"evenin" poems
Hey, Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me,
I'm not sleepy and there is no place I'm going to.
Hey, Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me,
In the jingle-jangle morning I'll come followin' you.
Though I know that evenin's empire has returned into sand,
Vanished from my hand,
Left me blindly here to stand but still not sleeping.
My weariness amazes me, I'm branded on my feet,
I have no one to meet
And the ancient empty street's too dead for dreaming.
Hey, Mr.Tambourine Man, etc.
Take me on a trip upon your magic swirlin' ship,
My senses have been stripped, my hands can't feel to grip,
My toes too numb to step, wait only for my boot heels
To be wanderin'.
I'm ready to go anywhere, I'm ready for to fade
Into my own parade, cast your dancing spell my way,
I promise to go under it.
Hey, Mr.Tambourine Man, etc.
Though you might hear laughin', spinnin', swingin' madly across the sun,
It's not aimed at anyone, it's just escapin' on the run
And but for the sky there are no fences facin'.
And if you hear vague traces of skippin' reels of rhyme
To your tambourine in time, it's just a ragged clown behind
I wouldn't pay it any mind, it's just a shadow you're
Seeing' that he's chasing
Hey, Mr.Tambourine Man, etc.
12.1k
Instant mischief
They call me the beat chief
Making you all chant
Even well you got no breath you pant
Now what's next
Gonna make you feel my inner context
It's what's inside
That makes my heart burst with pride
It's how I've learned to flow
Turned me from intense to mellow
And now that I've gained control
I'm up here on patrol
The dance floors filling with bass
I promise you you'll feel it in your face!
Your feet going so crazy
There's no way you'll feel lazy
This is the roll call
All is present I've got them all
Never leavenin
Cause I'm a fiendin
For the evenin
The bass is my meanin
Let go of it all out of me to you
You may think I'm a fool
But I just love
To make you feel like your floating above
A beautiful cloud
Vibrating aloud
Apr 14, 2014
Apr 14, 2014 at 9:21 PM UTC
the pope asked me what i really belived in, behind the lies and masks and the effect of saten.
you know what i told him?
wanna know what i said on that dry summer evenin?
i said that my holy book is read by the perfact way your hair looks messy when you just get out of bed,
when you call me late at night because our songs stuck inside your head.
i worship the way you always say that i know just what you think,
ill pray to the way your voice goes low as hell when you talk about true love.
the way your eyes make stars appear in all that dreary darkness of...all the rhods we take and lines we cross just to hold echother near. and at the end of this congregation i promise ill see you soon my dear.
you give new colors to every flower. evey lemon, every tree. and the colors sparkle only when i hold you close to me,
on the red platos of navajo, honey bees makeing a song so much better than the radio, your voice the lead singer and my spirit feels the flow.
so yeah i know its a little bit melo-dramadic, a bit manic, co dependent on the way you look at me, whatever you see thats just what i wanna be. babe.
and so my soul is saved with every touch from you.
preach in the pew about all the times we had at midnight solitary dances running from our taxes living life and death theres nothin left
but all that holy love we share.
so i told the prest the, minister the bishop and the father and the son and evry single holy ghost who was there, that im in love with this girl and i dont give a **** what you think force me to drink that holy water to set me on that straigh and narrow bath, and i would laugh at all the **** that they belive will work on somone such as me.
and THATS how i got excommunicated
thankyou
Oct 10, 2020
Oct 10, 2020 at 2:06 PM UTC
1
I married when I was young, yeah,
a woman just as hale and hearty as me
and course I still had
to hang out with friends
and weekends I’d be off with ‘em
drinking and spending all the week’s pay
from Friday evenin’ till Sunday night
But my wifey ne’er understood that
and one Sunday night she’a said to me
*“Why do you do this, mon? How’d you feel
if you don’t get to see me for so many days?”*
“Fine by me, sweetie,” I said
as fast and as witty, even in drink
2
and that night I didn’t see her
and come Monday I didn’t see her
and come Tuesday I didn’t see her
and so on Wednesday and came Thursday,
the swelling went down a little
and I saw my wifey again
hale and hearty
out of the corner of my right eye
Sep 24, 2012
Sep 24, 2012 at 7:03 AM UTC
I'll get me a yappy dog
A small one
Scrappy.
He'll screech and holler
Like a rat lost in the dark
Oh how it'd be
To bear such a mark.
I'll get me a mousey dog
A youngish one
Mousey.
She'll annoy me in the mornin'
Evenin'
Night
Back to the height of the sun.
She'll tap and scrap till...
I can't take it anymore...
Maybe I'll get a biggun one
It'll protect me
Like a gun
She'll keep watch
While I be sleepin'
Till they put out some food
And continue on creepin...
Well maybe a medium one
Crazy as can be
Runnin' out in the mornin' sun
He'll play catch and give chase
Run with the pack
Cageless and free
Until I bring it inside...
Well, now it's gone to ***
On the carpet...
Doggon it
Maybe I'll throw out that dish
Send 'em back to the homestead
Perhaps get a fish instead...
May 24, 2016
May 24, 2016 at 12:46 AM UTC
My wild love went ridin'
She rode all the day
She wrote to the devil
And asked him to pay
The devil was wiser
It's time to repent
He asked her to give back
The money she spent
My wild love went ridin'
She rode to the sea
She gathered together
Some shells for her head
She rode and she rode on
She rode for a while
Then stopped for an evenin'
And lay her head down
She rode on to Christmas
She rode to the farm
She rode to Japan
And we entered a town
By this time the river
Had changed one degree
She asked for the people
To let her go free
My wild love is crazy
She screams like a bird
She moans like a cat
When she wants to be heard
My wild love went ridin'
She rode for an hour
She rode and she rested
And then she rode on
Ride, c'mon
Jun 4, 2015
Jun 4, 2015 at 2:58 PM UTC
Sunshine, evenin' rain,
Clouds in the sky
And shapes we try
We are the children of stars,
Orphans from Mars,
We smile during the day,
We smile alight,
But on a blue moon Monday,
We cry during the night!!
Dec 24, 2012
Dec 24, 2012 at 10:32 AM UTC
1) MORNIN
lake glass-still/somewhere a loon is calling;
coffee smells spiralling upstairs.
my bed (piled mattresses/wood floor)
is warm & the little birds
trill in the frontyard by the dodge
while in the woods
foxes/are wakin' up.
2) EVENIN
[dock beers] . . .
on the water
shadflies squirm,
ignorant & simple & doomed.
jackfish tack lazily up and gobble
--taking their meals.
heron stands in the shallows
and from downlake the wind blows
sweetly/and in my head
i hear girls singing.
Sep 27, 2011
Sep 27, 2011 at 3:59 PM UTC
I may tend, 'gainst the wind, finding wee rest soon;
this evenin' even, Dearest, Favorite Friend, whom
I may seek now & then to swoon. When mere rest stays this hand, 'neath midday stars or midnight sands, I speak! I sing! I croon! I ne'er want to let you go, tho your body is not here to hold in this land where you fear to turn. Can you naught see that I love you so? Pray tell me that you can, and know that I know you know -and you may e'en one day my love return.
Jan 1, 2016
Jan 1, 2016 at 5:17 AM UTC
*box ***** box! no one ever said bare x-rayed knuckle rough up, but my tongue ain't just an oyster, so here's to a champagne flute ***** and an oyster shell tilted for a slurp ultra crescendo, a runaway: writing philosophy lets you explore the many narrators that are impotent creating characters, while fictive narration has many characters and a few dimensions of narrations, like the *** in the city gall said: newspapers are printed, they're not supposed to convey stories, or be the post-modern basis for a skeletal anastrophe of storytelling.*
you will not get any more artists
when you educate blanks
to canvas a Gucci with a brothel
of colours that might be tamed
into the anti-artist vocabulary deciphering
cubism... brothel of colours?
well **** is red, **** is brush,
you get an orchestra of vowels
with hues, pink is for arson,
the other pink is for fish against stream,
they never air-guitar bass rhymes or
solos, it's a shame, bass guitar is more
akin to drums and therefore more memorable
than brown-nosing vocals and lead guitars...
well coral red became gangrene green
when the snorkelling offshoot to finding
the titanic wreckage took off...
i said the titanic rhythms of bass guitar
was more airy than the scandalous
pitch notes of guitar turned soprano
like a michael jackson wannabe...
twist of the ***** / twist off the *****
get a screwdriver, scandinavian ha ha:
am i grey bearded enough to act out a norwegian
version of hamlet? no? gooooood...
that's dracula saying mornin' 'n' evenin'
together; i'm into revising tabloids
by making many references...
culturally explicit ***** crap... big **** elephant
***** wide... i'm all ****** up for it to be the
defining concern of our times.
Feb 20, 2016
Feb 20, 2016 at 8:05 PM UTC
I was born in the mud.
All soft and deep and sticky and cool.
I was born where the reeds shot up higher than my head and where everyone knew my name before i opened my eyes.
I was born where cicadas sung me to sleep in the evenin and the chatter from the river talked all night.
I was born where the sunset drew the longest shadows and where nothin smelled sweeter than magnolia trees.
I grew up where you could learn more on the river than at school and where bonfires burned brighter than the sun.
I grew up where the pretty girls had two first names and the boys bought their kisses with stale beer.
I grew up when the river was the only life for us and the screen doors were always slammin.
I grew up where we pretended the winter didn’t exist and where all our mamas worried when we were out.
I grew up in the passenger seat of our pickup trick and with swampwater in my blood.
I grew up where there were more dirt roads than paved and where the man in the suit was the enemy.
I was born with sunlight in my hair and sweat on my skin.
But I died in a fluorescent room all clean and sanitized.
All sharp and cold and hard and white.
Dec 17, 2014
Dec 17, 2014 at 5:55 PM UTC
and on a sleepy evenin
and the road strechin long
longer than before
and the stars aint shinnin
not
anymore
and we ,wide awake
we can only stare
at eachother
and the dyin dream
sincerely sad at feelin so
weak
almost ashamed
SAY
you wanna do it differently?
SAY
you wanna
still walk on?
TELL ME SOON
real soon
TELL ME SOON
I
will go with you
or
WALK ON ALONE
-
--
its a sleepy evening
im awake
and i know ill stay that way
til dawn
til
the break of day
Sep 23, 2010
Sep 23, 2010 at 1:22 PM UTC
clumsy fingers
sliding across piano keys
I haven't touched this
thing in nearly two years
so I spent all evenin'
teaching myself a sad song
frustrated with my
clumsy fingers
but relieved at my inability
to think of much else
for my thoughts need not be wanderin'
any place else but my songs
& I'll play them as loud as I can
for those who can't hear it
Feb 5, 2012
Feb 5, 2012 at 1:47 AM UTC
the pope asked me what i really believed in, behind the lies and masks and the effect of saten.
you know what i told him?
wanna know what i said on that dry summer evenin?
i said that my holy book is read by the perfect way your hair looks messy when you just get out of bed,
when you call me late at night because our songs stuck inside your head.
i worship the way you always say that i know just what you think,
I'll pray to the way your voice goes low as hell when you talk about true love.
the way your eyes make stars appear in all that dreary darkness of...all the roads we take and lines we cross just to hold each other near. and at the end of this congregation i promise i'll see you soon my dear.
you give new colors to every flower. evey lemon, every tree. and the colors sparkle only when i hold you close to me,
on the red platos of navajo, honey bees making a song so much better than the radio, your voice the lead singer and my spirit feels the flow.
so yeah i know it's a little bit melo-dramadic, a bit manic, co dependent on the way you look at me, whatever you see that's just what i wanna be. babe.
and so my soul is saved with every touch from you.
preach in the pew about all the times we had at midnight solitary dances running from our taxes living life and death there's nothing left
but all that holy love we share.
so i told the priest the, minister the bishop and the father and the son and every single holy ghost who was there, that i'm in love with this girl and i dont give a **** what you think force me to drink that holy water to set me on that straight and narrow bath, and i would laugh at all the **** that they believe will work on someone such as me.
and THAT'S how i got excommunicated
thankyou
Dec 2, 2020
Dec 2, 2020 at 12:39 AM UTC
the peach-grey behind the clouds. those opalescent seconds
don't you remember that day
when we held hands and it felt okay
and I cried because it stormed and
Neoprene vastness of vision. I watched you sleep and you didn't feel human
I'm not free this evenin g and I'm sorry
Those hours in the morning where early birds speak and tell me
go to sleep
Hands hot and bristling
And forced to
- 'and she painted throughout her life-'
And we have to talk?
Because I feel like I've lied
but when you're not here I feel
Cold. The Cold that spreads and burns
and tell me h-
"I don’t see how Henry, pried
open for all the world to see, survived."
She sat across from me, on the other side
of the room
A gentle flood of blood that felt to me like drowning
and agreed that I'd reached Inner Peace.
on the way home it stormed, and I cried.
Dec 11, 2018
Dec 11, 2018 at 2:31 PM UTC