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Post by bear on Mar 28, 2021 6:54:05 GMT -7
What kind of a dink posts the full text of Beowulf
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Post by bear on Mar 28, 2021 7:01:10 GMT -7
I AM JACK'S LONDON
The thunder stirs my soul
Reminding me how small we are
A foghorn in the distance
Spirits all around us
Making us whole
The wild calls out to me
Reminding me I am a part of it
We belong with the water and lightning
Trembling like a spring bloom
Holding on above the swollen banks of a raging snow melt
Cascading downhill faster than God can once again punch civilization in the face with endless unforeseeable might
I dreamed of the purple finch
Building their nest on a low branch
One in menagerie
Driven by their own will and unphased by the walls of the hurricane that push over you
Leaving the eye all the while standing still
Feet firmly planted as the torrential change blasphemes the infrastructure
Driving down the street like a lunatic licking every window and lamppost
The wild calls out to me
Like a wounded elk
Defending, braying, limping towards oblivion
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Post by bear on Sept 3, 2021 10:25:28 GMT -7
AROUND THE BROOKLYN-QUEENS EXPRESSWAY ON THE EVE OF RENOVATIONS
The atmosphere holds a positive charge,
a pejorative change to Susan Constant
roar of the cars down the causeway
in and out of lanes as the rain drains down to the subway.
The cantilever promenade goes grey
and red fades to last place
beneath a cascade of conflicted hues
pulled like the other shades.
The upgrade is not high on hot button first rights because the mayor's priorities are on another page.
The best laid plans resting at Jimmy Hoffa's feet,
new pimps of extortion time,
tearing up rickets,
rutabaga, rhubarbs, and rubella Donna
dementia, dysentery
a detective in a cage on antibiotics.
The streetlight blinks above and casts its mildew precipitation
on rats and roaches alike
the stench of neon burns my face and eyes
flickering pizza crusts under yellow number five.
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Post by deadphishbiscuits on Sept 3, 2021 10:51:52 GMT -7
The classic
Hear I sit
Broken hearted
Came to shit
But only farted
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Post by bear on Sept 11, 2023 2:20:40 GMT -7
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Post by Filo on Sept 11, 2023 17:05:13 GMT -7
To be thine own road….
Traveling fast-a-foot towards destinations
Seen in the Great Beauty of Deep Sleep…
Or lack there of.
To be thine own road….
Stretching across low valleys
Soaring peaks and with the brevity of the
Sun tending to the day
Restlessly awaiting for Great Night to arrive.
To be thine own road
To never look back
To always move forward
To welcome those who followed
To wish well those who diverged.
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Post by dbg465285 on Sept 16, 2023 12:02:34 GMT -7
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