"wagner" poems - Hello Poetry

"wagner" poems

a symphony orchestra. there is a thunderstorm, they are playing a Wagner overture and the people leave their seats under the trees and run inside to the pavilion the women giggling, the men pretending calm, wet cigarettes being thrown away, Wagner plays on, and then they are all under the pavilion. the birds even come in from the trees and enter the pavilion and then it is the Hungarian Rhapsody #2 by Lizst, and it still rains, but look, one man sits alone in the rain listening. the audience notices him. they turn and look. the orchestra goes about its business. the man sits in the night in the rain, listening. there is something wrong with him, isn't there? he came to hear the music.

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36.5k

Charles Bukowski

a symphony orchestra. there is a thunderstorm, they are playing a Wagner overture and the people leave their seats under the trees and run inside to the pavilion the women giggling, the men pretending calm, wet cigarettes being thrown away, Wagner plays on, and then they are all under the pavilion. the birds even come in from the trees and enter the pavilion and then it is the Hungarian Rhapsody #2 by Lizst, and it still rains, but look, one man sits alone in the rain listening. the audience notices him. they turn and look. the orchestra goes about its business. the man sits in the night in the rain, listening. there is something wrong with him, isn't there? he came to hear the music.

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I like hearing you talk about Mozart Because it means you’re listening. His piano keys are no different from mine. I like hearing you talk about Mozart. I used to play his pieces before I sleep. His arpeggio is my lullaby; His laughter, a sombre tune to which I tune My keys. There’s no denying that you like Mozart; Never mind his spending habit. I sometimes think you are Mozart. I think Beethoven was fad gone true because He was deaf to his laughter, And Schubert was too old, too young to remember How to step on the pedals While he tried his many operas On his baby grand piano. I think of Mozart in my sleep, in my dreams, On the toilet, while eating. I think of Mozart and his young son And the requiem he stood dying to finish. Mozart became a One night stand, and I am not proud of that. I majored in advertising, God knows why, and maybe Mozart had something to do with that. I factored one and two equals the sign of what digit, And maybe Mozart had something to do with that. I wrote a story once, About a starving artist; Maybe he was the force behind that. I filled my library with fiction, And fiction became a running schedule for me. Maybe Mozart had something to do with that. I’ve grown roots and sprouted horns listening to Bach; I don’t think Mozart knew that. But it was the size of the shoe that never fit me in third grade, And the roots run as deep as a well of Hope grown asunder. I knew Mozart would not like that. And it was holy. We are holy. He was holy. Mozart was holy. Mozart was holy. Mozart was holier than a cow gunned for meat turned to steak And corned beef on my breakfast sandwich. Mozart was holier than a dishwashing paste advertisement That promises oil free, squeaky clean Experience. Mozart was more than a religious façade played in the sala Of some affluent geeky teenager’s house Where no one bothers to eat the garnishing. Mozart was holier than Bach, Chopin, Stravinsky, Wagner. His flute promised a princess to remain priceless. Mozart was holier than Salieri. Mozart knew better than Salieri. Mozart played better than Salieri, And he got the better of Salieri when Antonio himself said, **** that Austrian ****** who plays, lives and howls like a show monkey. **** this court. **** this Emperor who can hardly keep together his fingers to play. **** Austria. **** Vienna. **** this era of opera played in German that hardly sells a ticket. **** this requiem and this boy, This mad man, pint sized and hardly put together like a china doll. **** this piano, and to hell with his lovers.” I saw Mozart once. He waved at me. I turned and looked away because I was listening to you talk about Mozart. And I like hearing you talk about Mozart Than Mozart talking about Himself.

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Apr 20, 2012

Apr 20, 2012 at 6:46 PM UTC

I Like Hearing You Talk About Mozart

I like hearing you talk about Mozart Because it means you’re listening. His piano keys are no different from mine. I like hearing you talk about Mozart. I used to play his pieces before I sleep. His arpeggio is my lullaby; His laughter, a sombre tune to which I tune My keys. There’s no denying that you like Mozart; Never mind his spending habit. I sometimes think you are Mozart. I think Beethoven was fad gone true because He was deaf to his laughter, And Schubert was too old, too young to remember How to step on the pedals While he tried his many operas On his baby grand piano. I think of Mozart in my sleep, in my dreams, On the toilet, while eating. I think of Mozart and his young son And the requiem he stood dying to finish. Mozart became a One night stand, and I am not proud of that. I majored in advertising, God knows why, and maybe Mozart had something to do with that. I factored one and two equals the sign of what digit, And maybe Mozart had something to do with that. I wrote a story once, About a starving artist; Maybe he was the force behind that. I filled my library with fiction, And fiction became a running schedule for me. Maybe Mozart had something to do with that. I’ve grown roots and sprouted horns listening to Bach; I don’t think Mozart knew that. But it was the size of the shoe that never fit me in third grade, And the roots run as deep as a well of Hope grown asunder. I knew Mozart would not like that. And it was holy. We are holy. He was holy. Mozart was holy. Mozart was holy. Mozart was holier than a cow gunned for meat turned to steak And corned beef on my breakfast sandwich. Mozart was holier than a dishwashing paste advertisement That promises oil free, squeaky clean Experience. Mozart was more than a religious façade played in the sala Of some affluent geeky teenager’s house Where no one bothers to eat the garnishing. Mozart was holier than Bach, Chopin, Stravinsky, Wagner. His flute promised a princess to remain priceless. Mozart was holier than Salieri. Mozart knew better than Salieri. Mozart played better than Salieri, And he got the better of Salieri when Antonio himself said, **** that Austrian ****** who plays, lives and howls like a show monkey. **** this court. **** this Emperor who can hardly keep together his fingers to play. **** Austria. **** Vienna. **** this era of opera played in German that hardly sells a ticket. **** this requiem and this boy, This mad man, pint sized and hardly put together like a china doll. **** this piano, and to hell with his lovers.” I saw Mozart once. He waved at me. I turned and looked away because I was listening to you talk about Mozart. And I like hearing you talk about Mozart Than Mozart talking about Himself.

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The internal battle..eternal....(one from the vault) Lucifer and Jehovah dancing some mad bossa nova While angels on horse backs fought devils with black jacks The white dove of peace had surrendered his lease So God ripped off his wings.. he no longer sings Then the Devil ripped out his heart so it could end at the start. Wagner and Chopin got frightened.. ..and off they ran. But Beethoven and Bach were sat in the park Composing arias to fight Hells hot fires. While Chekhov and Handel burned coramandel But the smoke from that pyre stank like a byre. Socrates was sat dispensing the ethics Hippocrates swore while dishing out medics The Muses were musing one or two were enthusing Oooh look.. the good against sinner Let's go down the bookies and have a bet on the winner. Cometh the day cometh the morn Cometh the hour cometh the dawn. Here is Joshua blowing his horn And here comes Gabriel but all that he meets Are the countless dead lining up on the streets And the wounded and deathbound far far below I feel sorry for Gabriel I wish he could go. But Picasso arrives and cries My God it's my Guernica I'll do a pastiche Oh F*ck it he says and has a pastis (or two) Then Pollack turns up totally ****** Picks up a paint and says what I have missed? What a fantastic sight.. angels flashing demons crashing The hounds of Hell with teeth a gnashing Then Neptune arrives astride his watery chariot Scything through Demons and sat beside Judas Iscariot Mermen and mermaids mercilessly slayed By Beelzebubs prototypes Those that live in the black nights. But as the dawn breaks God knows what it takes So he sends for his legions calls out to all regions Take arms and do battle Till we hears Satans death rattle. And the heavens rip asunder to the sound of the thunder. Satan rings on Hells bell.. tells them all is not well Then disappears from our sight as if he's turned off the light. Then I awake with a start knowing that I've been a part Of something vast something grand A spiritual war being fought in this land I am alive and I shall survive. PRAISE BE.

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Feb 6, 2013

Feb 6, 2013 at 9:08 AM UTC

john-edward-smallshaw

The internal battle..eternal

The internal battle..eternal....(one from the vault) Lucifer and Jehovah dancing some mad bossa nova While angels on horse backs fought devils with black jacks The white dove of peace had surrendered his lease So God ripped off his wings.. he no longer sings Then the Devil ripped out his heart so it could end at the start. Wagner and Chopin got frightened.. ..and off they ran. But Beethoven and Bach were sat in the park Composing arias to fight Hells hot fires. While Chekhov and Handel burned coramandel But the smoke from that pyre stank like a byre. Socrates was sat dispensing the ethics Hippocrates swore while dishing out medics The Muses were musing one or two were enthusing Oooh look.. the good against sinner Let's go down the bookies and have a bet on the winner. Cometh the day cometh the morn Cometh the hour cometh the dawn. Here is Joshua blowing his horn And here comes Gabriel but all that he meets Are the countless dead lining up on the streets And the wounded and deathbound far far below I feel sorry for Gabriel I wish he could go. But Picasso arrives and cries My God it's my Guernica I'll do a pastiche Oh F*ck it he says and has a pastis (or two) Then Pollack turns up totally ****** Picks up a paint and says what I have missed? What a fantastic sight.. angels flashing demons crashing The hounds of Hell with teeth a gnashing Then Neptune arrives astride his watery chariot Scything through Demons and sat beside Judas Iscariot Mermen and mermaids mercilessly slayed By Beelzebubs prototypes Those that live in the black nights. But as the dawn breaks God knows what it takes So he sends for his legions calls out to all regions Take arms and do battle Till we hears Satans death rattle. And the heavens rip asunder to the sound of the thunder. Satan rings on Hells bell.. tells them all is not well Then disappears from our sight as if he's turned off the light. Then I awake with a start knowing that I've been a part Of something vast something grand A spiritual war being fought in this land I am alive and I shall survive. PRAISE BE.

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Anny Horowitz pressed her nose against the glass window pane of Nero’s coffee bar where you sat drinking coke in ice in a glass her ghostly blue eyes peered at you a smile lingered her small hands were palm flat on the pane so that her lifeline and headline were visible where she pressed you beckoned with a nod of your head for her to come in and she came in and sat in the seat beside you her phantom 1940s clothes seemed neat and clean and her blonde hair was ribboned and looked fresh washed Anny’s hand touched the back of your chair her eyes searched about her the fingers of her other hand toyed with an empty glass on the small round table she talked in her soft voice and asked about the drink in the glass and you told her and she smiled and was fascinated by the bubbles rising around the ice cubes a couple came in and a took a seat nearby he went off to order drinks and she sat and looked at you then away again not seeing Anny sitting there Mozart music playing in the background Anny sat listening her head swaying slowly to the music she said she remembered the music her feet in black shoes swung back and forth under the chair she said at Auschwitz they played music but it made her sad to remember you took out your mobile phone and spoke into it did they play Wagner at Auschwitz? you asked she said she thought so the woman nearby looked at you wondering who you were talking to then looked away what is that? Anny asked my mobile phone you said phone? she said it’s like the telephones in telephone boxes years ago but smaller and you can go around with them in your hand Anny nodded but the woman frowned giving you a stare you sipped your coke nice and cold refreshing against heat coming through the coffee bar window Anny gazed at the woman then put out her hand and touched yours and it was cool and soft like silk as if a breeze had blown against your skin you gazed at her ribboned hair her blue eyes then she faded and was gone just the nosey woman giving you a stare not knowing your little Jewish friend had come and gone and was no longer there.

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Jul 26, 2013

Jul 26, 2013 at 2:53 AM UTC

ANNY HOROWITZ AT NERO'S COFFEE BAR.

Anny Horowitz pressed her nose against the glass window pane of Nero’s coffee bar where you sat drinking coke in ice in a glass her ghostly blue eyes peered at you a smile lingered her small hands were palm flat on the pane so that her lifeline and headline were visible where she pressed you beckoned with a nod of your head for her to come in and she came in and sat in the seat beside you her phantom 1940s clothes seemed neat and clean and her blonde hair was ribboned and looked fresh washed Anny’s hand touched the back of your chair her eyes searched about her the fingers of her other hand toyed with an empty glass on the small round table she talked in her soft voice and asked about the drink in the glass and you told her and she smiled and was fascinated by the bubbles rising around the ice cubes a couple came in and a took a seat nearby he went off to order drinks and she sat and looked at you then away again not seeing Anny sitting there Mozart music playing in the background Anny sat listening her head swaying slowly to the music she said she remembered the music her feet in black shoes swung back and forth under the chair she said at Auschwitz they played music but it made her sad to remember you took out your mobile phone and spoke into it did they play Wagner at Auschwitz? you asked she said she thought so the woman nearby looked at you wondering who you were talking to then looked away what is that? Anny asked my mobile phone you said phone? she said it’s like the telephones in telephone boxes years ago but smaller and you can go around with them in your hand Anny nodded but the woman frowned giving you a stare you sipped your coke nice and cold refreshing against heat coming through the coffee bar window Anny gazed at the woman then put out her hand and touched yours and it was cool and soft like silk as if a breeze had blown against your skin you gazed at her ribboned hair her blue eyes then she faded and was gone just the nosey woman giving you a stare not knowing your little Jewish friend had come and gone and was no longer there.

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It's the strangest thing. All my senses are alive, ablaze with ultra keenness. My brain is sweetly burned, and my eyes are on fire. I can taste the cotton candy clouds, snd the cab that I'm riding in smells of coconut and honeysuckle. Those ravens have mustaches like Poe, and those raccoons look just like Bukowski. I hear an Opera by Wagner in the wind, and my footsteps sound like the very pulse of life

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Mar 21, 2023

Mar 21, 2023 at 8:47 AM UTC

The Pulse of Life

It's the strangest thing. All my senses are alive, ablaze with ultra keenness. My brain is sweetly burned, and my eyes are on fire. I can taste the cotton candy clouds, snd the cab that I'm riding in smells of coconut and honeysuckle. Those ravens have mustaches like Poe, and those raccoons look just like Bukowski. I hear an Opera by Wagner in the wind, and my footsteps sound like the very pulse of life

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The trees are dancing A Tango May thunderstorms

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May 20, 2015

May 20, 2015 at 7:56 AM UTC

The trees are dancing A Tango May thunderstorms

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white roses and Jacob's Coat purple bearded irises and ferns dark red wax begonias scents of night jasmine French lavender antique tea roses loquat, plum, guava and lemon trees all swaying with an ocean breeze casting shadows in the setting sun memories of childhood bamboo and nipa houses coconut groves and fragrant banana witches, faeries and wok-woks a favorite white haired grandfather living off land and sea harvesting root crops and fruit fishing for viand barefoot and ******* sarongs in a private paradise miles from town bonfire festivities tuba wine and drunken salamats an open adoption a house tiled with affluence and visits back home a war's interruption people lost or found married off to life in America lumpia, pancit, beefsteak and beeco spaghetti, burgers, *** roast and pizza dinner's table set for eleven the house on Wagner street the loss of husband and son advancing age and declining health ER's and ICU's a final farewell a garden of children grand children and great grand children branches in Lala's family tree her progeny sprouting roots looking to the future

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Oct 7, 2014

Oct 7, 2014 at 9:56 PM UTC

white roses and Jacob's Coat purple bearded irises and ferns dark red wax begonias scents of night jasmine French lavender antique tea roses loquat, plum, guava and lemon trees all swaying with an ocean breeze casting shadows in the setting sun memories of childhood bamboo and nipa houses coconut groves and fragrant banana witches, faeries and wok-woks a favorite white haired grandfather living off land and sea harvesting root crops and fruit fishing for viand barefoot and ******* sarongs in a private paradise miles from town bonfire festivities tuba wine and drunken salamats an open adoption a house tiled with affluence and visits back home a war's interruption people lost or found married off to life in America lumpia, pancit, beefsteak and beeco spaghetti, burgers, *** roast and pizza dinner's table set for eleven the house on Wagner street the loss of husband and son advancing age and declining health ER's and ICU's a final farewell a garden of children grand children and great grand children branches in Lala's family tree her progeny sprouting roots looking to the future

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I am essentially not from around here My values are worthless in these parts There is no strength in ethics tying us to our lies Individually You listen to Wagner' operas And contemplate eating a bird If you silk on board with the KC Masterpiece And you can share well You can come Sneak out the back door To the kitchen For the BBQ chicken I never ate it before Not being a chicken eater But the BBQ is delicious And it's callin' my name: Jimbo! Jimbo! Can you hear it? Jimbo

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May 8, 2015

May 8, 2015 at 12:48 AM UTC

james-arthur-casey

I am essentially not from around here My values are worthless in these parts There is no strength in ethics tying us to our lies Individually You listen to Wagner' operas And contemplate eating a bird If you silk on board with the KC Masterpiece And you can share well You can come Sneak out the back door To the kitchen For the BBQ chicken I never ate it before Not being a chicken eater But the BBQ is delicious And it's callin' my name: Jimbo! Jimbo! Can you hear it? Jimbo

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Ludwig Ii A Bavarian King with no bone bad A Bavarian King introverted not mad A king who lived life by night A king who stayed out of sight The Swan king was his given name from Bavarian bloodstock he came Maximilians Death took away his youth On throne pomp splendoured and couth Peer pressure never kneel Twas Opera Ludwig did feel Robert Wagner was his one true love Ludwig fitted Wagner hand in glove A queen, A queen the Bavarians did wish Lovestruck Elsa dry eyes diminish Conformity died during Ludwigs reign His sexuality showed no shame Lake Starnberg scene of demise Mystery death ****** or boat capsize The King ,The King long live the King Life lived how he chose Ludwig ii A Bavarian King with no bone bad A Bavarian King introverted not mad A king who lived life by night A king who stayed out of sight The Swan king was his given name from Bavarian bloodstock he came Maximilians Death took away his youth On throne pomp splendoured and couth Peer pressure never kneel Twas Opera Ludwig did feel Richard Wagner was his one true love Ludwig fitted Wagner hand in glove A queen, A queen the Bavarians did wish Lovestruck Elsa dry eyes diminish Conformity died during Ludwigs reign His sexuality showed no shame Lake Starnberg scene of demise Mystery death ****** or boat capsize The King ,The King long live the King Lived life how he chose with no offspring Thank You Martyn Grindrod

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Apr 5, 2017

Apr 5, 2017 at 2:41 AM UTC

Ludwig Ii A Bavarian King with no bone bad A Bavarian King introverted not mad A king who lived life by night A king who stayed out of sight The Swan king was his given name from Bavarian bloodstock he came Maximilians Death took away his youth On throne pomp splendoured and couth Peer pressure never kneel Twas Opera Ludwig did feel Robert Wagner was his one true love Ludwig fitted Wagner hand in glove A queen, A queen the Bavarians did wish Lovestruck Elsa dry eyes diminish Conformity died during Ludwigs reign His sexuality showed no shame Lake Starnberg scene of demise Mystery death ****** or boat capsize The King ,The King long live the King Life lived how he chose Ludwig ii A Bavarian King with no bone bad A Bavarian King introverted not mad A king who lived life by night A king who stayed out of sight The Swan king was his given name from Bavarian bloodstock he came Maximilians Death took away his youth On throne pomp splendoured and couth Peer pressure never kneel Twas Opera Ludwig did feel Richard Wagner was his one true love Ludwig fitted Wagner hand in glove A queen, A queen the Bavarians did wish Lovestruck Elsa dry eyes diminish Conformity died during Ludwigs reign His sexuality showed no shame Lake Starnberg scene of demise Mystery death ****** or boat capsize The King ,The King long live the King Lived life how he chose with no offspring Thank You Martyn Grindrod

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I enjoy a good band with its Drums and fine guitars, A keyboard and a couple of singers At concerts, clubs, and bars. A mellow band with harmonizing Voices is a treat— Not a loud rambunctious one That blasts me out of my seat. An exciting band can really send me— That I will concede. But an acoustic guitar, a pleasant voice, And a song are all I need. Take me to a symphony; That can be exciting. Beethoven, Brahms, and Mozart All can be inviting. Chamber music with a string quartet Can often do the trick; A grand concerto that gives me goose bumps Has a definite kick. Big band, pop, or classical Music are fine indeed; But an acoustic guitar, a pleasant voice, And a song are all I need. Opera can be scintillating If you like the score. A giant chorus or a plaintive aria Makes your spirits soar. Mozart, Wagner, Puccini, Verdi Massenet and the rest Make me realize that I am Listening to the best. But as much as I like opera When it's up to speed, An acoustic guitar, a pleasant voice, And a song are all I need. I like music from all around The world as a rule. Both modern and traditional Sounds to me are cool. German, Japanese, Norwegian, Mexican, and Chinese Music makes me feel good; It puts my mind at ease. But as much as I like all music, One thing's guaranteed: An acoustic guitar, a pleasant voice, And a song are all I need. - by Bob B

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Oct 11, 2016

Oct 11, 2016 at 9:32 PM UTC

An Acoustic Guitar, a Voice, and a Song

I enjoy a good band with its Drums and fine guitars, A keyboard and a couple of singers At concerts, clubs, and bars. A mellow band with harmonizing Voices is a treat— Not a loud rambunctious one That blasts me out of my seat. An exciting band can really send me— That I will concede. But an acoustic guitar, a pleasant voice, And a song are all I need. Take me to a symphony; That can be exciting. Beethoven, Brahms, and Mozart All can be inviting. Chamber music with a string quartet Can often do the trick; A grand concerto that gives me goose bumps Has a definite kick. Big band, pop, or classical Music are fine indeed; But an acoustic guitar, a pleasant voice, And a song are all I need. Opera can be scintillating If you like the score. A giant chorus or a plaintive aria Makes your spirits soar. Mozart, Wagner, Puccini, Verdi Massenet and the rest Make me realize that I am Listening to the best. But as much as I like opera When it's up to speed, An acoustic guitar, a pleasant voice, And a song are all I need. I like music from all around The world as a rule. Both modern and traditional Sounds to me are cool. German, Japanese, Norwegian, Mexican, and Chinese Music makes me feel good; It puts my mind at ease. But as much as I like all music, One thing's guaranteed: An acoustic guitar, a pleasant voice, And a song are all I need. - by Bob B

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When I meet your eyes Wagner's thundering drums fill my ears in a burst; the symphonic waves wash over my whole body as I trace your skin and the strings soften into a delicate prelude, simmering in my chest as I breathe you in. It's almost unbearable, but the building sensation of the sweeping harmonies is intoxicating, all-consuming, just as the feeling of you against my skin and the warmth of you on my tongue; the vision of you from above, utterly devours my senses.

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Jun 6, 2016

Jun 6, 2016 at 8:46 AM UTC

When I meet your eyes Wagner's thundering drums fill my ears in a burst; the symphonic waves wash over my whole body as I trace your skin and the strings soften into a delicate prelude, simmering in my chest as I breathe you in. It's almost unbearable, but the building sensation of the sweeping harmonies is intoxicating, all-consuming, just as the feeling of you against my skin and the warmth of you on my tongue; the vision of you from above, utterly devours my senses.

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Sophia was out of luck if she thought Benedict was going to fall for that that mid morning **** and on old Mr Atkinson's bed (how he liked his Wagner) creeping up on him like that grabbing him around the waist and pushing him to the bed and saying O come on just a quickie for me (Polish accent not shown here) no no he said not here and now I’ve jobs to do baths to attend to old men to get ready and she lay over him spread out on him her bulging ******* kind of pinning him down but it is my birthday she said it is good to do the unexpected now and then her breath smelt of peppermint her body eased on him deeper he kept his hands away from her at his sides best he could all temptations held in check you can do what you like she said good then let me go and I’ll go run some baths he said anyway it's near morning coffee break I need my fill of coffee you could take me here she said from the front or rear no no he said trying to get off the bed his hands attempting to push her off touching her body soft and supple her breast touched accidentally what if I scream out and say you tried to have me? she said go ahead he said they know me they know you're always after me I’ll say you tried to have me here on Mr Atkinson's bed they believe me she said I'm the female go ahead then scream off your head he said but she moved off of him and arranged her clothes tidily pushed her hair into shape and said I’ll have you next time Benny boy next time we have it quick and on some other bed and he rearranged his shirt and tie and watched as she walked off down the passageway her fine behind giving it that **** sway.

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Jan 7, 2014

Jan 7, 2014 at 1:38 AM UTC

Sophia was out of luck if she thought Benedict was going to fall for that that mid morning **** and on old Mr Atkinson's bed (how he liked his Wagner) creeping up on him like that grabbing him around the waist and pushing him to the bed and saying O come on just a quickie for me (Polish accent not shown here) no no he said not here and now I’ve jobs to do baths to attend to old men to get ready and she lay over him spread out on him her bulging ******* kind of pinning him down but it is my birthday she said it is good to do the unexpected now and then her breath smelt of peppermint her body eased on him deeper he kept his hands away from her at his sides best he could all temptations held in check you can do what you like she said good then let me go and I’ll go run some baths he said anyway it's near morning coffee break I need my fill of coffee you could take me here she said from the front or rear no no he said trying to get off the bed his hands attempting to push her off touching her body soft and supple her breast touched accidentally what if I scream out and say you tried to have me? she said go ahead he said they know me they know you're always after me I’ll say you tried to have me here on Mr Atkinson's bed they believe me she said I'm the female go ahead then scream off your head he said but she moved off of him and arranged her clothes tidily pushed her hair into shape and said I’ll have you next time Benny boy next time we have it quick and on some other bed and he rearranged his shirt and tie and watched as she walked off down the passageway her fine behind giving it that **** sway.

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death, apparent, or... apparently so... was never a concern to concern oneself with the debate between a man, and a god.... i,e.? funny... the little **** sleeps like a baby... little **** a maine **** cat, male, extracted testicles... falls asleep listening to the dead can dance... only album favorite.... my cat favored to fall asleep in half the time it took to listen to the track... you can state your Apocalypse Now! counter in half the time... beginning with.... now! i'm done begging, i'm imploring you... added minutes?! michele campanella... WAGNER's walhall from, das rheingold... such esteemed people! such awaiting people! such... nuanced... of what could be claimed as... people... what wonder! what ignominious ingenuity of retraction! to, have, fathomed! the last of what ia esteemed to be deemed, the, *least"... finest upon the finest, and, supposedly, no more, that a utility of a hammer, for whatever came the observation, to make comprehension of... the noun: nail, and the adverb... nailing it... with the verb and noun of final utility of: hammer... dear... prospect... of whatever was inclined by your stressed ingenuity of fault... how have you.... my... oh my... your creation wss supposed to be more stupid than the people you already deemed stupider, and already demanded yourself to, despise? and your intelligent "creation"... wasn't supposed to notice this, discrepancy? now ensure you retell this narrative... 'mother...' 'yes, David...' 'play me... the raconteurs' old enough.' mother knows, best.

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Oct 3, 2018

Oct 3, 2018 at 9:36 PM UTC

removed.polaroid-scrabble

make my time: yulunga

death, apparent, or... apparently so... was never a concern to concern oneself with the debate between a man, and a god.... i,e.? funny... the little **** sleeps like a baby... little **** a maine **** cat, male, extracted testicles... falls asleep listening to the dead can dance... only album favorite.... my cat favored to fall asleep in half the time it took to listen to the track... you can state your Apocalypse Now! counter in half the time... beginning with.... now! i'm done begging, i'm imploring you... added minutes?! michele campanella... WAGNER's walhall from, das rheingold... such esteemed people! such awaiting people! such... nuanced... of what could be claimed as... people... what wonder! what ignominious ingenuity of retraction! to, have, fathomed! the last of what ia esteemed to be deemed, the, *least"... finest upon the finest, and, supposedly, no more, that a utility of a hammer, for whatever came the observation, to make comprehension of... the noun: nail, and the adverb... nailing it... with the verb and noun of final utility of: hammer... dear... prospect... of whatever was inclined by your stressed ingenuity of fault... how have you.... my... oh my... your creation wss supposed to be more stupid than the people you already deemed stupider, and already demanded yourself to, despise? and your intelligent "creation"... wasn't supposed to notice this, discrepancy? now ensure you retell this narrative... 'mother...' 'yes, David...' 'play me... the raconteurs' old enough.' mother knows, best.

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what you know is flash cards and laptop screens and college applications. what you know is who’s sleeping with who and who wants to sleep with you and what you know is how to live through independent films or how to fake an ****** or how to talk trash about the people you (quote) love (endquote). you don’t know about the starving man under the bridge who can talk for hours about richard wagner, or how the girl who sells her art on the street has a boyfriend who beats her then makes her shade his drawings. you don’t know about the abandoned building bursting with sharpied revelations across its walls or that when the sun sets over the green line it’s almost like the tracks disappear and you’re left to glide over hollywood dreams well past their expiration date. you don’t know this place. you don’t know. keep your ******** wanderlust away from my skyline.

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Jun 27, 2013

Jun 27, 2013 at 10:25 PM UTC

samuel-auden-moore

you don't know this place.

what you know is flash cards and laptop screens and college applications. what you know is who’s sleeping with who and who wants to sleep with you and what you know is how to live through independent films or how to fake an ****** or how to talk trash about the people you (quote) love (endquote). you don’t know about the starving man under the bridge who can talk for hours about richard wagner, or how the girl who sells her art on the street has a boyfriend who beats her then makes her shade his drawings. you don’t know about the abandoned building bursting with sharpied revelations across its walls or that when the sun sets over the green line it’s almost like the tracks disappear and you’re left to glide over hollywood dreams well past their expiration date. you don’t know this place. you don’t know. keep your ******** wanderlust away from my skyline.

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I take my knowledge from architects, medieval painters and galore. I walk along the stretch of times, Read the Canterbury Tales from folks of yore. I've written literature in my own dialect, through the beautiful English language. I find awe in the act of creation, new etymologies where old writers anguished. My words: symphonies of the beloved and dead Beethoven; like the arias of Wagner. I am the high priest, the new catholicicist propogandising as your Cardinal. I am the spiritual technology, provided to the ailment of what we call society. I am the new Ghandi, the Dalai Lama deservedly inspiring your piety. I am the Luciferous angel of life, breathing heaven through the cesspool of Earth. I am the post-modern Romeo and Juliet, Warhol's 15 minutes of fame and worth. I am the Alexander Mcqueen, the metaphilosopher of fabric illusions. I am the lyricist of society, speaking through the castrated eunychs. I am Stephanie Myer, inspiration of vampiric genius to adolescent impressionables. I am Jane Austen, author of new age thrillers such as The Secret and Lesbian Misérables I am the eclipsing of twilight, the post-mortem autopsy of a rotting cadaver. I am Heath Ledger and Michael Jackson, legends inspiring a race of sleeping pill grabbers. I am the Blockbuster, the Titanic Avatar, $4.9 Billion to children in poverty. I am Gangnam Style, 2.5 Billion viewers of the Palestinian Bombings. I am modern philosophe, the birth giver of Socrates, Plato, Nietzsche, Derrida. I am Steve Jobs, terrible father, tyrant and billionaire technological reliever. I am God, the predeccesor and successor of all eternal life. I am Satan, damnation and strife. I am Tupac, rapper of gangster warfare. Inspirational to first world degenerates. I am Oprah, most powerful black woman with white hillbilly aesthetics of Ellen Degeneres. Thank you, to world's only true Genius. Hail Kanye West, our one and only revered Yeezus.

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May 25, 2016

May 25, 2016 at 4:18 AM UTC

I am the next Shakespeare, inspired by Kanye West.

I take my knowledge from architects, medieval painters and galore. I walk along the stretch of times, Read the Canterbury Tales from folks of yore. I've written literature in my own dialect, through the beautiful English language. I find awe in the act of creation, new etymologies where old writers anguished. My words: symphonies of the beloved and dead Beethoven; like the arias of Wagner. I am the high priest, the new catholicicist propogandising as your Cardinal. I am the spiritual technology, provided to the ailment of what we call society. I am the new Ghandi, the Dalai Lama deservedly inspiring your piety. I am the Luciferous angel of life, breathing heaven through the cesspool of Earth. I am the post-modern Romeo and Juliet, Warhol's 15 minutes of fame and worth. I am the Alexander Mcqueen, the metaphilosopher of fabric illusions. I am the lyricist of society, speaking through the castrated eunychs. I am Stephanie Myer, inspiration of vampiric genius to adolescent impressionables. I am Jane Austen, author of new age thrillers such as The Secret and Lesbian Misérables I am the eclipsing of twilight, the post-mortem autopsy of a rotting cadaver. I am Heath Ledger and Michael Jackson, legends inspiring a race of sleeping pill grabbers. I am the Blockbuster, the Titanic Avatar, $4.9 Billion to children in poverty. I am Gangnam Style, 2.5 Billion viewers of the Palestinian Bombings. I am modern philosophe, the birth giver of Socrates, Plato, Nietzsche, Derrida. I am Steve Jobs, terrible father, tyrant and billionaire technological reliever. I am God, the predeccesor and successor of all eternal life. I am Satan, damnation and strife. I am Tupac, rapper of gangster warfare. Inspirational to first world degenerates. I am Oprah, most powerful black woman with white hillbilly aesthetics of Ellen Degeneres. Thank you, to world's only true Genius. Hail Kanye West, our one and only revered Yeezus.

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I have not yet climbed to the summit, But I know the weight of the pack Shifting from hip to hip, focusing On one step, then another, then Another. Counting them off In tens, leaning into the exhale, And knowing my lungs Will respond in kind. Even if every part of my body aches And the peak stays out of reach, I am cognizant of the tiniest line Of pink on the distant horizon, And the slow, slow graduation Of light. My chest flutters, my heart Too big for my body now because up Here, up here, it feels like as close To heaven as I could be. Even now The mountaineering atheists trail behind, Lost in their sad short-sightedness That this could be anything less than divine. Oh you, daybreak on mountain peak, How could I do anything now Except trust the unfolding of things? Libby Wagner Copyright 2013. All rights reserved.

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Oct 13, 2013

Oct 13, 2013 at 7:55 AM UTC

I have not yet climbed to the summit, But I know the weight of the pack Shifting from hip to hip, focusing On one step, then another, then Another. Counting them off In tens, leaning into the exhale, And knowing my lungs Will respond in kind. Even if every part of my body aches And the peak stays out of reach, I am cognizant of the tiniest line Of pink on the distant horizon, And the slow, slow graduation Of light. My chest flutters, my heart Too big for my body now because up Here, up here, it feels like as close To heaven as I could be. Even now The mountaineering atheists trail behind, Lost in their sad short-sightedness That this could be anything less than divine. Oh you, daybreak on mountain peak, How could I do anything now Except trust the unfolding of things? Libby Wagner Copyright 2013. All rights reserved.

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I remember sitting around the tracks with my comrades. We were in rolling fields of clover back then. The doves that flew above us had no clue about our firepower. We had .50 cals and we picked our teeth with splintered bone fragments. To think we even had the time to smoke and joke about our ridiculous nicknames brings a smile to my weathered-fface. Moose was toothless, lost them to some drunk civilians in a bar fight. Wagner, the skinny one, always cracked me up. I miss McMinn's toothy-grin and the way French always wanted out, constantly feighning his gayness. Radosavich loved his rock and roll and Flint sparkled from his hole carved into the hillside. Moore had chicks galore and McLemore got his divorce papers by airmail. He went eerily silent while Top barked ******** for us to do. The Man was clueless, but we protected his *** anyways. We had bills to pay. I really miss those ********* They were the best friends that ever were.

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Mar 24, 2015

Mar 24, 2015 at 4:21 PM UTC

I Really Miss Those *********

I remember sitting around the tracks with my comrades. We were in rolling fields of clover back then. The doves that flew above us had no clue about our firepower. We had .50 cals and we picked our teeth with splintered bone fragments. To think we even had the time to smoke and joke about our ridiculous nicknames brings a smile to my weathered-fface. Moose was toothless, lost them to some drunk civilians in a bar fight. Wagner, the skinny one, always cracked me up. I miss McMinn's toothy-grin and the way French always wanted out, constantly feighning his gayness. Radosavich loved his rock and roll and Flint sparkled from his hole carved into the hillside. Moore had chicks galore and McLemore got his divorce papers by airmail. He went eerily silent while Top barked ******** for us to do. The Man was clueless, but we protected his *** anyways. We had bills to pay. I really miss those ********* They were the best friends that ever were.

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You'd think Blake, Bosch & Emanuel Swedenborg read Pythagoras in the original & walked with Christ & Newton; E. A. Poe, the Horror-Poet; influencing the Decadence of Baudelaire, Wilde & Rimbaud; Pinkham Ryder's influence on Symbolism & Surrealism led, oddly, to 20th century pop culture depictions of Victorian monsters; Frankenstein was the product of the English Romantics; German Romanticism to Sturm & Drang led to Expressionism. Beardsley [dead at 25], Gustave Moreau, Van Gogh, Gauguin, Egon Schiele [dead at 28]; ||| - -| Klimt, Freud, Jung: Judaism; Id, Superego, Ego, Shadow, Anima & Animus, collective psyche, Nietzsche's Superman, eternal recurrence & will to power; Wagner's Ring Cycle...

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Jan 18, 2019

Jan 18, 2019 at 1:56 PM UTC

Victorian Monsters of Pop Culture

You'd think Blake, Bosch & Emanuel Swedenborg read Pythagoras in the original & walked with Christ & Newton; E. A. Poe, the Horror-Poet; influencing the Decadence of Baudelaire, Wilde & Rimbaud; Pinkham Ryder's influence on Symbolism & Surrealism led, oddly, to 20th century pop culture depictions of Victorian monsters; Frankenstein was the product of the English Romantics; German Romanticism to Sturm & Drang led to Expressionism. Beardsley [dead at 25], Gustave Moreau, Van Gogh, Gauguin, Egon Schiele [dead at 28]; ||| - -| Klimt, Freud, Jung: Judaism; Id, Superego, Ego, Shadow, Anima & Animus, collective psyche, Nietzsche's Superman, eternal recurrence & will to power; Wagner's Ring Cycle...

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My red haired lady was reading a book when my eyes with love did upon her look, She was lyrically wrapped in her world as I walked to the counter for my tongue to unfurl, She politely asked what it was that I wanted at the cinema to watch but my words spilled and on the counter left an inky blotch, I finally asked her what it was that she was reading and she smiled shyly and said "Richard Wagner is what I'm studying", She was intrigued one such as I knew so well Parsifal and so there it was our first meeting so quaint and graceful, I to the cinema would then often trek just so that I could with her gently chat, This was the beginning of our trust and friendship but something happened and she is now in silence gripped. ©Rangzeb Hussain

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Apr 14, 2010

Apr 14, 2010 at 12:52 PM UTC

rangzeb-hussain

My red haired lady was reading a book when my eyes with love did upon her look, She was lyrically wrapped in her world as I walked to the counter for my tongue to unfurl, She politely asked what it was that I wanted at the cinema to watch but my words spilled and on the counter left an inky blotch, I finally asked her what it was that she was reading and she smiled shyly and said "Richard Wagner is what I'm studying", She was intrigued one such as I knew so well Parsifal and so there it was our first meeting so quaint and graceful, I to the cinema would then often trek just so that I could with her gently chat, This was the beginning of our trust and friendship but something happened and she is now in silence gripped. ©Rangzeb Hussain

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Running rings around thirteen hours of opera I sit spell-bound absorbing the angry music Suppressing an urge to re-conquer Poland Music a direct expression of world’s essence **** passion means Israel is Wagner-free Tristan and Isolde unplayed before Ludwig Love and death and passion for Mathlde Eros and Thanathos that predate Freud Arthurian love story interrupted by Minna Overwhelming influence frustrates his peers Worried that his brilliance is simply anger That guarantees you feel undead tonight.

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Nov 25, 2012

Nov 25, 2012 at 9:27 AM UTC

Running rings around thirteen hours of opera I sit spell-bound absorbing the angry music Suppressing an urge to re-conquer Poland Music a direct expression of world’s essence **** passion means Israel is Wagner-free Tristan and Isolde unplayed before Ludwig Love and death and passion for Mathlde Eros and Thanathos that predate Freud Arthurian love story interrupted by Minna Overwhelming influence frustrates his peers Worried that his brilliance is simply anger That guarantees you feel undead tonight.

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"She...she. . . loves me! He says it just - like that! As if he had practiced it and had got it - down pat! Or as if he were saying: "Pass the coffee *** Or as if... ...I didn't! I watch him distorted in the coffee pat a short stout man a little man with a long face. I want to laugh but I have lost my laughter. "My...sister! My...twin!...The ***** "Go!" I tell him "...just: go!" He: went. She felt like an android or replicant rather.. She thought of her self now in the( "Absurd!" )3rd person singular as if she had fallen out of her self. He: gone. All those moments lost in time making love to Wagner's Tannhäuser ( screaming the house down ) always his laughter her music stars dancing over the Bridge of Sighs. A Santa incredulously in a gondola singing Santa Lucia. "So... me d'oh!" she hummed. This the little song of her self. "So mi doh!" trying to keep its head above the floodwaters of belief. Bladerunner rewound 99 times to that END. All those moments ...lost in time like( cough)tears in a glass of red wine.

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May 16, 2015

May 16, 2015 at 3:31 PM UTC

A GLASS OF RED WINE

"She...she. . . loves me! He says it just - like that! As if he had practiced it and had got it - down pat! Or as if he were saying: "Pass the coffee *** Or as if... ...I didn't! I watch him distorted in the coffee pat a short stout man a little man with a long face. I want to laugh but I have lost my laughter. "My...sister! My...twin!...The ***** "Go!" I tell him "...just: go!" He: went. She felt like an android or replicant rather.. She thought of her self now in the( "Absurd!" )3rd person singular as if she had fallen out of her self. He: gone. All those moments lost in time making love to Wagner's Tannhäuser ( screaming the house down ) always his laughter her music stars dancing over the Bridge of Sighs. A Santa incredulously in a gondola singing Santa Lucia. "So... me d'oh!" she hummed. This the little song of her self. "So mi doh!" trying to keep its head above the floodwaters of belief. Bladerunner rewound 99 times to that END. All those moments ...lost in time like( cough)tears in a glass of red wine.

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Wisdom or Wit Part I If you came here my friends, sincerely hoping to find, glimmering words of wisdom, oozing from my mind, you are in more trouble, more trouble that you think, for living by my perilous thoughts, will land you in the clink, Not even smarter than the average bear, there is way to much clatter, constantly on a no-cal diet, but still my *** gets fatter, working so hard, watching my money, no, it's not a joke, working to hard, it's not really funny, and wah-lah, again I'm broke, I try singing Valkyrie, Wagner blows his mind, now I'm playing Watchtower, and Hendrix tries to find, a deeper place to hide his ears, a place I cannot reach, While Ole Blue Eyes, clears his throat, choking on a peach Gomer LePoet...

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Mar 11, 2010

Mar 11, 2010 at 5:27 PM UTC

Wisdom or Wit Part I

Wisdom or Wit Part I If you came here my friends, sincerely hoping to find, glimmering words of wisdom, oozing from my mind, you are in more trouble, more trouble that you think, for living by my perilous thoughts, will land you in the clink, Not even smarter than the average bear, there is way to much clatter, constantly on a no-cal diet, but still my *** gets fatter, working so hard, watching my money, no, it's not a joke, working to hard, it's not really funny, and wah-lah, again I'm broke, I try singing Valkyrie, Wagner blows his mind, now I'm playing Watchtower, and Hendrix tries to find, a deeper place to hide his ears, a place I cannot reach, While Ole Blue Eyes, clears his throat, choking on a peach Gomer LePoet...

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Race 2 Same old **** going down Graves of men now silent Nowt much happening here Just dead bodies buried After being riddled blasted Russians killed by Ukrainians Prisoners mostly of Wagner Sentences cut lives now cut Politicians bathe in blood They had quite a run Still race in Part 2 Race 1 was a loss No victory only death Plus injuries and ruin Battlefield injuries extreme It's fine there's time So much time here Satan has all the time In the world Wait and see

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May 7, 2023

May 7, 2023 at 10:35 PM UTC

Race 2 Same old **** going down Graves of men now silent Nowt much happening here Just dead bodies buried After being riddled blasted Russians killed by Ukrainians Prisoners mostly of Wagner Sentences cut lives now cut Politicians bathe in blood They had quite a run Still race in Part 2 Race 1 was a loss No victory only death Plus injuries and ruin Battlefield injuries extreme It's fine there's time So much time here Satan has all the time In the world Wait and see

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"I am your silence, your violence, and your every dream. That in this drawing hour, it would seem, I am your failing scream, echoed far beyond the concrete pace that be-stills your thought... Where it would seem, I am -in fact, your dream! Where we may over the world rain like light poles imploring, in forms of nothingness, the world to dust... While so vividly blooming onto the infinite strokes of the universe... Our every verse, ever so sublime!" Sep 30, 2013 "Your absence takes over, and my silence... My violence, and your pacing dream! The world spins still unto the hollow vaults of your bedded crusts, and you still splendour for on your wine! The day passes ever still; ever so bleak, stale, and fine!" Oct 7th 2013 "In this -the universe, abstract silence, that is our vengeance, wrath, and kindness... We abstain.. The pacing stops, where the ends of the world collide! In you, I confide." Mar 5th, 2014 "I am your endless expanse; the boundless void of rampage and timeless tune... Wagner's immortal rage... Bach's rebellion... and the vacuum spirit of our delusion.. and disillusion. I am the silence that resounds through the bleak folds of your existence, and mine; the conclusion." Jul 1st, 2014

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Jan 25, 2016

Jan 25, 2016 at 10:01 AM UTC

Of Silence & Void - Letters to a friend

"I am your silence, your violence, and your every dream. That in this drawing hour, it would seem, I am your failing scream, echoed far beyond the concrete pace that be-stills your thought... Where it would seem, I am -in fact, your dream! Where we may over the world rain like light poles imploring, in forms of nothingness, the world to dust... While so vividly blooming onto the infinite strokes of the universe... Our every verse, ever so sublime!" Sep 30, 2013 "Your absence takes over, and my silence... My violence, and your pacing dream! The world spins still unto the hollow vaults of your bedded crusts, and you still splendour for on your wine! The day passes ever still; ever so bleak, stale, and fine!" Oct 7th 2013 "In this -the universe, abstract silence, that is our vengeance, wrath, and kindness... We abstain.. The pacing stops, where the ends of the world collide! In you, I confide." Mar 5th, 2014 "I am your endless expanse; the boundless void of rampage and timeless tune... Wagner's immortal rage... Bach's rebellion... and the vacuum spirit of our delusion.. and disillusion. I am the silence that resounds through the bleak folds of your existence, and mine; the conclusion." Jul 1st, 2014

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There is an eternal winter that lingers around my heart. It beckons with icy music, gray clouds, and marches by Wagner. Vultures, like ghastly puppets picking at my brain. I drive it away with sunflowers and walleyes, fish fries and the gathering together of friends and saints, old soldiers that beat the odds, and the neutered con game. Leonard Cohen overcame, and so did I. Life was playing chess, While I was playing checkers. Well, baby, it's checkmate. I didn't need lucky bamboo or a four-leaf clover, I needed to use the wisdom that God gave me. I made some changes in my actions. When I behaved differently, I found serenity and a Winnie the Pooh and Piglet sort of happiness. I was drowning, so I grew gills and swam away to a river that flowed through the Million Acre Woods, and now when I am on land, I waltz down Love Street.

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Aug 8, 2024

Aug 8, 2024 at 7:52 PM UTC

Waltzing Down Love Street

There is an eternal winter that lingers around my heart. It beckons with icy music, gray clouds, and marches by Wagner. Vultures, like ghastly puppets picking at my brain. I drive it away with sunflowers and walleyes, fish fries and the gathering together of friends and saints, old soldiers that beat the odds, and the neutered con game. Leonard Cohen overcame, and so did I. Life was playing chess, While I was playing checkers. Well, baby, it's checkmate. I didn't need lucky bamboo or a four-leaf clover, I needed to use the wisdom that God gave me. I made some changes in my actions. When I behaved differently, I found serenity and a Winnie the Pooh and Piglet sort of happiness. I was drowning, so I grew gills and swam away to a river that flowed through the Million Acre Woods, and now when I am on land, I waltz down Love Street.

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