas para ingerir de sonho, guerra e aflição e a prosperidade, na verdade te espreita fria nos quadros da televisão ... 29-11-84

0

Apr 28

Apr 28, 2026 at 10:25 AM UTC

maiaty-s-ferraz

60 sao os anos

60 segundos para nascer 60 minutos para morrer 60 gramas para ingerir de sonho, guerra e aflição e a prosperidade, na verdade te espreita fria nos quadros da televisão ... 29-11-84

8

~ *I hold still, let him finish stabbing me — I count six, let him believe me dead, he moves on to Cecelia. -- It does not go as well for her as she continues to writhe and scream and carry on, not well at all — I count eight, nine, ten...* ~

0

Jun 19, 2021

Jun 19, 2021 at 11:59 PM UTC

Carlo-C-Gomez

Picnic at Lake Berryessa

~ *I hold still, let him finish stabbing me — I count six, let him believe me dead, he moves on to Cecelia. -- It does not go as well for her as she continues to writhe and scream and carry on, not well at all — I count eight, nine, ten...* ~

15

Poppies Paradise And playing the moon game With the last vestiges of sin All a memory forgotten Have no fear Drink it in You children of The Valley of Ten Thousand Smokes The life in you Has passed on

0

Oct 6, 2020

Oct 6, 2020 at 8:24 AM UTC

Carlo-C-Gomez

The Waters of Lethe

Poppies Paradise And playing the moon game With the last vestiges of sin All a memory forgotten Have no fear Drink it in You children of The Valley of Ten Thousand Smokes The life in you Has passed on

12

Timeworn, "she was weeping, banally, in the moonlight" We, in some strange power’s employ, move on a rigorous line Our thoughts broadcast in reverse of linear time Laying down fresh electric cable so our minds can again spin webs and half-eaten threads To stand ready for launch from Cape Canaveral Young astronauts, and cultural fallout, spun in exhilarating swirl of places and vividly half-described incidents Experiments explored in zero gravity Starlight, starbright first time I apogee tonight Impaled upon the high temples of Min flowered in the sun A collective come undone Circumferencing quicksand as worlds tilting badly off-center In the death ovens they go spiraling down into driftglass

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Apr 29, 2020

Apr 29, 2020 at 10:38 AM UTC

Carlo-C-Gomez

Driftglass

Timeworn, "she was weeping, banally, in the moonlight" We, in some strange power’s employ, move on a rigorous line Our thoughts broadcast in reverse of linear time Laying down fresh electric cable so our minds can again spin webs and half-eaten threads To stand ready for launch from Cape Canaveral Young astronauts, and cultural fallout, spun in exhilarating swirl of places and vividly half-described incidents Experiments explored in zero gravity Starlight, starbright first time I apogee tonight Impaled upon the high temples of Min flowered in the sun A collective come undone Circumferencing quicksand as worlds tilting badly off-center In the death ovens they go spiraling down into driftglass

18

1960s mop top, pompadour, hippie hair, afro... Dad gives me a crew cut...

0

Nov 6, 2019

Nov 6, 2019 at 8:59 AM UTC

poetry2go

No Hair Day

1960s mop top, pompadour, hippie hair, afro... Dad gives me a crew cut...

6

They tease and they tantalise Those wild-haired men, For a raging sea of shapes that clamour and grasp for their attention, Despite blending into the colours of others. Their velvet voices softer than their growling, grovelling masks onstage, Their words full of electric promise that dazzle a new generation in new times, Transcending the blur of decades to provide hope for lost souls. Untainted by the cracked lines of age Simply because they never wore them in the first place. And yet they fill their caged time with fireworks that burn into the heart of the living, and spark the memory of the dying. Ah, how I adore those wild-haired men, For they carry me to a brighter time Which I can only experience in my mind.

0

May 27, 2018

May 27, 2018 at 10:21 AM UTC

thebeatlesforlife

Those Wild-Haired Men

They tease and they tantalise Those wild-haired men, For a raging sea of shapes that clamour and grasp for their attention, Despite blending into the colours of others. Their velvet voices softer than their growling, grovelling masks onstage, Their words full of electric promise that dazzle a new generation in new times, Transcending the blur of decades to provide hope for lost souls. Untainted by the cracked lines of age Simply because they never wore them in the first place. And yet they fill their caged time with fireworks that burn into the heart of the living, and spark the memory of the dying. Ah, how I adore those wild-haired men, For they carry me to a brighter time Which I can only experience in my mind.

20

Ride the Serpent, baby Into the Great Sea Ride the Devil, Angel Into the Deep Sleep I came from outside With a universal mind And you and I can fly, my darling We need only to die Ride the Serpent, baby Into the Great Sea Ride the Devil, Angel Into the Deep Sleep My friends on the inside Pour us fountains of red wine "Alive!" She cried, and I was mystified By the crimson in her eyes Persian Night, babe - fly with me See the light, babe? Cry with me I wanna taste your fearful tears Show me your eyes and open wide When the ancient witch appears We can howl like beasts of the wild Come back, LA Woman I'm sick of doin' time Is this the end? Can someone find me reason for a rhyme? "We are but clowns in a cosmic circus, degrading ourselves for a silent, uncaring audience. Their Collective gaze dances across our fragile flesh like so many knives on fire. We bleed. We burn. Our healing begets new ailments. We continue to suffer. We continue to survive. We never stop smiling. The circus is all we have. To lose the horror is to lose the Majesty as well. We must not quit. The lights have not gone down, and we hope they never will. We cannot afford to lose our audience. The Show Must Go On." Persian Night, little angel! Fly with me! See the light, little angel? Die with me! I want you here, obscene For all eternity For I long to hear the scream of the butterfly! So turn off the light! Turn off the light! Turn off the light and see! Turn off the lights! Turn off the lights! Turn off the lights for me! ...Ride the Serpent, baby Into the Great Sea Ride the Devil, Angel Into the Deep Sleep Turn off the light and climb inside my universal mind And finally we can be free

0

Feb 20, 2017

Feb 20, 2017 at 5:03 PM UTC

xan-abyss

Scream of the Butterfly

Ride the Serpent, baby Into the Great Sea Ride the Devil, Angel Into the Deep Sleep I came from outside With a universal mind And you and I can fly, my darling We need only to die Ride the Serpent, baby Into the Great Sea Ride the Devil, Angel Into the Deep Sleep My friends on the inside Pour us fountains of red wine "Alive!" She cried, and I was mystified By the crimson in her eyes Persian Night, babe - fly with me See the light, babe? Cry with me I wanna taste your fearful tears Show me your eyes and open wide When the ancient witch appears We can howl like beasts of the wild Come back, LA Woman I'm sick of doin' time Is this the end? Can someone find me reason for a rhyme? "We are but clowns in a cosmic circus, degrading ourselves for a silent, uncaring audience. Their Collective gaze dances across our fragile flesh like so many knives on fire. We bleed. We burn. Our healing begets new ailments. We continue to suffer. We continue to survive. We never stop smiling. The circus is all we have. To lose the horror is to lose the Majesty as well. We must not quit. The lights have not gone down, and we hope they never will. We cannot afford to lose our audience. The Show Must Go On." Persian Night, little angel! Fly with me! See the light, little angel? Die with me! I want you here, obscene For all eternity For I long to hear the scream of the butterfly! So turn off the light! Turn off the light! Turn off the light and see! Turn off the lights! Turn off the lights! Turn off the lights for me! ...Ride the Serpent, baby Into the Great Sea Ride the Devil, Angel Into the Deep Sleep Turn off the light and climb inside my universal mind And finally we can be free

46

I knocked on the door and Mrs Woolgar opened it and stood there in a white sort of blouse and burgundy skirt. She smiled: hello Benny has Henry gone to football? She asked. Yes he said he was, I replied. Good come in, she said. So I went past her at the door and she closed the door behind us. I smelt the perfume she had drowned herself in and stood by the lounge door: shall I go in? I said. Do you want to go in? She said softly. I stood unsure what to say: I haven't brought my swimwear for swimming, I said. O never mind you can come another time to swim, she said, go in we can talk. So I entered the lounge and sat on the big sofa and she entered the room and said: would you like a drink? Have you cola? I asked. Sure have, she said, and went to a drink cabinet and took out a cola and poured it in a glass and handed it to me. She poured herself a gin and ice and sat next to me. I sipped the cola and she sipped her gin. How was school? She said. It was good, I said. How did Henry get on? She asked. He did all right, I said. She leaned in close to me so I could drink in the perfume which made me feel sort of unwell. I sipped my cola; I could see her ***** peeking over the top of her white blouse. I tried not to look, but my eyes disobeyed and gawked. I looked at her burgundy skirt; it was soft and her knees kind of stuck out where the hem was. I sipped my cola and drowned seeing Henry wasn't around.

0

Jan 7, 2017

Jan 7, 2017 at 4:59 AM UTC

TerryCollett

KIND OF DROWNED.

I knocked on the door and Mrs Woolgar opened it and stood there in a white sort of blouse and burgundy skirt. She smiled: hello Benny has Henry gone to football? She asked. Yes he said he was, I replied. Good come in, she said. So I went past her at the door and she closed the door behind us. I smelt the perfume she had drowned herself in and stood by the lounge door: shall I go in? I said. Do you want to go in? She said softly. I stood unsure what to say: I haven't brought my swimwear for swimming, I said. O never mind you can come another time to swim, she said, go in we can talk. So I entered the lounge and sat on the big sofa and she entered the room and said: would you like a drink? Have you cola? I asked. Sure have, she said, and went to a drink cabinet and took out a cola and poured it in a glass and handed it to me. She poured herself a gin and ice and sat next to me. I sipped the cola and she sipped her gin. How was school? She said. It was good, I said. How did Henry get on? She asked. He did all right, I said. She leaned in close to me so I could drink in the perfume which made me feel sort of unwell. I sipped my cola; I could see her ***** peeking over the top of her white blouse. I tried not to look, but my eyes disobeyed and gawked. I looked at her burgundy skirt; it was soft and her knees kind of stuck out where the hem was. I sipped my cola and drowned seeing Henry wasn't around.

90

Children, gather round Your second parent calls A simple box Wooden and metal A face of glass Adorned with two knobs Take your seats And take off your shoes--naughty! Elbows off the table Legs crossed, hands clasped Black and white Levittown Like your mary janes and stockings Your president birthed And mourned Mother’s in the kitchen The window outside your little world Is black and red but not white Malcolm X, and all the rest Standing up for their territory Little girl, the country’s changing Pick your daisy We’re not crazy The bombs come closer every day Haven’t you seen Castro And our fiascos by the bay? Great Society Social Security Aid for the old and poor Dinner’s ready Mother’s specialty Credibility on a plate Crudely disguised Plastic, fantastic, and uniform Yet your mind is so hungry That you eat it all the same And give it no thought The window’s widening Its light reflected On that glowing omniscient face Color! Color! Bright and vivid Dancing at your fingertips Brother’s gone off to Nam Off with your skirts, your stockings, Your mary janes, And that awful ribbon in your hair Burning dope The rainbow bathes you In its splendid glory The birds in the sky Like rolling thunder Hawks tearing at the doves ****** falling to the trees Agent Orange Fire, death, destruction Where’s your meal now? Johnson stumbled, Faith has crumbled And so have the foundations Of your enclosed walls Bobby’s groovy-- No--he’s gone And King’s dream Escaped with his last breath White rabbit, Gentle rabbit Sing your peace The country’s ablaze At home and away Stand your ground Chicago, Ohio Each one’s a battlefield Time for dessert-- Licking lollipops LSD Clear your plates For a second course

0

Feb 22, 2016

Feb 22, 2016 at 10:04 PM UTC

imperfect-visage

TV Dinner

Children, gather round Your second parent calls A simple box Wooden and metal A face of glass Adorned with two knobs Take your seats And take off your shoes--naughty! Elbows off the table Legs crossed, hands clasped Black and white Levittown Like your mary janes and stockings Your president birthed And mourned Mother’s in the kitchen The window outside your little world Is black and red but not white Malcolm X, and all the rest Standing up for their territory Little girl, the country’s changing Pick your daisy We’re not crazy The bombs come closer every day Haven’t you seen Castro And our fiascos by the bay? Great Society Social Security Aid for the old and poor Dinner’s ready Mother’s specialty Credibility on a plate Crudely disguised Plastic, fantastic, and uniform Yet your mind is so hungry That you eat it all the same And give it no thought The window’s widening Its light reflected On that glowing omniscient face Color! Color! Bright and vivid Dancing at your fingertips Brother’s gone off to Nam Off with your skirts, your stockings, Your mary janes, And that awful ribbon in your hair Burning dope The rainbow bathes you In its splendid glory The birds in the sky Like rolling thunder Hawks tearing at the doves ****** falling to the trees Agent Orange Fire, death, destruction Where’s your meal now? Johnson stumbled, Faith has crumbled And so have the foundations Of your enclosed walls Bobby’s groovy-- No--he’s gone And King’s dream Escaped with his last breath White rabbit, Gentle rabbit Sing your peace The country’s ablaze At home and away Stand your ground Chicago, Ohio Each one’s a battlefield Time for dessert-- Licking lollipops LSD Clear your plates For a second course

78

Leaving Minnesota on train or buses, crowded and alone, were you fearful to sleep on couches and of the Village people with a rhapsody of dreams and cacophony of chords, under rain and sewer stank was it hard, to step inside and play the first time for glistening eyes and stage lights and to let melody escape your belly-throat for them, or did you know more, that words can sculpt delicacy as smooth as Donatello and that life can be bought without wrinkled greens and pressed threads? Walking under a hard-rain of assumption and change, did Greenwich birth a demon-sadness, so you hid your neck beneath collars and dark glasses and smoky rhyme, when the ship comes in will you be onboard or escape to Louisiana, misunderstood, working a river boat after you give Lennon a puff and Warhol a tight-fist? Did sad-eyed Sara send you back leather spanish boots or forget, and was Christ able to mend that broken love, and did you later kick his idiot wind away and in 2009 on stage when I could see emptiness and heartbreak hidden underneath your creased stetson, were you still singing it ain't me, babe?

0

Nov 21, 2014

Nov 21, 2014 at 8:26 PM UTC

chase-graham

Dylan

Leaving Minnesota on train or buses, crowded and alone, were you fearful to sleep on couches and of the Village people with a rhapsody of dreams and cacophony of chords, under rain and sewer stank was it hard, to step inside and play the first time for glistening eyes and stage lights and to let melody escape your belly-throat for them, or did you know more, that words can sculpt delicacy as smooth as Donatello and that life can be bought without wrinkled greens and pressed threads? Walking under a hard-rain of assumption and change, did Greenwich birth a demon-sadness, so you hid your neck beneath collars and dark glasses and smoky rhyme, when the ship comes in will you be onboard or escape to Louisiana, misunderstood, working a river boat after you give Lennon a puff and Warhol a tight-fist? Did sad-eyed Sara send you back leather spanish boots or forget, and was Christ able to mend that broken love, and did you later kick his idiot wind away and in 2009 on stage when I could see emptiness and heartbreak hidden underneath your creased stetson, were you still singing it ain't me, babe?

33

it became a perpetual motion a dance someone hands the card, another lights the amount of aching discolored grazed fingers was immense put your finger on the flint wheel press it down karen thought we should make a sign the scrambles of bruised fingers for a piece of cardboard my fingers throbbed as i scratched our message on the board i kept the pink flower locked in the crease of my hand and threw them in air “draft card burning here” it was 7 00 in the morning october 21 1967 i was only 17 my brother jeffrey was flying a plane over dien bien phu a friend richard was screaming in the trenches of xuan loc a lover michael treading through a swamp in mui bai **** i stepped up to The Police. The. Men. In. Suits. Stared. At. Me Blank. Faces. And. No. Expression. I picked up my Pink Daisy, and brought it up to their bayonets this is for Jeffrey, for Richard, and for Michael the men in suits stared at me in a world of chaos and confusion all I heard was Silence.

0

Oct 22, 2014

Oct 22, 2014 at 2:09 PM UTC

maria-vera

for the 882,000

it became a perpetual motion a dance someone hands the card, another lights the amount of aching discolored grazed fingers was immense put your finger on the flint wheel press it down karen thought we should make a sign the scrambles of bruised fingers for a piece of cardboard my fingers throbbed as i scratched our message on the board i kept the pink flower locked in the crease of my hand and threw them in air “draft card burning here” it was 7 00 in the morning october 21 1967 i was only 17 my brother jeffrey was flying a plane over dien bien phu a friend richard was screaming in the trenches of xuan loc a lover michael treading through a swamp in mui bai **** i stepped up to The Police. The. Men. In. Suits. Stared. At. Me Blank. Faces. And. No. Expression. I picked up my Pink Daisy, and brought it up to their bayonets this is for Jeffrey, for Richard, and for Michael the men in suits stared at me in a world of chaos and confusion all I heard was Silence.

27