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POETRY - Can you write a Poem?

I could dare you, but do I really need to boo?
You're gonna do just what you always do
You're going to shake that bleeding cut to a clot
You'll shout to all your fans with everything you've got

Ain't these some peaches, huh?
They smell like peaches, uh!
Mine smell like pee, uh-pee, uh-pee, uh-peaches, uh!

If the end comes faster than we had expected
And predictions lead us to the final fall
If the flowers crack the concrete, weaving patterns in the pavement
I can hear you shouting over it all

Mine smell like peaches, uh!
Mine smell like peaches, uh!
Mine smell like pee, uh-pee, uh-pee, pee-pee-peaches, uh!

Dig a hole, dig it deeper and deeper!
Climb a mountain, climb it steeper and steeper!
Flick a BIC, yelling Free Bird! Free Bird!
And track a trail of peaches through it all

Track a trail of peaches through it all
 
Hey Jude,
Na na na
na-a na na

Hey, Jude

As Sir Paul brings the Opening Ceremonies to a "beginning".
 
I love sir Paul! A brilliant man...Band On The Run still gives me goosy bumps just after the overture going into that acoustic cantata he weaves so preciously... dang it, now I'm gettin all teary eyed--give me a moment to blow my nose and wipe the fog off my glasses... there, now where was I? oh yeah....

I'm dedicating this Ian Anderson classic to my baby brother--he nearly crashed his bike early this morning on a patch of loose gravel just before sunrise. I worry about him all the time...these damned kids now-a days, and all their...their motorcycles


The old Rocker wore his hair too long, wore his trouser cuffs too tight.
Unfashionable to the end --- drank his ale too light.
Death's head belt buckle --- yesterday's dreams --- the transport caf' prophet of doom.
Ringing no change in his double-sewn seams in his post-war-babe gloom.

Now he's too old to Rock'n'Roll but he's too young to die.

He once owned a Harley Davidson and a Triumph Bonneville.
Counted his friends in burned-out spark plugs and prays that he always will.
But he's the last of the blue blood greaser boys--all of his mates are doing time:
married with three kids up by the ring road, sold their souls straight down the line.
And some of them own little sports cars and meet at the tennis club dues.
For drinks on a Sunday --- work on Monday.
They've thrown away their blue suede shoes.

Now they're too old to Rock'n'Roll and they're too young to die.

So the old Rocker gets out his bike to make a time before he takes his leave.
Up on the A1 by Scotch Corner just like it used to be.
And as he flies --- tears in his eyes --- his wind-whipped words echo the final take
Then he hits the trunk road doing around 120 --- with no room left to brake.

And he was too old to Rock'n'Roll but he was too young to die.




No, you're never too old to Rock'n'Roll if you're too young to die.
 
I ain't never been with a man long enough for my boots to get old
We've been together so long now they both need resoled
If I ever settle down you'd be my kind but it's a good time for me to head on down the line

I'm the kinda man who likes to get away --- I like to start dreamin' about tomorrow today
Never said that I loved you --- even though it's so
Where's that duffel bag of mine I think it's time to go

I'm gonna be leavin' at the break of dawn---wish you could come but I don't need no lover taggin' along
So I'll sneak out that door---couldn't stand to see you cry
I'd stay another year if I saw a tear drop in your eye

I never had a damn thing but what I had I had to leave it behind
You're the hardest thing I ever tried to get off my mind
Always something greener on the other side of that hill
I was born a loner with a boner and I still ain't got my fill
 
There’s a funny kind of sadness that’s comforting, but odd.
And a silly sort of happiness where I know I’m just a fraud.
There’re tears that signal victory, and laughter that means doom;
Cleansing that contaminates and clutter that makes room.
There’s tenderness in bitterness and emptiness in love,
There’s violence in a tender stroke and mercy in a shove.
A river wrapped around the world can show you what it’s like,
To be at one with peace and hate, with ecstasy and strife.
And if I could raft around that bend, I’d know just what to do.
I’d stretch my hand out to the shore and say: “I love you too.”
 
i wrote this one today


Dead or alive
I’ll continue to thrive
Give me a gun
I’ll go on the run

It is the process of my mechanics,
The joy of how I panic,
Happens when I play with fire,
Keeps me from going haywire

If only I were a firewalker,
Than maybe I’d be stalker,
Like a creature of the night,
I can win each and every fight,

Yet the flames rise high,
My fears, they’ll never die,
The pressure over-rides,
But I’ll never switch tides,

I’ll stand and I’ll wait,
Strategize and participate,
Fight in the bloodbath,
And pray for him to open the path.
 
Good show Rafie...

A bit more upbeat, hidden in the rhyme I get a feeling someone is doing a less frilled assessment

of themselves and accepting some self truths...discovering they too have a yin and a yang side.

Malkie, interesting. images are well presented. With only 3 posts to reference I have insufficient data

as to the inner author. Good show guys, Chezkaquez Coyote will be along directly, he is a much

more 'in tune' reviewer/aficionado.

Malkie, spread a bit...post a bit, most of us don't bite.
 
Our Prancing Pony,
Is no Phony,
Pondering your Palavers
and Presenting your Posts with Praise.

I am afeared, though,
(say it ain't so!)
That upon my humble frame,
He doth heap too much fame.

I am a poor muse
Who occasionally provides reviews
Nay, Reflections be more apt.

For who can critique
the soul mystique?
Whose outpourings hold us rapt?

Malkovich,
Here's the Hitch -
(Oh, life CAN be a bitch ;) )

But in this time,
And as regards your rhyme,
There are no contradictions.

For every line
Did well Chime
of FACT - aye, NON-Fiction.

And the River of Life,
(Sometimes a rapids of strife)
May bump and bustle us along,

But in the end,
Like an old friend,
It brings us to the throng.

Your words strike a chord,
Just when you need a ford,
And your step did not go wrong.

Drugstore Cowboy
My Caballero friend,
Your journey did wend
around this, that, and the other bend,

And in a Blaze of Glory,
We'll find your whole Story,
Be it filled with Guts all Gory.

It is a tale told bold,
Our attention it did hold,
As off your tongue it rolled.

I hope I have done you both
the gratitude you deserve
for the words you wrought
that filled us with verve.
:=D:
 
Sorry boys,

Sometimes Chezkaquez is succinct.
Other times he can be a bit flowery


Then there are those different days
and his own private moon hits a phase
the words he speaks a light purple haze
his eyes start to gliitter and pick up a glaze
Thats when his very thoughts will amaze
and he spews forth with his praise.

Like he did today, like he did today.
[psst....i think donnie liked ya work]
 
Hey,
I had to REALLY stretch the old grey cells to come up with so many stanzas of lyrical likings.

I had a lonnnnnnggggggg day at work, ya know?!

Butt, after the build up you gave me,
I had to try.

269623_511943572152576_1185478396_n.jpg
 
Thanks guys i really like your compliments. it really gives me the motivation to write more.

plus Don Quixote, i really love how you say everything in poetic rhymes. it's as if Dr. Seuss is talking to me.
 
I thought id write a sonnet :D

These hopeless storms on horizons lie
Split day into night and place you in my dreams
When in shapeless clouds a face belies
That something from nothing is not what it seems

I hold your name in such esteemed regard
Yet to only the wind I trust this shame
Forgetting this moment has become too hard
Swept off in a current by some odd, cruel game

On the shores of a memory here I reside
When that which is seen is my own desire
From me in this moment you cannot hide
For what it is worth, my crumbling empire

I stare at the rain with my back on the ground
Trip over me and its love you have found.
 
Ronove,
Your sonnet speaks quite eloquently
As love, desire, and angst conspire
to wrench your gut or build your pyre,
But in the end, to set you free.

Drugstore Cowboy,
I try, when possible,
Not to be coy,
Or with people's emotions to toy.

I try to adhere to the rules
of iambic pentameter
as taught in the schools.

That seems to be only fair
Given the thread for which we care.
 
Why the phuck

Did Rafie stroke this schmuck

Now he thinks he has to rhyme

Each and every G-damned time

and worse the luck

he's impossible to duck


So all I'm gonna really say
We still loves him anyway
let him come and let him play
he seldom lasts the whole day
 
Leftykins, you old cuss,
You like to piss 'n moan 'n fuss,
BUTT you wouldn't have it any other way,
Than to play with rhyme this or that away.

I see by my list of buddies tonight
That a formerly frequent contributor is in sight.

Hey, Gus, my bud, my bosom friend,
Can you find some time from your schedule to wrend
For a bud who wonders how life's treating you these days,
and if he can help in any kind of ways?
 
Dear Lady, you're eternal, and angels never lie.
But lately, I'm nocturnal, and the sea will never die.
Bashful, but still brilliant, how I never doubted you.
Wrathful, yet resilient, in the power that you drew.

Enraptured with the chapter that spoke about our love,
And captured by the rapture that cloaked a violent shove.
I caught you gazing to the shore, and something was amiss.
I lost you waiting for the roar, and that something was abyss.

Dear Lady, take your time, but take it while I'm sane.
Take away this cold sunshine, and let me feel your rain.
Dear Lady, take my beauty, and tear away the shame.
Take away my love for you, but let me feel my pain.

Dear Lady, you're a lantern, but I'll never leave the sea.
Dear Lady, you're no answer, when I'm adrift and free.
Such a temperamental sense that will alight my final plea:
To see the sentimental sentinel that lives inside of me.
 
Malkovich,
A powerful rhyme
that will take me some time
the full intense emotion to divine.

Thanks for sharing a window to your soul with us.
 
haha i read some of these and the poetic discourse going on here is priceless. I wonder if the intellectuals of old only penned each other in verse? I think I want to practice sonnet form more. ABAB is always so hard for me cause I naturally write in couplets.

In those mirrored pools that I called your eyes
In time between time its where you I find
These dreams are the currency a feeling buys
My heart to the world is utterly blind

Its you I see when I think of a time
When many the thoughts of you cloud my mind
The beating of my heart a desperate chime
These ripples forever that course through my spine

To you I had sworn a most sacred pact
Austere sleep that tears me from reality
Through passion, mercy and forgiveness I lack
Seperation the only eventuality

Let the fire in my heart always burn true
If only in dreams I may lay with you




That took forever! My writing is always so narratively mellifluous I need to work on the short, sweet eloquent bits. Perhaps what I need is a little thematic, poetic, romantic discourse.
 
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