Toe Poetry

[austintorn@aol.com]

Other kind of fusion:

[Meem]

From what flame has this life spark?
And from what sky does this cosmic wind blow?
Is the hand of fate holding the key to the cage,
or is it destiny's doing?

From what shadow has sprung this light in the dark?
To what does the thunder bellow?
Is there an eye to which the stars shine,
or is there an eye which shines to the stars?

For what end, stories told,
are wise men shewing?

And what skin, when shed,
keeps of its scars?

From what well-spring does the water wave?
To what tree has this fruit fallen to lay seed?
Is this thought naked,
or to be covered with fig leaf?

From what hand, held, lets loose?
And from what heart does its blood bleed?
Is one made of all things,
or are all things made of one?

For what ghost, living,
is walking to its grave?

For if nothing or all is lost,
what is ever won?

For what marrow,
have I today,
endeavored foolishly my sorrow?

For every knight,
in the mourning,
rises the sun.

[labelwench]

Cynical tone and most elementary of rhyme,
My tribute unto 'Christmas time'......

Come out of the dark, and into the light,
where all is warm and cheery and bright.
Products galore, to thrill and excite.
Never mind means, your credit's alright.

Spend your way to limit's height,
Repay on time, no interest bite,
Plenty for all, no need to fight.
The registers' ring, as merchant's delight.

January brings employment plight,
Health concerns, additional fright,
Wish you may with all your might,
You chose your burden, serves you right.

A piece of another post I made elsewhere this day. LW

[Meem]

Im confused quantumly ... standing in the hot shower, if memory serves me "thank god for hot showers." Photons of thought bounce around in the light behind my eyes. They are undeciding, wave or particles of thought crashing on a burnished brow, now, now, now, now ... Duck and cover before I lather the soap, here has occured a highspeed ... near light ... collision. I have begun filtering through the magnetic brain-trap with pattern recognition, trying to uncover some great and profound universal seceret.

I can no longer even remember what I was confused about when I first walked into the shower. Perhaps someone is observing the spooky action at a distance inside my photon packets, in the process changing them. But this is not what I am confused about, because this almost makes sense. In fact though, it's crazy. I fell really crazy, standing here in the shower, smashing my "tho-tons" together. Strange observer effects, if I could get in a time machine, and went back to observe photon packets in a message I sent to myself (something like what China has done "best" recently), would I observe any change, instanesously in any timeline? This is were that thing some guy said about observing something changes it ... is supposed to be true, in this case?

What was I confused about when I got in the shower?

[timeparticle]

No One Sees The Sky
by Tp

Dusty, are the streets of L.A.,
coming up, going down,
through intersections of light and dark, all brown
in morning haze, fog smelled, big city smog,
in twinkling lights, shimmered all night long,
tired, seemingly grey foggy tired of it all,
no jobs, street people looking down at the ground,
morning commuters looking down at their cells,
kids looking down at the cracks in the ground,
on there way to school, no one sees the sky.

Dirty are the lampposts on small old streets,
built in the 20s, hard are the ways of old,
created by hands, caring to withstand nature's
fury, so the houses won't fall, stacked on small
old streets, clay tile roofs leak some, as traffic
moves away in distant hum, no one sees the sky.

Curtains raise as speakers glisten in Hollywood's
fare, leads no one, people listen but don't hear,
as words are in code, hard to follow, but money
doesn't flow, it bogs down, in mud bath corners,
gutters clog with it, sewers overflow, as money
coins shower, no one is clean with it, sad to have
less, crowds smile entertained with sarcasm humor,
big screen lights, people stare, no one sees the sky.

Darkened sand beaches sit by as ocean waves curl,
banter in there ears of ancient times, crash to the shore,
pods in there ears, wired to hear recorded sounds but
beaches aren't, as they stroll and jog along spotted lines
clouded mornings, birds crying for attention, bubbling hisses,
water shimmering, shallow pools recedes, no one sees the sky.

Mountains tall, oversee valleys and dales, as the sun rises,
dotted with snow, cool breezes whisk away morning dew, small
green grasses grow from recent rains, hikers and packers puff
along steep trails leading ever winding, switch- back climbing,
small flowers bloom, rabbit and deer tracks sunken in muddy side
holes, birds speak loudly of new day troubles and times, they are
the sounding boards that never turn quiet, blue sky struggles against
white trails, crossing streamers that hang over the city, jets spray
to feed us fury, thick are the times, no one sees the sky.

[SteveA]

Amidst the sights and sounds
pause
to see the smile

A sidewalk,
cracked and decaying
...
or the first breath of air
for a seedling?

Whether half empty or full
there's always a chance
to see the sky,
when one looks up.

[Graybeard]

Clancy of the Overflow

I am sitting in my dingy little office, where a stingy
Ray of sunlight struggles feebly down between the houses tall,
And the foetid air and gritty of the dusty, dirty city
Through the open window floating, spreads its foulness over all.

And in place of lowing cattle, I can hear the fiendish rattle
Of the tramways and the buses making hurry down the street,
And the language uninviting of the gutter children fighting,
Comes fitfully and faintly through the ceaseless tramp of feet.

And the hurrying people daunt me, and their pallid faces haunt me
As they shoulder one another in their rush and nervous haste,
With their eager eyes and greedy, and their stunted forms and weedy,
For the townsfolk have no time to grow, they have no time to waste.

[racecar]

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=np9ftmlej6c

[racecar]

A Code of Morals



Now Jones had left his new-wed bride to keep his house in order,
And hied away to the Hurrum Hills above the Afghan border,
To sit on a rock with a heliograph; but ere he left he taught
His wife the working of the Code that sets the miles at naught.

And Love had made him very sage, as Nature made her fair;
So Cupid and Apollo linked , per heliograph, the pair.
At dawn, across the Hurrum Hills, he flashed her counsel wise --
At e'en, the dying sunset bore her busband's homilies.

He warned her 'gainst seductive youths in scarlet clad and gold,
As much as 'gainst the blandishments paternal of the old;
But kept his gravest warnings for (hereby the ditty hangs)
That snowy-haired Lothario, Lieutenant-General Bangs.

'Twas General Bangs, with Aide and Staff, who tittupped on the way,
When they beheld a heliograph tempestuously at play.
They thought of Border risings, and of stations sacked and burnt --
So stopped to take the message down -- and this is whay they learnt --

"Dash dot dot, dot, dot dash, dot dash dot" twice. The General swore.
"Was ever General Officer addressed as 'dear' before?
"'My Love,' i' faith! 'My Duck,' Gadzooks! 'My darling popsy-wop!'
"Spirit of great Lord Wolseley, who is on that mountaintop?"

The artless Aide-de-camp was mute; the gilded Staff were still,
As, dumb with pent-up mirth, they booked that message from the hill;
For clear as summer lightning-flare, the husband's warning ran: --
"Don't dance or ride with General Bangs -- a most immoral man."

[At dawn, across the Hurrum Hills, he flashed her counsel wise --
But, howsoever Love be blind, the world at large hath eyes.]
With damnatory dot and dash he heliographed his wife
Some interesting details of the General's private life.

The artless Aide-de-camp was mute, the shining Staff were still,
And red and ever redder grew the General's shaven gill.
And this is what he said at last (his feelings matter not): --
"I think we've tapped a private line. Hi! Threes about there! Trot!"

All honour unto Bangs, for ne'er did Jones thereafter know
By word or act official who read off that helio.
But the tale is on the Frontier, and from Michni to Mooltan
They know the worthy General as "that most immoral man."

Rudyard Kipling

[SteveA]

I can be a baby sleeping
I can be complex or simple
I can be a raging storm
or as peaceful and still as a mountain
-
I can be happy or bittersweet
I can be a butterfly in motion
or in the spread of its wings
soaking in the sun
-
I can be the first step of a child
or a song of mourning,
the rise and fall of the tide,
or a star spinning through the heavens
-
I can be the desire and meaning behind creation
I can be as whimsical and carefree as a breeze
I can be in the anticipation and the release
or stronger willed and more persistent than time
-
We are beautiful because I am in us
-
I am beauty