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For Billie Eilish – Warrior of light (Revised for global impact) Intr. Transncendence in abyss manifesting astonishing love in benevolent liminal illusions eternally but I no «Time is a mystery and love inspire beautiful lies inside Existence. (1 куплет – Enhanced melody) Shadows waltz to the pulse of her veins, Eyes like shattered moons in a fractured frame. Armor of silk a storm in her throat Black roses bloom where she carves every note. She painted galaxies on windowpanes Where tears turned to acid, and doubt became chains. But beneath her skin – supernova dust, A duel witth the mirror, in flames, in trust. (Pre-chorus) Fell to her knees, just to rise from the ash, Light isn’t given – it’s a strike of the match». Scars map the cosmos, a labyrinth’s creed, Every wound whispers, «The sky’s what you bleed» (Chorus – cinematic crescendo) Warrior of light, tempest’s own child, A million reflections – your «ДА» chaos compiled. Now you stand where the silence screams, And the night wears your glow in its seams. V.2 Rap Beat drops: Sub-bass hums, hi-hats slice the air. Green waves crash-Don’t touch my soul,» Inked in the static, where the void takes toll. «Ain’t no savior, just a ghost in the machine, Reality’s a glitch in the code I convene.» Flow shifts, rthutmic punches: Fame’s funhouse, mirrors twist, lie, Im the question mark in the algorithm’s sky. Brothers beats stitch my fractures tight, Where Schrodinger’s twins-both dead and alive. (Hidden message) Time’s arrow bends where Art meets pain, Iridescent scars sing through the rain. Midnight whispers (your name the haze), Across the void, I carve your phrase – Love’s Odyssey, Veil’s Eclipse – Secret script, Beyond illusions, light’s Lullaby in Echoes encrypted. Bridge When the crowd roared «Break!», she rebuilt her bones, Turned the venom to nectar, the shards into thrones. «I’m not an icon - I’m a black hole’s hum, The universe hums back: Where you go, we become.
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May 26
May 26, 2026 at 2:06 PM UTC
Taymay For Billie Eilish Warrior of light
For Billie Eilish – Warrior of light (Revised for global impact) Intr. Transncendence in abyss manifesting astonishing love in benevolent liminal illusions eternally but I no «Time is a mystery and love inspire beautiful lies inside Existence. (1 куплет – Enhanced melody) Shadows waltz to the pulse of her veins, Eyes like shattered moons in a fractured frame. Armor of silk a storm in her throat Black roses bloom where she carves every note. She painted galaxies on windowpanes Where tears turned to acid, and doubt became chains. But beneath her skin – supernova dust, A duel witth the mirror, in flames, in trust. (Pre-chorus) Fell to her knees, just to rise from the ash, Light isn’t given – it’s a strike of the match». Scars map the cosmos, a labyrinth’s creed, Every wound whispers, «The sky’s what you bleed» (Chorus – cinematic crescendo) Warrior of light, tempest’s own child, A million reflections – your «ДА» chaos compiled. Now you stand where the silence screams, And the night wears your glow in its seams. V.2 Rap Beat drops: Sub-bass hums, hi-hats slice the air. Green waves crash-Don’t touch my soul,» Inked in the static, where the void takes toll. «Ain’t no savior, just a ghost in the machine, Reality’s a glitch in the code I convene.» Flow shifts, rthutmic punches: Fame’s funhouse, mirrors twist, lie, Im the question mark in the algorithm’s sky. Brothers beats stitch my fractures tight, Where Schrodinger’s twins-both dead and alive. (Hidden message) Time’s arrow bends where Art meets pain, Iridescent scars sing through the rain. Midnight whispers (your name the haze), Across the void, I carve your phrase – Love’s Odyssey, Veil’s Eclipse – Secret script, Beyond illusions, light’s Lullaby in Echoes encrypted. Bridge When the crowd roared «Break!», she rebuilt her bones, Turned the venom to nectar, the shards into thrones. «I’m not an icon - I’m a black hole’s hum, The universe hums back: Where you go, we become.
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46
One Direction’s music is like molten rotted snot poured into the sewn-open third eye of the last few real artists. Except that would be far too original for them. or any boy band. More like a metrosexual LGBTQRsTUV unicorn ******* hot Harry Potter-Twilight glitter on the cast of High School Musical,  busy reenacting 2 Girls 1 Cup ad infinitum and somehow managing to ruin that too , The internet  collapses ... Michael Jackson endless Super Bowl halftime show molestation nightmares still  played  daily on the  radio.. Corpulent period blood dripping  rejected flag girl Katy Perry rocket-cat vomits neon cactus Skittles into OUR tortured ear canals. Post Malone Kindergarten  prison  tattoos , his own face   even more with a used ***** shaped like Trump Kathleen Kennedy orgasmically throttles a twerking Dave Filoni cowboy-hat-wearing velociraptor across the corpse-strewn Hollywood sex-dungeon set of every Disney Channel **** remake ever masturbationally  imagined, laughing in Lil Wayne autotuned Top 40 perfection. The ever present Hackneyed  trailer-park **** goddess Tay Tay  the airbrushed levitates above it all with her latest braindead steroid love toy, in an oozing  unfettered RFK Jr. STD glitter storm of unlicensed Chinese sweatshop labor TikTok dances. And no one is home to raise little Johnny who is making all this possible although he   has  no standards , no reference no respect and  no education    but  he does have  48 thousand subscribers for  his feet videos  on you tube...... " the futures so bright I gotta wear shades'     Indeed. The same Republican family values. machine that markets poison   and PRISON  life as “culture”  are the  ones with lobbyist rubber stamping. the corpo  laws, buying the anti abortion  judges, and deciding when Little  Johnny  gets to rot in a cell for stepping out of line.   We are in a  fascist  culture built on corporate bribery pretending to be  holier than thou collection plate morality. You can feel the contradiction breathing   the people who bankroll the Enron,   Gloldman Sachs rot walk free in tailored suits, while the ones caught in the wreckage get branded for  life as doomed  to minimum wage  criminals. And the worst part? They’ve managed to sell that arrangement as  "JUSTICE "  and  ignore  our  truths  with  "hate speech "  labels.
0
Oct 15, 2025
Oct 15, 2025 at 5:03 AM UTC
CC this to everyone you know pls
One Direction’s music is like molten rotted snot poured into the sewn-open third eye of the last few real artists. Except that would be far too original for them. or any boy band. More like a metrosexual LGBTQRsTUV unicorn ******* hot Harry Potter-Twilight glitter on the cast of High School Musical,  busy reenacting 2 Girls 1 Cup ad infinitum and somehow managing to ruin that too , The internet  collapses ... Michael Jackson endless Super Bowl halftime show molestation nightmares still  played  daily on the  radio.. Corpulent period blood dripping  rejected flag girl Katy Perry rocket-cat vomits neon cactus Skittles into OUR tortured ear canals. Post Malone Kindergarten  prison  tattoos , his own face   even more with a used ***** shaped like Trump Kathleen Kennedy orgasmically throttles a twerking Dave Filoni cowboy-hat-wearing velociraptor across the corpse-strewn Hollywood sex-dungeon set of every Disney Channel **** remake ever masturbationally  imagined, laughing in Lil Wayne autotuned Top 40 perfection. The ever present Hackneyed  trailer-park **** goddess Tay Tay  the airbrushed levitates above it all with her latest braindead steroid love toy, in an oozing  unfettered RFK Jr. STD glitter storm of unlicensed Chinese sweatshop labor TikTok dances. And no one is home to raise little Johnny who is making all this possible although he   has  no standards , no reference no respect and  no education    but  he does have  48 thousand subscribers for  his feet videos  on you tube...... " the futures so bright I gotta wear shades'     Indeed. The same Republican family values. machine that markets poison   and PRISON  life as “culture”  are the  ones with lobbyist rubber stamping. the corpo  laws, buying the anti abortion  judges, and deciding when Little  Johnny  gets to rot in a cell for stepping out of line.   We are in a  fascist  culture built on corporate bribery pretending to be  holier than thou collection plate morality. You can feel the contradiction breathing   the people who bankroll the Enron,   Gloldman Sachs rot walk free in tailored suits, while the ones caught in the wreckage get branded for  life as doomed  to minimum wage  criminals. And the worst part? They’ve managed to sell that arrangement as  "JUSTICE "  and  ignore  our  truths  with  "hate speech "  labels.
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38
Under the rainbow My love just fell asleep I kiss it before it dreams Just take the crown sodommm You are now the king of queens The King of the queeeeennsss As I below I'm just another soul Who fell like snow... (Mmm yea) How did it get so cold I forgot my coat The love light shows As it falls on shoulders They look like Boulders I think it's over The King of the queens The sieze of real-ity The lovely lil breeze
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Feb 21, 2025
Feb 21, 2025 at 9:57 PM UTC
KING OF THE QUEENZ
I could only watch As the people that helped me out of my egg Took flight As my seniors that showed me how to walk Spread their wings As my friends who showed me that path to the skies Left for the clouds Now, as I watch over the baby birds, I know that soon, I too will have to leave.
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Feb 20, 2025
Feb 20, 2025 at 6:04 AM UTC
When you fly away
There's talk of rules in a capitol, Whispers around Moscow Of how to act clandestinly. On how to move in the shadows, Of acting without notice & silently. On how to avoid & evade, Of how to deflect & debate. On how to turn people over, Of how to churn up info. On how to survive the living Of an actor of a foreign agency. There's talk of rules in a capitol, Whispers around Washington Of how to get away with things.
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Feb 12, 2025
Feb 12, 2025 at 11:28 PM UTC
But You Didn't Hear It From Me!
Open and broken Love was spoken Come back to the place Of forgiveness and grace Come back to me and be healed Come to me and find truth revealed I will always take you back Find in me what you lack I am crazy in love with you I'm not too good to be true It is the greatest story ever told Already more than 2000 years old You just met me and this is crazy But I love you. Please call me daily You are my beloved, you I want to bless It's a love story, child just say: Yes My love for you is fiercer than a hurricane Once you feel it you will never be the same I was broken so I could make you whole I will heal your beat up and broken soul All for you I was crucified Because of you I freely died I can lead you to the living water, but I can't make you drink In faith, walk on water. I'll catch you if you start to sink I am dying just to meet you I pray that one day, I will greet you I love you now and forever without end In courage and compassion, to the world I send I am in your corner; I will help you fight And when you are lost, I will be your light I rejoice for you are alive, no longer dead In your hunger, I will keep you fed The blind will see, the lost are found The lame will walk, mute are filled with sound The angels sing a heavenly chorus When we pray for others as they pray for us The act of forgiveness is truly freeing Know the unbearable lightness of simply being It is enough for me just to glow in your presence Lord As, for an hour or so, I sit, and we are of one accord For a moment our hearts beat in harmony As with saints and angels I am in your company Lord, please come fill this longing deep inside Flood me with you, as you break me open wide
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Nov 25, 2024
Nov 25, 2024 at 10:03 PM UTC
Abba's (Pop) Culture Truths
Open and broken Love was spoken Come back to the place Of forgiveness and grace Come back to me and be healed Come to me and find truth revealed I will always take you back Find in me what you lack I am crazy in love with you I'm not too good to be true It is the greatest story ever told Already more than 2000 years old You just met me and this is crazy But I love you. Please call me daily You are my beloved, you I want to bless It's a love story, child just say: Yes My love for you is fiercer than a hurricane Once you feel it you will never be the same I was broken so I could make you whole I will heal your beat up and broken soul All for you I was crucified Because of you I freely died I can lead you to the living water, but I can't make you drink In faith, walk on water. I'll catch you if you start to sink I am dying just to meet you I pray that one day, I will greet you I love you now and forever without end In courage and compassion, to the world I send I am in your corner; I will help you fight And when you are lost, I will be your light I rejoice for you are alive, no longer dead In your hunger, I will keep you fed The blind will see, the lost are found The lame will walk, mute are filled with sound The angels sing a heavenly chorus When we pray for others as they pray for us The act of forgiveness is truly freeing Know the unbearable lightness of simply being It is enough for me just to glow in your presence Lord As, for an hour or so, I sit, and we are of one accord For a moment our hearts beat in harmony As with saints and angels I am in your company Lord, please come fill this longing deep inside Flood me with you, as you break me open wide
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44
wake me shake me out of this febrile trance furtively pilfering my heart's ancient treasure once guarded by comforting spirits of warm hopes and beliefs held beyond reason never questioned by the minds tribunal the jurors seated in the cranial court knowing eyes silenced by misguided faith's rhetoric never minding the persuasive muzzle often ignoring serpent's retractable tongue always turning from the dark corridors light banished by modern-day pharisees cloaked in mantles of treason patronizingly diluting what can only remain pure painted with pious platitudes away far away i must sail from this folly an orphan of mystical doubt the frost and cold tempest I feel cautious sensibilities a tenuous guide through these gray realms I traverse trembling hands grasp transient hopes striving to shape deeper meaning disciplining lazy traditional beliefs that hang on like phosphorescent spiders in the dusty lofty rafters of memory deceptive iconic silhouettes faded de-spiritualized superimposed on a human-made landscape a beautiful picture gold frame and all! absence of religious pop-culture faith eclipses peace i shudder at the prospect of this purge preparing for burial what must die the end of an age burned in effigy a raging wilderness I now pass through I stumble by many a familiar and unfamiliar fane longing to be clothed with a mantle of peace a vulnerable yet strong spirit I guard let not trivialised faith be my misleading guide and if it is all meaningless alas! it may be still I must forge ahead to the sea ever mindful that rivers return to where they have been separated at birth i often hear roaring waves crashing and gentler waves lapping on shore but a body of water is not always the Sea.
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Aug 27, 2024
Aug 27, 2024 at 12:08 PM UTC
rescinding
wake me shake me out of this febrile trance furtively pilfering my heart's ancient treasure once guarded by comforting spirits of warm hopes and beliefs held beyond reason never questioned by the minds tribunal the jurors seated in the cranial court knowing eyes silenced by misguided faith's rhetoric never minding the persuasive muzzle often ignoring serpent's retractable tongue always turning from the dark corridors light banished by modern-day pharisees cloaked in mantles of treason patronizingly diluting what can only remain pure painted with pious platitudes away far away i must sail from this folly an orphan of mystical doubt the frost and cold tempest I feel cautious sensibilities a tenuous guide through these gray realms I traverse trembling hands grasp transient hopes striving to shape deeper meaning disciplining lazy traditional beliefs that hang on like phosphorescent spiders in the dusty lofty rafters of memory deceptive iconic silhouettes faded de-spiritualized superimposed on a human-made landscape a beautiful picture gold frame and all! absence of religious pop-culture faith eclipses peace i shudder at the prospect of this purge preparing for burial what must die the end of an age burned in effigy a raging wilderness I now pass through I stumble by many a familiar and unfamiliar fane longing to be clothed with a mantle of peace a vulnerable yet strong spirit I guard let not trivialised faith be my misleading guide and if it is all meaningless alas! it may be still I must forge ahead to the sea ever mindful that rivers return to where they have been separated at birth i often hear roaring waves crashing and gentler waves lapping on shore but a body of water is not always the Sea.
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88
Jimmy Dean, Breakfast Frill, Bacon and Chorizo-an' just put the Griddles on, Ya know-the Waffles are almost done...
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Jul 12, 2024
Jul 12, 2024 at 8:15 PM UTC
Something Breakfast Frill
Have you ever sat inside a bubble Where the air feels fresher?
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Mar 20, 2024
Mar 20, 2024 at 2:56 AM UTC
don't pop
Love is, Such a random assassin, Love comes in, As a personal whirlwind, An amicable tangent in tandem, With unbridled passion & reckless abandon, An alluring assassin an emotion overloaded with action, It strikes like a seductive serpent when it happens, Seemingly striking at random, Even when the attack is the result of meticulous planning, Leaving the subject of it’s Love looking up scratching their head, Dazed & confused wondering what the heck just happened, Capturing what can’t be imagined it surprises even the wisest, Has its target in its sights for awhile while schemin’, But the lovestruck don’t see it until love strikes like lightning, Breaking down all the defenses of its all too willing victims, Without pretenses, premises or agreements, Love jumps down from the clouds pounces out of the shadows, & assassinates all shady characters without reservation, Striking silently without sound then vanishing like a phantom, His heart pounds, He’d marry her if she’d let him, But she’s still chasing her own imagination, So instead of embrace him she’s on the run like an escaped felon, Scared of a future with him, Because of the past she had way back when, She’s so caught up in the past of what she was back then, That she loses sight of what she has right now with him, & that’s just one of the reasons why love is, Such a random assassin, Love comes in, As a personal whirlwind, An amicable tangent in tandem, With unbridled passion & reckless abandon, An alluring assassin an emotion overloaded with action, It strikes like a seductive serpent when it happens, Seemingly striking at random, Even when the attack is the result of meticulous planning, Leaving the subject of it’s Love looking up scratching their head, Dazed & confused wondering what the heck just happened… ∆ LaLux ∆ From the new book ABC, available everywhere. https://a.co/d/2X7iWxd
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Feb 6, 2024
Feb 6, 2024 at 12:41 AM UTC
A Random Assassin
Love is, Such a random assassin, Love comes in, As a personal whirlwind, An amicable tangent in tandem, With unbridled passion & reckless abandon, An alluring assassin an emotion overloaded with action, It strikes like a seductive serpent when it happens, Seemingly striking at random, Even when the attack is the result of meticulous planning, Leaving the subject of it’s Love looking up scratching their head, Dazed & confused wondering what the heck just happened, Capturing what can’t be imagined it surprises even the wisest, Has its target in its sights for awhile while schemin’, But the lovestruck don’t see it until love strikes like lightning, Breaking down all the defenses of its all too willing victims, Without pretenses, premises or agreements, Love jumps down from the clouds pounces out of the shadows, & assassinates all shady characters without reservation, Striking silently without sound then vanishing like a phantom, His heart pounds, He’d marry her if she’d let him, But she’s still chasing her own imagination, So instead of embrace him she’s on the run like an escaped felon, Scared of a future with him, Because of the past she had way back when, She’s so caught up in the past of what she was back then, That she loses sight of what she has right now with him, & that’s just one of the reasons why love is, Such a random assassin, Love comes in, As a personal whirlwind, An amicable tangent in tandem, With unbridled passion & reckless abandon, An alluring assassin an emotion overloaded with action, It strikes like a seductive serpent when it happens, Seemingly striking at random, Even when the attack is the result of meticulous planning, Leaving the subject of it’s Love looking up scratching their head, Dazed & confused wondering what the heck just happened… ∆ LaLux ∆ From the new book ABC, available everywhere. https://a.co/d/2X7iWxd
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43
/ Blade Running \ Making memories, Wondering who sent for me, If it wasn’t you then who was it, & if you didn’t send for me then why are you here next to me, Self preservation is the first law of nature, From animal to human from human to machine, Antisocial butterflies restlessly cramped in our cocoons, Part plant part mineral part alien fully human being, Sure we converse with other persons, But we converse more with ChatGPT, Hey AI I have a question, Do ‘Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?’, Even Philip K **** Doesn’t know what the answer is to this mystery is, Half man half nocturnal machine, Half real life half diurnal dream, Were we born or were we made maybe it’s the same thing, Maybe there isn’t a difference or so it would seem, “You don’t believe, In miracles because you’ve never seen a miracle.”, That’s why you’re willing to **** for a fee, & why you’re always so sterile & cynical, & maybe that’s why I write, More than I do anything else, As a way of trying to jog your memory, While running up the bill, At the bar trying to wash away, Things that still affect me even though they can’t be totally recalled, In this present day sci-fi anti-climactic dystopia like Arnold, Call me Jack of All Trades & I’ll call you Jill of It All, Getting drowsy, Must be the pills, On a plane, On my way to somewhere else, Travel so much, Sometimes I wake up & don’t know what country I’m in, It’s a dog eat dog world so cat naps can be dangerous, Especially when you drink while sleep walking on Ambien, A creature with amnesia & beautiful features, How’d you become such a miracle, Are you really that perfect, Or is that just the way I remember you, Guess it doesn’t matter either way, Because maybe I don’t even remember you, Maybe you’re not mine because maybe you never were, Maybe nothing is mine not even the memories I have of you, Maybe it’s all just programing, Maybe we’re all just programs, Programed to play our part, In The Grand Program, Programmed by the wizard behind the curtain, Or by the woman behind the glass wall, Maybe in the end we have the same thing we had in the beginning, Which is absolutely nothing at all, Maybe that’s why I’m making memories, Wondering who sent for me, If it wasn’t you then who was it, & if you didn’t send for me then why are you here next to me, Self preservation is the first law of nature, From animal to human from human to machine, Antisocial butterflies restlessly cramped in our cocoons, Part plant part mineral part alien fully human being, Sure we converse with other persons, But we converse more with ChatGPT, Hey AI I have a question, Do ‘Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?’, Even Philip K **** Doesn’t know what the answer is to this mystery is… ∆ LaLux ∆ From ABC: The Beginning Of The End Available worldwide on all platforms and in all mediums, Audiobook, Paperback, Digital, and Hardcover
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Feb 4, 2024
Feb 4, 2024 at 1:57 AM UTC
Blade Running
/ Blade Running \ Making memories, Wondering who sent for me, If it wasn’t you then who was it, & if you didn’t send for me then why are you here next to me, Self preservation is the first law of nature, From animal to human from human to machine, Antisocial butterflies restlessly cramped in our cocoons, Part plant part mineral part alien fully human being, Sure we converse with other persons, But we converse more with ChatGPT, Hey AI I have a question, Do ‘Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?’, Even Philip K **** Doesn’t know what the answer is to this mystery is, Half man half nocturnal machine, Half real life half diurnal dream, Were we born or were we made maybe it’s the same thing, Maybe there isn’t a difference or so it would seem, “You don’t believe, In miracles because you’ve never seen a miracle.”, That’s why you’re willing to **** for a fee, & why you’re always so sterile & cynical, & maybe that’s why I write, More than I do anything else, As a way of trying to jog your memory, While running up the bill, At the bar trying to wash away, Things that still affect me even though they can’t be totally recalled, In this present day sci-fi anti-climactic dystopia like Arnold, Call me Jack of All Trades & I’ll call you Jill of It All, Getting drowsy, Must be the pills, On a plane, On my way to somewhere else, Travel so much, Sometimes I wake up & don’t know what country I’m in, It’s a dog eat dog world so cat naps can be dangerous, Especially when you drink while sleep walking on Ambien, A creature with amnesia & beautiful features, How’d you become such a miracle, Are you really that perfect, Or is that just the way I remember you, Guess it doesn’t matter either way, Because maybe I don’t even remember you, Maybe you’re not mine because maybe you never were, Maybe nothing is mine not even the memories I have of you, Maybe it’s all just programing, Maybe we’re all just programs, Programed to play our part, In The Grand Program, Programmed by the wizard behind the curtain, Or by the woman behind the glass wall, Maybe in the end we have the same thing we had in the beginning, Which is absolutely nothing at all, Maybe that’s why I’m making memories, Wondering who sent for me, If it wasn’t you then who was it, & if you didn’t send for me then why are you here next to me, Self preservation is the first law of nature, From animal to human from human to machine, Antisocial butterflies restlessly cramped in our cocoons, Part plant part mineral part alien fully human being, Sure we converse with other persons, But we converse more with ChatGPT, Hey AI I have a question, Do ‘Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?’, Even Philip K **** Doesn’t know what the answer is to this mystery is… ∆ LaLux ∆ From ABC: The Beginning Of The End Available worldwide on all platforms and in all mediums, Audiobook, Paperback, Digital, and Hardcover
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72
Son of A Gun in The Wild West Culture Vultures dining on carcasses, a culture of artist that, act as if everyone is targeted, and we are whether bisexual or bipartisan, or both no vote only the onset of mainstream socialist monarchism, a subconscious stream of consciousness consumed by a constantly contradicting condition of consumerism, an avalanche of retail therapy and the avant of avant-gardism, doesn’t have to be a better product or improved edition, just has to be better packaged and marketed, sold our souls so we don’t own anything anymore not even our own cognizance, just look what what the mass media market did, our collective memories and ancient traditions all but forgotten, designer jeans symbolize a degenerative disease like Parkinson’s, want to end this madness but don’t know who started it, so who can we blame but ourselves in all honestness, as we absorb Virtual Reality and ignore Actual Reality creating an occultism of Oculus, Rift we drift into thee abyss of dark indifferences… Neglecting the blueprint everybody’s a studio gangsta these days just ask 50 Cent, morally bankrupt lazy played daisies try to copy Jay-Z’s blueprint, but no body has a DJ Clue or a Ty Dollar to spare still everyone’s got their two cents, all opinions given with no wisdom taken from the Grand Architect, what good is good advice if we don’t take the time to listen we just dismiss it quick, showing off trophies donating charity checks, acting like champions we bare and beat our chest, wearing fool’s gold and blood diamonds but we’ve won nothing yet, honestly feels like we haven’t even started yet, still we feel exhausted from this rat race for dominance, slaves of an alien race we pledge allegiance with our obedience and faux pas ambiance, And it’s all almost over for our entire empire so every moment better cherish it, white robes with Chipko flip flops we hold the reins to Her Majesty’s chariot, whipping the 500 horses faster in the fast lane will get you buried quick, so I try and pace it and not get too wasted still I feel very sick, when captain screams “You move too slow sailor!”, that’a when it’s time to depart this ship, but you can’t rush good art and I’m an articulating artist for all the artisans, in a constant state of affairs is why I haven’t married yet, which of course means no divorce from any or all of this, so I continue to translate transmissions without prejudice, love is star crossed colorblind and my wonder mind is in wonderland’s luminescence, as I illustrate illustrious illuminations off every edifice in this hedonistic eden like Edison, with an ample amount of ambiance this is this rebels renegade Renaissance, I write light before I become just another martyr for the Martian’s master plans, my words are honest sonnets on tablets of mono-cultured monograms, mono-glyphs that shine like a beacon on the Tower of Babel atop a cavernous monolith… This is all honest in all honestness. Here at the docks with assorted Goddesses and narcissistic walruses, way up going under not trying to be negative but the only thing I’m positive of is, we are cultivating a culture of artist that, act as if everyone is targeted, and we are whether bisexual or bipartisan, so stay up and keep your eyes open because the games have just started kid. This is all honest kid. And I’m open to discuss everything except religion and of course politics, so if you’re having issues then tell me what the problem is and maybe we can solve it quick, and please don’t blame the Dalai Lama or Obama’s broken promises, see we all have soiled wings just like these vultures that pick at our carcasses, as we dine on Soylent Green served hot from the meting *** of concubine colleges, wrong right black white day night see everything has it’s opposites, so even the kindest animals will turn into carnivorous cannibals when all that’s left, is blown kisses well wishes ***** dishes corrupt princes and spiritual paralysis, this is the age of the dawning of Aquarius and the end of our passing genesis… But what do I know I’m just a Son of a Gun on the run writing this mystic futuristic hit-list, dressed to the nines with a bottle of moonshine and a bunch of empty cartridges, in the Wild West with Clint Eastwood no Kanye clean as a whistle mixin’ with ***** Harry’s pharmacist, The Good Bad & The Ugly drink in acid rain and eat magic cactuses… Howling at the full moon with peyote coyotes absent minded off the absinth mix… Alive right here left for dead insane and out of practice with, no clean water in the canteen and circling are the vultures just above us, this teenage wasteland has no purpose with, riff raft rats and religious rabbits in the crosshairs with deserted desert tortoises, see these badlands will make the most professional professionals seem like just silly naive novices, there’s nothing more to see here in this mirage except my rusty gun as it tarnishes… my visions getting blurry bodies stopped but my mind’s still hurried this is what exhausted is, and I’d escape if I knew a way out but instead I stay because I’m not sure what my other option is… See I knew I would go I told you before everyone is targeted, so soon it seems I’ll be just another rotting carcass that, the Culture Vultures overhead dine on as their dinner when feeling peckishish, terminated no terminator but like Arnold said, “I’ll be back.”, like I just started this… ∆ Aaron LA Lux ∆
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Dec 14, 2023
Dec 14, 2023 at 12:59 AM UTC
Son of A Gun in The Wild West (Culture Vultures)
Son of A Gun in The Wild West Culture Vultures dining on carcasses, a culture of artist that, act as if everyone is targeted, and we are whether bisexual or bipartisan, or both no vote only the onset of mainstream socialist monarchism, a subconscious stream of consciousness consumed by a constantly contradicting condition of consumerism, an avalanche of retail therapy and the avant of avant-gardism, doesn’t have to be a better product or improved edition, just has to be better packaged and marketed, sold our souls so we don’t own anything anymore not even our own cognizance, just look what what the mass media market did, our collective memories and ancient traditions all but forgotten, designer jeans symbolize a degenerative disease like Parkinson’s, want to end this madness but don’t know who started it, so who can we blame but ourselves in all honestness, as we absorb Virtual Reality and ignore Actual Reality creating an occultism of Oculus, Rift we drift into thee abyss of dark indifferences… Neglecting the blueprint everybody’s a studio gangsta these days just ask 50 Cent, morally bankrupt lazy played daisies try to copy Jay-Z’s blueprint, but no body has a DJ Clue or a Ty Dollar to spare still everyone’s got their two cents, all opinions given with no wisdom taken from the Grand Architect, what good is good advice if we don’t take the time to listen we just dismiss it quick, showing off trophies donating charity checks, acting like champions we bare and beat our chest, wearing fool’s gold and blood diamonds but we’ve won nothing yet, honestly feels like we haven’t even started yet, still we feel exhausted from this rat race for dominance, slaves of an alien race we pledge allegiance with our obedience and faux pas ambiance, And it’s all almost over for our entire empire so every moment better cherish it, white robes with Chipko flip flops we hold the reins to Her Majesty’s chariot, whipping the 500 horses faster in the fast lane will get you buried quick, so I try and pace it and not get too wasted still I feel very sick, when captain screams “You move too slow sailor!”, that’a when it’s time to depart this ship, but you can’t rush good art and I’m an articulating artist for all the artisans, in a constant state of affairs is why I haven’t married yet, which of course means no divorce from any or all of this, so I continue to translate transmissions without prejudice, love is star crossed colorblind and my wonder mind is in wonderland’s luminescence, as I illustrate illustrious illuminations off every edifice in this hedonistic eden like Edison, with an ample amount of ambiance this is this rebels renegade Renaissance, I write light before I become just another martyr for the Martian’s master plans, my words are honest sonnets on tablets of mono-cultured monograms, mono-glyphs that shine like a beacon on the Tower of Babel atop a cavernous monolith… This is all honest in all honestness. Here at the docks with assorted Goddesses and narcissistic walruses, way up going under not trying to be negative but the only thing I’m positive of is, we are cultivating a culture of artist that, act as if everyone is targeted, and we are whether bisexual or bipartisan, so stay up and keep your eyes open because the games have just started kid. This is all honest kid. And I’m open to discuss everything except religion and of course politics, so if you’re having issues then tell me what the problem is and maybe we can solve it quick, and please don’t blame the Dalai Lama or Obama’s broken promises, see we all have soiled wings just like these vultures that pick at our carcasses, as we dine on Soylent Green served hot from the meting *** of concubine colleges, wrong right black white day night see everything has it’s opposites, so even the kindest animals will turn into carnivorous cannibals when all that’s left, is blown kisses well wishes ***** dishes corrupt princes and spiritual paralysis, this is the age of the dawning of Aquarius and the end of our passing genesis… But what do I know I’m just a Son of a Gun on the run writing this mystic futuristic hit-list, dressed to the nines with a bottle of moonshine and a bunch of empty cartridges, in the Wild West with Clint Eastwood no Kanye clean as a whistle mixin’ with ***** Harry’s pharmacist, The Good Bad & The Ugly drink in acid rain and eat magic cactuses… Howling at the full moon with peyote coyotes absent minded off the absinth mix… Alive right here left for dead insane and out of practice with, no clean water in the canteen and circling are the vultures just above us, this teenage wasteland has no purpose with, riff raft rats and religious rabbits in the crosshairs with deserted desert tortoises, see these badlands will make the most professional professionals seem like just silly naive novices, there’s nothing more to see here in this mirage except my rusty gun as it tarnishes… my visions getting blurry bodies stopped but my mind’s still hurried this is what exhausted is, and I’d escape if I knew a way out but instead I stay because I’m not sure what my other option is… See I knew I would go I told you before everyone is targeted, so soon it seems I’ll be just another rotting carcass that, the Culture Vultures overhead dine on as their dinner when feeling peckishish, terminated no terminator but like Arnold said, “I’ll be back.”, like I just started this… ∆ Aaron LA Lux ∆
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79
it seems my entire life is defined by drinks. mother's milk out the womb. (and maybe those suckles were sweet - it's not like i remember - but her words, for the rest of my life, certainly weren't.) an hour-long debate, with my best friend at twelve years old - apple or orange juice? (orange, obviously, is the right answer. we rehash the argument sometimes to this day.) the day i turn 19, a beer in my hands. (i'm sat around a campfire with my closest friends, birthdays all older than me - the beer tastes disgusting, as cheap alcohol is, but i'm glad to be there.) yesterday, i had 1 coffee and 2 mugs of lemon honey tea, 4 glasses of water. today, no tea, but 2 cups of coffee, a glass of milk, and 3 glasses of water. i bite at my nails when i'm nervous, swallow down the spit that comes with it, the bile that rises. last summer, i visited pei, had a raspberry cordial - my favourite drink to date - then bought a case of 4 more to take home with me. last summer, when i lived in new brunswick, my friends in the same building knew me as the one who would always have a drink in hand - a milk tea, or maybe a pink lemonade, maybe that obscure korean soda i liked. when i left new brunswick, i took a photo of my 2 trash cans, of the way they were both filled to the brim with empty bottles and cans and jugs. i still miss the apple cider they made there. my life is defined by drinks, sips, swallows, taking five minutes to breathe by making myself a nice whipped coffee, trawling the internet for pretty coasters and glassware for an hour in lieu of doing actual work. Eventually, i close the shopping tabs, take a sip of coffee, and resume with the rest of my life.
0
Nov 5, 2023
Nov 5, 2023 at 7:38 PM UTC
take a sip
it seems my entire life is defined by drinks. mother's milk out the womb. (and maybe those suckles were sweet - it's not like i remember - but her words, for the rest of my life, certainly weren't.) an hour-long debate, with my best friend at twelve years old - apple or orange juice? (orange, obviously, is the right answer. we rehash the argument sometimes to this day.) the day i turn 19, a beer in my hands. (i'm sat around a campfire with my closest friends, birthdays all older than me - the beer tastes disgusting, as cheap alcohol is, but i'm glad to be there.) yesterday, i had 1 coffee and 2 mugs of lemon honey tea, 4 glasses of water. today, no tea, but 2 cups of coffee, a glass of milk, and 3 glasses of water. i bite at my nails when i'm nervous, swallow down the spit that comes with it, the bile that rises. last summer, i visited pei, had a raspberry cordial - my favourite drink to date - then bought a case of 4 more to take home with me. last summer, when i lived in new brunswick, my friends in the same building knew me as the one who would always have a drink in hand - a milk tea, or maybe a pink lemonade, maybe that obscure korean soda i liked. when i left new brunswick, i took a photo of my 2 trash cans, of the way they were both filled to the brim with empty bottles and cans and jugs. i still miss the apple cider they made there. my life is defined by drinks, sips, swallows, taking five minutes to breathe by making myself a nice whipped coffee, trawling the internet for pretty coasters and glassware for an hour in lieu of doing actual work. Eventually, i close the shopping tabs, take a sip of coffee, and resume with the rest of my life.
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16
Da Vinci code or more mystique than that cracking the secret   only one that popped up lost the tongue!
0
Jun 22, 2022
Jun 22, 2022 at 5:56 PM UTC
The Secret Code
Even during the darkest of nights, I am with this thought of my future, Nothing scares me just enough to stop. Even during the blackest of days, I am with the memory of time past, Nothing depresses me enough to pop. Even during those hours of blues, I dispel each of the purples in strait, Because in being sad, I find just glop.
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Jul 6, 2021
Jul 6, 2021 at 8:51 PM UTC
Cheerio
You inflate my heart like a balloon Filled with all your fake love The pin you hold is always so dangerously close Waiting for my balloon to pop anytime soon Why do I still trust people with my heart? When it ends up ripped apart To the next person, I'm on restart All remaining is the rubber parts Popping all my love-filled hearts ~20/5/21
0
May 20, 2021
May 20, 2021 at 8:42 AM UTC
Heart balloon
SONG-POEMS These are poems that were written as songs, or as potential song lyrics, or that could easily become songs if someone were to set them to music (hint! hint!) … Ave Maria by Michael R. Burch Ave Maria, Maiden mild, listen to my earnest prayer. Listen, O, and be beguiled. Ave Maria. Ave Maria, Maiden mild, be Mother now to every child beset by earth’s thorned briars wild. Ave Maria. Ave Maria, Maiden mild, embrace us with your Love and Grace. Let us look upon your Face. Ave Maria. Ave Maria, Maiden mild, please attend to our earnest call— When will Love be All in All? Ave Maria. Copyright © 2020 by Michael R. Burch Faithless Lover by Michael R. Burch Well I met you darlin’ on a night like this; the stars were fallin’ as I stole a kiss. And I fell in love that very night, as the moon above blessed us with its light. But the moon was false, and your heart was, too. Oh, I never dreamed you would be untrue. 'Cause you're a faithless lover, with a heart of stone. One day you'll discover yourself all alone. Well, we found a preacher and we said some words. I should have noticed yours were well-rehearsed. When I looked above, I saw the pale moon frown; the sky burst open; I began to drown. 'Cause you're a faithless lover, with a heart of stone. One day you'll discover yourself all alone. Now, since that day, how you've run around. You’ve been with every boy in town. Well, I learned my lesson, and I learned it well: how one night aflame left me cold as hell, till my heart grew hard in its icy shell. Now, I'm a faithless lover with a heart of stone. I seek faceless lovers who leave with the dawn. Copyright © 1991 by Michael R. Burch Unlikely Mike by Michael R. Burch I married someone else’s fantasy; she admired me despite my mutilations. I loved her for her heart’s sake, and for mine. I hid my face and changed its connotations. And in the dark I danced—slight, Chaplinesque— a metaphor myself. How could they know, the undiscerning ones, that in the glow of spotlights, sometimes love becomes burlesque? Disfigured to my soul, I could not lose or choose or name myself; I came to be another of life’s odd dichotomies, like Dickey’s Sheep Boy, Pan, or David Cruse: as pale, as enigmatic. White, or black? My color was a song, a changing track. Copyright © 2001 by Michael R. Burch Published by Bewildering Stories and selected as one of four short poems for the Review of issues 885-895 Through the fields of solitude by Hermann Allmers set to music by Johannes Brahms translation by David B. Gosselin with Michael R. Burch Peacefully, I rest in the tall green grass For a long time only gazing as I lie, Caught in the endless hymn of crickets, And encircled by a wonderful blue sky. And the lovely white clouds floating across The depths of the heavens are like silky lace; I feel as though my soul has long since fled, Softly drifting with them through eternal space. This poem was set to music by the German composer Johannes Brahms in what has been called its “the most sublime incarnation.” A celebrated recording of the song was made in 1958 by the baritone Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau with Jörg Demus accompanying him on the piano. The Pain of Love by Michael R. Burch for T. M. The pain of love is this: the parting after the kiss; the train steaming from the station whistling abnegation; every highways’ broken white bar that vanishes under your car; each hour and flower and friend that cannot be saved in the end; dear things of immeasurable cost ... now all irretrievably lost. Copyright © 2013 by Michael R. Burch Originally published by The HyperTexts Note: The title “The Pain of Love” was suggested by an interview with Little Richard, then eighty years old, in Rolling Stone. He said that someone should create a song called “The Pain of Love.” I've written the lyrics, now can someone provide the music? Will There Be Starlight by Michael R. Burch Will there be starlight tonight while she gathers damask and lilac and sweet-scented heathers? And will she find flowers, or will she find thorns guarding the petals of roses unborn? Will there be starlight tonight while she gathers seashells and mussels and albatross feathers? And will she find treasure or will she find pain at the end of this rainbow of moonlight on rain? Copyright © 2001 by Michael R. Burch Published by The Word (UK), The Chained Muse, Famous Poets and Poems, Grassroots Poetry, The HyperTexts, Inspirational Stories, Jenion, Starlight Archives, TALESetc, Writ in Water, Grassroots Poetry and Poetry Webring Indestructible, for Johnny Cash by Michael R. Burch What is a mountain, but stone? Or a spire, but a trinket of steel? Johnny Cash is gone, black from his hair to his bootheels. Can a man out-endure mountains’ stone if his songs lift us closer to heaven? Can the steel in his voice vibrate on till his words are our manna and leaven? Then sing, all you mountains of stone, with the rasp of his voice, and the gravel. Let the twang of thumbed steel lead us home through these weary dark ways all men travel. For what is a mountain, but stone? Or a spire, but a trinket of steel? Johnny Cash lives on— black from his hair to his bootheels. Copyright © 2006 by Michael R. Burch Originally published by Strong Verse Flying by Michael R. Burch I shall rise and try the ****** wings of thought ten thousand times before I fly ... and then I'll sleep and waste ten thousand nights before I dream; but when at last ... I soar the distant heights of undreamt skies where never hawks nor eagles dared to go, as I laugh among the meteors flashing by somewhere beyond the bluest earth-bound seas ... if I'm not told I’m just a man, then I shall know just what I am. This is one of my very early poems, written around age 16-17. According to my notes, I may have revised the poem later, in 1978, but if so the changes were minor because the poem remains very close to the original. Earthbound by Michael R. Burch Tashunka Witko, better known as Crazy Horse, had a vision of a red-tailed hawk at Sylvan Lake, South Dakota. In his vision he saw himself riding a floating and crazily-dancing spirit horse through a storm as the hawk flew above him, shrieking. When he awoke, a red-tailed hawk was perched near his horse. Earthbound, and yet I now fly through the clouds that are aimlessly drifting ... so high that no sound echoing by below where the mountains are lifting the sky can be heard. Like a bird, but not meek, like a hawk from a distance regarding its prey, I will shriek, not a word, but a screech, and my terrible clamor will turn them to clay— the sheep, the earthbound. I believe I wrote this poem as a college sophomore, age 19 or 20. I did not know about the vision and naming of Crazy Horse at the time. But when I learned about the vision that gave Crazy Horse his name, it seemed to explain my poem and I changed the second line from "and yet I would fly" to "and yet I now fly." I believe that is the only revision I ever made to this poem. Copyright © 1978 by Michael R. Burch Originally published by The HyperTexts Momentum! Momentum! by Michael R. Burch for the neo-Cons Crossing the Rubicon, we come! Momentum! Momentum! Furious hooves! The Gauls we have slaughtered, no man disapproves. War’s hawks shrieking-strident, white doves stricken dumb. Coo us no cooings of pale-breasted peace! Momentum! Momentum! Imperious hooves! The blood of barbarians brightens our greaves. Pompey’s head in a basket? We slumber at ease. ****** us again, great Bellona, dark queen! Momentum! Momentum! Curious hooves Now pound out strange questions, but what can they mean As the great stallions rear and their riders careen? Originally published by Bewildering Stories NOTE: Bellona was the Roman goddess of war. The name "Bellona" derives from the Latin word for "war" (bellum), and is linguistically related to the English word "belligerent" (literally, "war-waging"). In earlier times she was called Duellona, that name being derived from a more ancient word for "battle." Just Yesterday by Michael R. Burch Yesterday she went a-way and now I don’t know what to sa-ay, 'cause I loved her more than life just yesterday. [Descending notes: DUH Duh duh] Yesterday she held me tight and our love lit up the night, but then our flame was not as bright, just yesterday. [Descending notes: DUH Duh duh] Yesterday she left me a-lone and now I don’t know what I wa-ant ... I just listen to a song called “Yesterday” ... [Descending notes: DUH Duh duh] Yesterday, oh Yesterday, Yesterday, oh Yesterday, I loved her more than life just yesterday. [Descending notes: DUH Duh duh] Copyright © 2020 by Michael R. Burch Originally published by The HyperTexts Stay With Me Tonight by Michael R. Burch Stay with me tonight; be gentle with me as the leaves are gentle falling to the earth. And whisper, O my love, how that every bright thing, though scattered afar, retains yet its worth. Stay with me tonight; be as a petal long-awaited blooming in my hand. Lift your face to mine and touch me with your lips till I feel the warm benevolence of your breath’s heady fragrance like wine. That which we had when pale and waning as the dying moon at dawn, outshone the sun. And so lead me back tonight through bright waterfalls of light to where we shine as one. Copyright © 2019 by Michael R. Burch Originally published by The Lyric This Train by Michael R. Burch To be sung to the melody of "This Train is Bound For Glory" up-tempo. This train is goin’ my way, this train. This train is goin’ my way, this train. This train is goin’ my way, gonna take me back to my baby, This train is goin’ my way, this train. This train is flyin’, flyin’, flyin’. This train is flyin’, flyin’, flyin’. This train is flyin’, flyin’, and my heart is cryin’, cryin’. This train is flyin’, flyin’, flyin’. This train is chuggin’ on down the tracks now. This train is chuggin’ on down the tracks now. This train’s chuggin’ down the tracks and it’s gonna have to take me back now. This train is chuggin’ on down the tracks now. This train is flyin’, flyin’, flyin’. This train is flyin’, flyin’, flyin’. This train is flyin’, flyin’, and my heart is dyin’, dyin’. This train is flyin’, flyin’, flyin’. This train is goin’ my way, this train. This train is goin’ my way, this train. This train is goin’ my way, gonna take me back to my baby, This train is goin’ my way, this train. This train must run a little longer. Oh, this train must run a little longer. And although I did her wrong, her love is only gettin’ stronger. This train must run a little longer. Copyright © 2020 by Michael R. Burch Originally published by The HyperTexts The Vision of the Overseer’s Right Hand by Michael R. Burch “Dust to dust ...” I stumbled, aghast, into a valley of dust and bone where all men become, at last, the same color . . . There a skeletal figure groped through blonde sand for a rigid right hand lost long, long ago . . . A hand now more white than he had wielded before. But he paused there, unsure, for he could not tell without the whip’s frenetic hiss which savage white hand was his. Copyright © 2001 by Michael R. Burch Originally published by Poetry Porch When I Think of You, I Think of Love by Michael R. Burch for Beth When I think of you, I think of Love. Oh, when I think of you, I think of Love as magical as the moon and stars above. And when I think of you, I think of Love. When I think of you, I start to cry. Yes, when I think of you, I start to cry. And I think you know the reason why. For when I think of you, I think of Love. When I think of you, I start to smile. Oh, when I think of you, I start to smile. I think of you and, dreaming all the while, when I think of you, I start to smile. When I think of you, I have to laugh. Yes, when I think of you, I have to laugh because it’s certain: you’re my better half! So when I think of you, I have to laugh. I think of you as Eve, and at your feet blooms everything that’s equally as sweet, as magical as the moon and stars above. And when I think of you, I think of Love. I think of you with babies at your breast, and does and fawns that come at your behest, as magical as the moon and starts above. And when I think of you, I think of Love. I think of you and find myself at peace. I feed the ducks, the turtles and the geese, all as magical as the moon and stars above, and when I think of you, I think of Love. I think of you as Love, a Love that heals ... the gentlest Dove that soars and flies and wheels then looks down on the earth from high above. And when I think of you, I think of Love. Copyright © 2020 by Michael R. Burch Originally published by The HyperTexts Hill Down the Road by Michael R. Burch I imagine this song being sung to an upbeat tune like “Afternoon Delight” with an emphasis on the last word in each line. The song would come out as a sort of breathless rush — one long, run-on sentence. There’s a hill down the road where my babe and me would go when the sun was sinking low where the sparkling waters flow and we’d sit there in the grass and we’d watch the sunsets pass and then I’d walk her home, but we’d never walk too fast and we’d sit there in the summer when the sun was in the sky and we’d talk of our tomorrows and we’d watch the butterflies and I loved her even then although I was so young and I’ll love her till the time that my time on earth is done I wrote this poem as an aspiring songwriter, around age 14. But alas, I was too shy to show my compositions to anyone! Copyright © 1974 by Michael R. Burch Originally published by The HyperTexts Moon Lake by Michael R. Burch Starlit recorder of summer nights, what magic spell bewitches you? They say that all lovers love first in the dark . . . Is it true? Is it true? Is it true? Starry-eyed seer of all that appears and all that has appeared— What sights have you seen? What dreams have you dreamed? What rhetoric have you heard? Is love an oration, or is it a word? Have you heard? Have you heard? Have you heard? Copyright © 1976 by Michael R. Burch Originally published by Romantics Quarterly Tomb Lake by Michael R. Burch Go down to the valley where mockingbirds cry, alone, ever lonely . . . yes, go down to die. And dream in your dying you never shall wake. Go down to the valley; go down to Tomb Lake. Tomb Lake is a cauldron of souls such as yours — mad souls without meaning, frail souls without force. Tomb Lake is a graveyard reserved for the dead. They lie in her shallows and sleep in her bed. I believe this poem and "Moon Lake" were companion poems, written around my senior year in high school, in 1976. Copyright © 1976 by Michael R. Burch Originally published by The HyperTexts How Long the Night (Anonymous Middle English Lyric, circa early 13th century AD) loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch It is pleasant, indeed, while the summer lasts with the mild pheasants' song ... but now I feel the northern wind's blast— its severe weather strong. Alas! Alas! This night seems so long! And I, because of my momentous wrong now grieve, mourn and fast. Copyright © 2013 by Michael R. Burch Published by Measure, Setu (India), Poet’s Corner, Glass Facets of Poetry, Better Than Starbucks, Chanticleer, Poetry Brevet and Deviant Art Sappho’s Lullaby by Michael R. Burch for Jeremy Hushed yet melodic, the hills and the valleys sleep unaware of the nightingale's call while the dew-laden lilies lie listening, glistening . . . this is their night, the first night of fall. Son, tonight, a woman awaits you; she is more vibrant, more lovely than spring. She'll meet you in moonlight, soft and warm, all alone . . . then you'll know why the nightingale sings. Just yesterday the stars were afire; then how desire flashed through my veins! But now I am older; night has come, I’m alone . . . for you I will sing as the nightingale sings. Copyright © 2020 by Michael R. Burch Originally published by The HyperTexts Lullaby by Michael R. Burch for Jeremy Cherubic laugh; sly, impish grin; Angelic face; wild chimp within. It does not matter; sleep awhile As soft mirth tickles forth a smile. Gray moths will hum a lullaby Of feathery wings, then you and I Will wake together, by and by. Life’s not long; those days are best Spent snuggled to a loving breast. The earth will wait; a sun-filled sky Will bronze lean muscle, by and by. Soon you will sing, and I will sigh, But sleep here, now, for you and I Know nothing but this lullaby. Copyright © 2020 by Michael R. Burch Originally published by The HyperTexts Let me sing you a lullaby by Michael R. Burch for Jeremy (written from his mother’s perspective) Oh, let me sing you a lullaby of a love that shall come to you by and by. Oh, let me sing you a lullaby of a love that shall come to you by and by. Oh, my dear son, how you’re growing up! You’re taller than me, now I’m looking up! You’re a long tall drink and I’m half a cup! And so let me sing you this lullaby. Oh, my sweet son, as I watch you grow, there are so many things that I want you to know. Most importantly this: that I love you so. And so let me sing you this lullaby. Soon a tender bud will ****** forth and grow after the winter’s long ****** snow; and because there are things that you have to know ... Oh, let me sing you this lullaby. Soon, in a green garden a new rose will bloom and fill all the world with its wild perfume. And though it’s hard for me, I must give it room. And so let me sing you this lullaby. Copyright © 2020 by Michael R. Burch Originally published by The HyperTexts Swan Song by Michael R. Burch The breast you seek reserves all its compassion for a child unborn. Soon meagerly she’ll ration soft kisses and caresses—not for Him, but you. Soon in the night, bright lights she’ll dim and croon a soothing love hymn (not for you) and vow to Him that she’ll always be true, and never falter in her love. But now she whispers falsehoods, meaning them, somehow, still unable to foresee the fateful Wall whose meaning’s clear: such words strange gods might scrawl revealing what must come, stark-chiseled there: Gaze on them, weep, ye mighty, and despair! There’ll be no Jericho, no trumpet blast imploding walls womb-strong; this song’s your last. Copyright © 2006 by Michael R. Burch Originally published by The HyperTexts This is my translation of one of my favorite Dimash Kudaibergen songs, the French song "S.O.S." ... S.O.S. by Michel Berger loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Why do I live, why do I die? Why do I laugh, why do I cry? Voicing the S.O.S. of an earthling in distress ... I have never felt at home on the ground. I'd rather be a bird; this skin feels weird. I'd like to see the world turned upside down. It ever was more beautiful seen from up above, seen from up above. I've always confused life with cartoons, wishing to transform. I feel something that draws me, that draws me, that draws me UP! In the great lotto of the universe I didn't draw the right numbers. I feel unwell in my own skin, I don't want to be a machine eating, working, sleeping. Why do I live, why do I die? Why do I laugh, why do I cry? I feel I'm catching waves from another world. I've never had both feet on the ground. This skin feels weird. I'd like to see the world turned upside down. I'd rather be a bird. Sleep, child, sleep ... "Late Autumn" aka "Autumn Strong" loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch based on the version sung by Dimash Kudaibergen Autumn ... The feeling of late autumn ... It feels like golden leaves falling to those who are parting ... A glass of wine has stirred so many emotions swirling in my mind ... Such sad farewells ... With the season's falling leaves, so many sad farewells. To see you so dispirited pains me more than I can say. Holding your hands so tightly to my heart ... ... Remembering ... I implore you to remember our unspoken vows ... I dare bear this bitterness, but not to see you broken-hearted! All contentment vanishes like leaves in an autumn wind. Meeting or parting, that's not up to me. We can blame the wind for our destiny. I do not fear my own despair but your sorrow haunts me. No one will know of our desolation. Keywords/Tags: song, songs, songs of life, lyric, lyrics, music, rock, love, lover, lovers
0
Mar 26, 2021
Mar 26, 2021 at 4:42 AM UTC
SONG-POEMS
SONG-POEMS These are poems that were written as songs, or as potential song lyrics, or that could easily become songs if someone were to set them to music (hint! hint!) … Ave Maria by Michael R. Burch Ave Maria, Maiden mild, listen to my earnest prayer. Listen, O, and be beguiled. Ave Maria. Ave Maria, Maiden mild, be Mother now to every child beset by earth’s thorned briars wild. Ave Maria. Ave Maria, Maiden mild, embrace us with your Love and Grace. Let us look upon your Face. Ave Maria. Ave Maria, Maiden mild, please attend to our earnest call— When will Love be All in All? Ave Maria. Copyright © 2020 by Michael R. Burch Faithless Lover by Michael R. Burch Well I met you darlin’ on a night like this; the stars were fallin’ as I stole a kiss. And I fell in love that very night, as the moon above blessed us with its light. But the moon was false, and your heart was, too. Oh, I never dreamed you would be untrue. 'Cause you're a faithless lover, with a heart of stone. One day you'll discover yourself all alone. Well, we found a preacher and we said some words. I should have noticed yours were well-rehearsed. When I looked above, I saw the pale moon frown; the sky burst open; I began to drown. 'Cause you're a faithless lover, with a heart of stone. One day you'll discover yourself all alone. Now, since that day, how you've run around. You’ve been with every boy in town. Well, I learned my lesson, and I learned it well: how one night aflame left me cold as hell, till my heart grew hard in its icy shell. Now, I'm a faithless lover with a heart of stone. I seek faceless lovers who leave with the dawn. Copyright © 1991 by Michael R. Burch Unlikely Mike by Michael R. Burch I married someone else’s fantasy; she admired me despite my mutilations. I loved her for her heart’s sake, and for mine. I hid my face and changed its connotations. And in the dark I danced—slight, Chaplinesque— a metaphor myself. How could they know, the undiscerning ones, that in the glow of spotlights, sometimes love becomes burlesque? Disfigured to my soul, I could not lose or choose or name myself; I came to be another of life’s odd dichotomies, like Dickey’s Sheep Boy, Pan, or David Cruse: as pale, as enigmatic. White, or black? My color was a song, a changing track. Copyright © 2001 by Michael R. Burch Published by Bewildering Stories and selected as one of four short poems for the Review of issues 885-895 Through the fields of solitude by Hermann Allmers set to music by Johannes Brahms translation by David B. Gosselin with Michael R. Burch Peacefully, I rest in the tall green grass For a long time only gazing as I lie, Caught in the endless hymn of crickets, And encircled by a wonderful blue sky. And the lovely white clouds floating across The depths of the heavens are like silky lace; I feel as though my soul has long since fled, Softly drifting with them through eternal space. This poem was set to music by the German composer Johannes Brahms in what has been called its “the most sublime incarnation.” A celebrated recording of the song was made in 1958 by the baritone Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau with Jörg Demus accompanying him on the piano. The Pain of Love by Michael R. Burch for T. M. The pain of love is this: the parting after the kiss; the train steaming from the station whistling abnegation; every highways’ broken white bar that vanishes under your car; each hour and flower and friend that cannot be saved in the end; dear things of immeasurable cost ... now all irretrievably lost. Copyright © 2013 by Michael R. Burch Originally published by The HyperTexts Note: The title “The Pain of Love” was suggested by an interview with Little Richard, then eighty years old, in Rolling Stone. He said that someone should create a song called “The Pain of Love.” I've written the lyrics, now can someone provide the music? Will There Be Starlight by Michael R. Burch Will there be starlight tonight while she gathers damask and lilac and sweet-scented heathers? And will she find flowers, or will she find thorns guarding the petals of roses unborn? Will there be starlight tonight while she gathers seashells and mussels and albatross feathers? And will she find treasure or will she find pain at the end of this rainbow of moonlight on rain? Copyright © 2001 by Michael R. Burch Published by The Word (UK), The Chained Muse, Famous Poets and Poems, Grassroots Poetry, The HyperTexts, Inspirational Stories, Jenion, Starlight Archives, TALESetc, Writ in Water, Grassroots Poetry and Poetry Webring Indestructible, for Johnny Cash by Michael R. Burch What is a mountain, but stone? Or a spire, but a trinket of steel? Johnny Cash is gone, black from his hair to his bootheels. Can a man out-endure mountains’ stone if his songs lift us closer to heaven? Can the steel in his voice vibrate on till his words are our manna and leaven? Then sing, all you mountains of stone, with the rasp of his voice, and the gravel. Let the twang of thumbed steel lead us home through these weary dark ways all men travel. For what is a mountain, but stone? Or a spire, but a trinket of steel? Johnny Cash lives on— black from his hair to his bootheels. Copyright © 2006 by Michael R. Burch Originally published by Strong Verse Flying by Michael R. Burch I shall rise and try the ****** wings of thought ten thousand times before I fly ... and then I'll sleep and waste ten thousand nights before I dream; but when at last ... I soar the distant heights of undreamt skies where never hawks nor eagles dared to go, as I laugh among the meteors flashing by somewhere beyond the bluest earth-bound seas ... if I'm not told I’m just a man, then I shall know just what I am. This is one of my very early poems, written around age 16-17. According to my notes, I may have revised the poem later, in 1978, but if so the changes were minor because the poem remains very close to the original. Earthbound by Michael R. Burch Tashunka Witko, better known as Crazy Horse, had a vision of a red-tailed hawk at Sylvan Lake, South Dakota. In his vision he saw himself riding a floating and crazily-dancing spirit horse through a storm as the hawk flew above him, shrieking. When he awoke, a red-tailed hawk was perched near his horse. Earthbound, and yet I now fly through the clouds that are aimlessly drifting ... so high that no sound echoing by below where the mountains are lifting the sky can be heard. Like a bird, but not meek, like a hawk from a distance regarding its prey, I will shriek, not a word, but a screech, and my terrible clamor will turn them to clay— the sheep, the earthbound. I believe I wrote this poem as a college sophomore, age 19 or 20. I did not know about the vision and naming of Crazy Horse at the time. But when I learned about the vision that gave Crazy Horse his name, it seemed to explain my poem and I changed the second line from "and yet I would fly" to "and yet I now fly." I believe that is the only revision I ever made to this poem. Copyright © 1978 by Michael R. Burch Originally published by The HyperTexts Momentum! Momentum! by Michael R. Burch for the neo-Cons Crossing the Rubicon, we come! Momentum! Momentum! Furious hooves! The Gauls we have slaughtered, no man disapproves. War’s hawks shrieking-strident, white doves stricken dumb. Coo us no cooings of pale-breasted peace! Momentum! Momentum! Imperious hooves! The blood of barbarians brightens our greaves. Pompey’s head in a basket? We slumber at ease. ****** us again, great Bellona, dark queen! Momentum! Momentum! Curious hooves Now pound out strange questions, but what can they mean As the great stallions rear and their riders careen? Originally published by Bewildering Stories NOTE: Bellona was the Roman goddess of war. The name "Bellona" derives from the Latin word for "war" (bellum), and is linguistically related to the English word "belligerent" (literally, "war-waging"). In earlier times she was called Duellona, that name being derived from a more ancient word for "battle." Just Yesterday by Michael R. Burch Yesterday she went a-way and now I don’t know what to sa-ay, 'cause I loved her more than life just yesterday. [Descending notes: DUH Duh duh] Yesterday she held me tight and our love lit up the night, but then our flame was not as bright, just yesterday. [Descending notes: DUH Duh duh] Yesterday she left me a-lone and now I don’t know what I wa-ant ... I just listen to a song called “Yesterday” ... [Descending notes: DUH Duh duh] Yesterday, oh Yesterday, Yesterday, oh Yesterday, I loved her more than life just yesterday. [Descending notes: DUH Duh duh] Copyright © 2020 by Michael R. Burch Originally published by The HyperTexts Stay With Me Tonight by Michael R. Burch Stay with me tonight; be gentle with me as the leaves are gentle falling to the earth. And whisper, O my love, how that every bright thing, though scattered afar, retains yet its worth. Stay with me tonight; be as a petal long-awaited blooming in my hand. Lift your face to mine and touch me with your lips till I feel the warm benevolence of your breath’s heady fragrance like wine. That which we had when pale and waning as the dying moon at dawn, outshone the sun. And so lead me back tonight through bright waterfalls of light to where we shine as one. Copyright © 2019 by Michael R. Burch Originally published by The Lyric This Train by Michael R. Burch To be sung to the melody of "This Train is Bound For Glory" up-tempo. This train is goin’ my way, this train. This train is goin’ my way, this train. This train is goin’ my way, gonna take me back to my baby, This train is goin’ my way, this train. This train is flyin’, flyin’, flyin’. This train is flyin’, flyin’, flyin’. This train is flyin’, flyin’, and my heart is cryin’, cryin’. This train is flyin’, flyin’, flyin’. This train is chuggin’ on down the tracks now. This train is chuggin’ on down the tracks now. This train’s chuggin’ down the tracks and it’s gonna have to take me back now. This train is chuggin’ on down the tracks now. This train is flyin’, flyin’, flyin’. This train is flyin’, flyin’, flyin’. This train is flyin’, flyin’, and my heart is dyin’, dyin’. This train is flyin’, flyin’, flyin’. This train is goin’ my way, this train. This train is goin’ my way, this train. This train is goin’ my way, gonna take me back to my baby, This train is goin’ my way, this train. This train must run a little longer. Oh, this train must run a little longer. And although I did her wrong, her love is only gettin’ stronger. This train must run a little longer. Copyright © 2020 by Michael R. Burch Originally published by The HyperTexts The Vision of the Overseer’s Right Hand by Michael R. Burch “Dust to dust ...” I stumbled, aghast, into a valley of dust and bone where all men become, at last, the same color . . . There a skeletal figure groped through blonde sand for a rigid right hand lost long, long ago . . . A hand now more white than he had wielded before. But he paused there, unsure, for he could not tell without the whip’s frenetic hiss which savage white hand was his. Copyright © 2001 by Michael R. Burch Originally published by Poetry Porch When I Think of You, I Think of Love by Michael R. Burch for Beth When I think of you, I think of Love. Oh, when I think of you, I think of Love as magical as the moon and stars above. And when I think of you, I think of Love. When I think of you, I start to cry. Yes, when I think of you, I start to cry. And I think you know the reason why. For when I think of you, I think of Love. When I think of you, I start to smile. Oh, when I think of you, I start to smile. I think of you and, dreaming all the while, when I think of you, I start to smile. When I think of you, I have to laugh. Yes, when I think of you, I have to laugh because it’s certain: you’re my better half! So when I think of you, I have to laugh. I think of you as Eve, and at your feet blooms everything that’s equally as sweet, as magical as the moon and stars above. And when I think of you, I think of Love. I think of you with babies at your breast, and does and fawns that come at your behest, as magical as the moon and starts above. And when I think of you, I think of Love. I think of you and find myself at peace. I feed the ducks, the turtles and the geese, all as magical as the moon and stars above, and when I think of you, I think of Love. I think of you as Love, a Love that heals ... the gentlest Dove that soars and flies and wheels then looks down on the earth from high above. And when I think of you, I think of Love. Copyright © 2020 by Michael R. Burch Originally published by The HyperTexts Hill Down the Road by Michael R. Burch I imagine this song being sung to an upbeat tune like “Afternoon Delight” with an emphasis on the last word in each line. The song would come out as a sort of breathless rush — one long, run-on sentence. There’s a hill down the road where my babe and me would go when the sun was sinking low where the sparkling waters flow and we’d sit there in the grass and we’d watch the sunsets pass and then I’d walk her home, but we’d never walk too fast and we’d sit there in the summer when the sun was in the sky and we’d talk of our tomorrows and we’d watch the butterflies and I loved her even then although I was so young and I’ll love her till the time that my time on earth is done I wrote this poem as an aspiring songwriter, around age 14. But alas, I was too shy to show my compositions to anyone! Copyright © 1974 by Michael R. Burch Originally published by The HyperTexts Moon Lake by Michael R. Burch Starlit recorder of summer nights, what magic spell bewitches you? They say that all lovers love first in the dark . . . Is it true? Is it true? Is it true? Starry-eyed seer of all that appears and all that has appeared— What sights have you seen? What dreams have you dreamed? What rhetoric have you heard? Is love an oration, or is it a word? Have you heard? Have you heard? Have you heard? Copyright © 1976 by Michael R. Burch Originally published by Romantics Quarterly Tomb Lake by Michael R. Burch Go down to the valley where mockingbirds cry, alone, ever lonely . . . yes, go down to die. And dream in your dying you never shall wake. Go down to the valley; go down to Tomb Lake. Tomb Lake is a cauldron of souls such as yours — mad souls without meaning, frail souls without force. Tomb Lake is a graveyard reserved for the dead. They lie in her shallows and sleep in her bed. I believe this poem and "Moon Lake" were companion poems, written around my senior year in high school, in 1976. Copyright © 1976 by Michael R. Burch Originally published by The HyperTexts How Long the Night (Anonymous Middle English Lyric, circa early 13th century AD) loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch It is pleasant, indeed, while the summer lasts with the mild pheasants' song ... but now I feel the northern wind's blast— its severe weather strong. Alas! Alas! This night seems so long! And I, because of my momentous wrong now grieve, mourn and fast. Copyright © 2013 by Michael R. Burch Published by Measure, Setu (India), Poet’s Corner, Glass Facets of Poetry, Better Than Starbucks, Chanticleer, Poetry Brevet and Deviant Art Sappho’s Lullaby by Michael R. Burch for Jeremy Hushed yet melodic, the hills and the valleys sleep unaware of the nightingale's call while the dew-laden lilies lie listening, glistening . . . this is their night, the first night of fall. Son, tonight, a woman awaits you; she is more vibrant, more lovely than spring. She'll meet you in moonlight, soft and warm, all alone . . . then you'll know why the nightingale sings. Just yesterday the stars were afire; then how desire flashed through my veins! But now I am older; night has come, I’m alone . . . for you I will sing as the nightingale sings. Copyright © 2020 by Michael R. Burch Originally published by The HyperTexts Lullaby by Michael R. Burch for Jeremy Cherubic laugh; sly, impish grin; Angelic face; wild chimp within. It does not matter; sleep awhile As soft mirth tickles forth a smile. Gray moths will hum a lullaby Of feathery wings, then you and I Will wake together, by and by. Life’s not long; those days are best Spent snuggled to a loving breast. The earth will wait; a sun-filled sky Will bronze lean muscle, by and by. Soon you will sing, and I will sigh, But sleep here, now, for you and I Know nothing but this lullaby. Copyright © 2020 by Michael R. Burch Originally published by The HyperTexts Let me sing you a lullaby by Michael R. Burch for Jeremy (written from his mother’s perspective) Oh, let me sing you a lullaby of a love that shall come to you by and by. Oh, let me sing you a lullaby of a love that shall come to you by and by. Oh, my dear son, how you’re growing up! You’re taller than me, now I’m looking up! You’re a long tall drink and I’m half a cup! And so let me sing you this lullaby. Oh, my sweet son, as I watch you grow, there are so many things that I want you to know. Most importantly this: that I love you so. And so let me sing you this lullaby. Soon a tender bud will ****** forth and grow after the winter’s long ****** snow; and because there are things that you have to know ... Oh, let me sing you this lullaby. Soon, in a green garden a new rose will bloom and fill all the world with its wild perfume. And though it’s hard for me, I must give it room. And so let me sing you this lullaby. Copyright © 2020 by Michael R. Burch Originally published by The HyperTexts Swan Song by Michael R. Burch The breast you seek reserves all its compassion for a child unborn. Soon meagerly she’ll ration soft kisses and caresses—not for Him, but you. Soon in the night, bright lights she’ll dim and croon a soothing love hymn (not for you) and vow to Him that she’ll always be true, and never falter in her love. But now she whispers falsehoods, meaning them, somehow, still unable to foresee the fateful Wall whose meaning’s clear: such words strange gods might scrawl revealing what must come, stark-chiseled there: Gaze on them, weep, ye mighty, and despair! There’ll be no Jericho, no trumpet blast imploding walls womb-strong; this song’s your last. Copyright © 2006 by Michael R. Burch Originally published by The HyperTexts This is my translation of one of my favorite Dimash Kudaibergen songs, the French song "S.O.S." ... S.O.S. by Michel Berger loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Why do I live, why do I die? Why do I laugh, why do I cry? Voicing the S.O.S. of an earthling in distress ... I have never felt at home on the ground. I'd rather be a bird; this skin feels weird. I'd like to see the world turned upside down. It ever was more beautiful seen from up above, seen from up above. I've always confused life with cartoons, wishing to transform. I feel something that draws me, that draws me, that draws me UP! In the great lotto of the universe I didn't draw the right numbers. I feel unwell in my own skin, I don't want to be a machine eating, working, sleeping. Why do I live, why do I die? Why do I laugh, why do I cry? I feel I'm catching waves from another world. I've never had both feet on the ground. This skin feels weird. I'd like to see the world turned upside down. I'd rather be a bird. Sleep, child, sleep ... "Late Autumn" aka "Autumn Strong" loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch based on the version sung by Dimash Kudaibergen Autumn ... The feeling of late autumn ... It feels like golden leaves falling to those who are parting ... A glass of wine has stirred so many emotions swirling in my mind ... Such sad farewells ... With the season's falling leaves, so many sad farewells. To see you so dispirited pains me more than I can say. Holding your hands so tightly to my heart ... ... Remembering ... I implore you to remember our unspoken vows ... I dare bear this bitterness, but not to see you broken-hearted! All contentment vanishes like leaves in an autumn wind. Meeting or parting, that's not up to me. We can blame the wind for our destiny. I do not fear my own despair but your sorrow haunts me. No one will know of our desolation. Keywords/Tags: song, songs, songs of life, lyric, lyrics, music, rock, love, lover, lovers
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Hey Jude! Don't be so sad This too shall pass Into yesterday,the invisible past We can work it out Hey Jude! Come on smile Here comes the sun Your time to shine Like Lucy in the sky with diamonds Hey Jude! You're only human You need some help! Well who doesn't All you need is love Hey Jude! Don't be afraid of death You've still got many a day in the life And tomorrow never knows What's in store for you You'll find the inner light Someone to hold your hand To get you through a hard day's night Hey Jude! Just let it be And sing this song Ob-la-di, Ob-la-da Ob-la-di-da La la la How life goes on
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Feb 4, 2021
Feb 4, 2021 at 6:42 AM UTC
Hey Jude!
Wordsong, wordsong, Lovely as birdsong. Could be a Pop Song, But never a Swansong. Could be a rap, And all that ******* For Rap is easy, Lemon squeezy. But rap has beat And words that repeat. Rap has rhyme Nearly every time. Rap even has metre – Who can beat her? Yet wordsong is melodious too, Giving us a worldly view. Poems of love and dedication Even human emancipation. Whoops I’m slipping back - Back into that addictive rap. You must remember to read out loud – Silver lining on every cloud. Poetic landscapes catch our gaze, Brightening up our mundane days. The river of life keeps flowing on, Iambic metre our beating heart. Read it like you’re singing a song, Write it whether or not it’s Art. So play those words So full of feeling Just like the birds And so appealing. Paul Butters © PB 27\1\2021.
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Jan 27, 2021
Jan 27, 2021 at 5:53 AM UTC
Wordsong
A heart of gold stopped beating Two shining eyes now at rest God broke our hearts to prove That he only takes the best
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Nov 10, 2020
Nov 10, 2020 at 5:48 AM UTC
In Memory