| T.R | Title | User | Personal
Name | Date | Lines |
|---|
| 520.1 | Distance | VAXUUM::KOHLBRENNER | | Tue Oct 09 1990 16:35 | 43 |
| Distance
A man leaves the lodge,
Descends to the waiting boat.
His pace is slow, measured.
Drumbeats mark his steps.
Sinewed arms hold a drum aloft, and
Swing a mallet into the drumhead.
Again. Again. The boat pulls away.
Booming fills the air,
Holds off the encircling storm.
Grey mist thickens, greens
Blur and run together.
Small drops at first,
Then more, then whips of water.
The tent of sound collapses,
The drummer races to a cabin,
Hurls the drum up to a dry porch.
The drum strikes a railing, hesitates,
Falls back to the ground.
The rain has steadied, settled in.
He sits alone now on the porch,
Cross-legged, a hand on the broken drum,
His gaze on the empty dock.
His eyes know the cold, quiet rain.
Silence fills the air,
Holds off the encircling grief.
I watch him. I am in him.
He leans forward, head low,
Waiting. Waiting. A shudder.
Another. Then whip-like shudders,
A rising wail from within.
The tent of silence collapses.
My blood pounds to cross to his cabin,
To hurl myself onto the dry porch.
I lean forward. Hesitate. Fall back.
We sit alone on dry porches,
Cross-legged, bowed,
Our eyes know a warm, salty rain.
|
| 520.2 | All Things Considered | VAXUUM::KOHLBRENNER | | Tue Oct 09 1990 16:43 | 32 |
|
All Things Considered
Click.
"In Yerevan today...miraculous survival...
31 days in the cellar of a collapsed building...
six men... soviet television... a hospital bed..."
The man in the hospital bed says,
"I kept up the spirits of my companions
by singing songs to them and by telling
them stories from my life."
I explode into tears... cry out...
pound the steering wheel with my fist...
"stories from my life!"
red lights blur in the stream of traffic...
Click.
Night... Images... tears... dreams...
Click.
"The report that we brought you last night
appears to be a hoax... other men cannot be found...
no cellar... no survivors..."
Click.
|
| 520.3 | Caged Lion | VAXUUM::KOHLBRENNER | | Tue Oct 09 1990 16:59 | 9 |
|
Caged Lion
A lion roars in the cage of my heart,
Having paced the night away.
The smell of his pacing, his turning,
Oozes through the confining bars.
He sinks to the cold floor now,
Smoldering eyes greet the gray dawn.
|
| 520.4 | A Tribute To Shame | VAXUUM::KOHLBRENNER | | Tue Oct 09 1990 17:56 | 15 |
|
A Tribute to Shame
You covered the young boy, gave him safety,
Let him play his games within;
A shell in the mud of a harbor of dreams.
And when the youth swam free in the sea,
Your curves gave shape to awkwardness,
Your chambers bouyed a pulsing heart.
And now as the man strides forth on the beach,
You lend your coats to old discomforts,
Opening his heart, as mother of pearls.
|
| 520.5 | | FSTVAX::BEAN | Attila the Hun was a LIBERAL! | Tue Oct 09 1990 19:20 | 37 |
|
A love poem to Brenda, who is now my wife
written in Feb. 1989
*************************************
i love looking out on this world all around
with thoughts of you keeping me warm.
sharing each other, this distance between
while a barrier, is no more forlorn.
thoughts of you and your love...of the place where you are...
bring me peace and contentment n'er known.
and i long to be there, in the palm of your life
feeling lost in that love, heaven grown.
the clouds up above, drifting lazily by,
cast their shadows around, far and wide.
but their edges agleam with the light from your love
keep the path bright and clear by my side.
that color, so clear, silv'ry bright with the glow
that you cast from your heart and your voice,
guides my love to your side, with each step that i take
'till we meet again, breathless and close.
the moment is shared, the passions increase,
'till we're spent. Then our arms intertwine
and we walk down the pathway 'lumed by the glow
from our love, found on earth, but devine.
eternity calls. the years come and go.
yet i stand by your side, all the while.
lost in my love, impassioned by yours,
finding happiness, joy, in your smile!
tony
|
| 520.6 | feelings...revised | FRAMBO::LIESENBERG | Just order a drink, Tantalus! | Tue Oct 16 1990 11:01 | 11 |
| Uh, guess I should send my "Ars poetica" to a professional
German-English translator....Paul
some people just keep
pouring water
into an open fire,
and when the flame finally dies
all of a sudden they claim
it was never ablaze enough.
|
| 520.7 | Somewhere | LEZAH::BOBBITT | COUS: Coincidences of Unusual Size | Tue Oct 16 1990 12:59 | 34 |
|
Somewhere between the chill of winter
And the blazing heat of summer
He walks a fine line
Somewhere between the calculating whir of machinery
And the whisper-soft breeze in the pines
He skirts a thin edge
Somewhere between abrasive, blunt irony
And warm and welcome smiles
He balances on the wall
Somewhere between unknowing, unbound force
And soft encouragement to grow
He straddles the fence
Somewhere between the depths of ire's oceans
And the echelon of sunset-clouds' tranquil pastels
He treads evenly
Walking in unknowing confidence
Unfaltering and secure
Somewhere between the yin and yang
There is a miracle in every step
A boundless grace, a breathless waiting
Guarding his paces, wishing I could make it easier
Knowing the path he treads
Must be walked by him alone.....
jb
|
| 520.8 | From the negative side of zero | AIADM::MALLORY | I am what I am | Fri Oct 19 1990 16:34 | 41 |
|
COLD
by Wes Mallory
As the season of the bitter winds approach
And the chill creeps into my soul,
I begin my desperate search for warmth.
Yet I know the bite of the cruel wind
Is warm when compared to the icy breath
Of loneliness that will pervade the coming months.
As my spirit clings to each haunting memory,
Seeking respite from the arctic blasts,
My heart cries out for the warmth of days past.
But there is no fire nor sun to warm me,
Only the darkness of the endless winter
Stretching into an uncertain future of cold.
The frigid void seems to blend into eternity
As I pull my memories around my shivering shoulders
And try to conjure up the relative warmth of hope.
But hope is a harsh mistress who can turn her back
To my plaintive cries, without warning or mercy,
Leaving me naked in the icy, wintry blast.
From the infinite reaches of despair,
Waves of bitter cold consume my spirit
As this never ending night goes on and on.
Envious eyes contemplate the dead leaves
Swirling at my feet in the dirt
Beneath the apathetic light of the stars.
Was it fate that doomed me to eternal sorrow?
Or could I have been somehow to blame?
Right now it doesn't matter, I'm just cold.
|
| 520.9 | Reaction to 521.17 | SUBFIZ::SEAVEY | | Sat Nov 10 1990 00:22 | 18 |
|
Dark Dances
Sometimes I think I'm dancing,
Wildly and freely prancing,
Sliding through the darkness
With my dark electric person,
My creative pulsing magic anima.
She steers me in dark places
Through the deadly beaten spaces
'Til alas.. I lose her in the dust.
Then I feel again that I am sliding
Barely breathing, and perspiring
Sliding down that "razor blade of life".
mardy seavey 11/9/90
|
| 520.10 | untitled | VAXUUM::KOHLBRENNER | | Thu Feb 21 1991 14:30 | 13 |
|
A man's heart is a drum.
The beat of the drum marks
the steps of the god within.
The dance of the god
warms the man's thoughts,
kindles the man's words, and
fires the man's tongue.
May no man be required to speak
from a cold and silent heart.
Wil
|
| 520.11 | rainy evening poems | VAXUUM::KOHLBRENNER | | Fri Mar 22 1991 11:14 | 47 |
| I've been in a 6-man men's group that has met once
a week for the past three and a half years. Every
now and then, we get out six pieces of paper, each
of us starts a poem by writing a line or two and
then passes the paper to the next man. Each man
adds a couple of lines and passes the poem on.
It's another way to communicate...
We did it again a couple of weeks ago.
Here are two of the poems. It must have been
a rainy night. I forget...
Rain. Wet leaves in the street.
Coffee. A blank pad of paper before me.
How can the pen trace the dampness of
regret, the decay of love, the steam of loss?
Or is it forever to be wished of what was,
what could be, what is not?
It is as if I begin here something more than
a sentence, and less than the rest of my life.
The wind washes the rain against the side of the house,
the steam from the coffee mug rises as I sink
into thought -- or forgetfulness.
The way the strong rain blankets the
glistening driveway, recalls memories of
my youth, long, long ago when I still
enjoyed the feel, sound and wet of rain.
I remember damp days in summer camp
when we all lay on bunks talking.
I learned to love talking then.
And I remember the two places in the
backyard, where the flagstones dipped.
Water collected there making two puddles
that remained long after the rain.
I remember boots, raincoat and times
alone, wading and splashing.
The memories come one after another,
relentlessly. I am immersed in them
like my boot-covered foot in the
puddles of my youth.
There is no proceeding in this rain,
no going on.
Wil
|
| 520.12 | Memories of my Dad | FSTTOO::BEAN | Attila the Hun was a LIBERAL! | Fri Apr 05 1991 12:02 | 72 |
| There is another topic in this notesfile... feelings about our fathers.
Well, I replied to that string, and I've read many other replies. They
prompted me to write this poem about my dad. I don't often write
poetry, but, I enjoy doing it when the mood strikes.
tony
Memories of my Dad
I remember my Dad. He's been gone a long time.
But, my memories linger, they're etched in my mind.
I'm reminded of when, lo that long time ago,
That he took me back home, "just for a year or so".
His new lady was there, and she soon became "mom",
And, my brother and sister had come along,
To live with them, too, so our mother could rest,
And start a new life with her man in the West.
Dad was a stern man, and full of resolve
That others might see him as being above
Life's petty concerns, he's beyond all of that!
But inside of himself he's one pussycat.
He was mean as could be, when the time was just right.
Or gentle and warm, when he told me "good night".
His stature was looming, my memory serves.
Imposing by nature; strong, yet reserved.
His face would show anger. Then laugh with the best,
He expected us kids to stand over the rest,
And surpass all our dreams, while reality rules,
And n'er settle for less than the best we could do.
And when I grew up, I had learned from him well,
But, often life tricks us, and we're wont to tell
What is wrong in our life, and to make the wrong choice.
And that's what I did. And n'er did rejoice.
Then years passed me by, with my Dad far away.
Joy eluded me, and less, day by day
Was my life fulfilling, and lessons or yore
Were lost to my memory, I wanted much more!
But, my father was gone, before that came to pass.
He gave up his life, to God; and alas
He never saw happiness come to his son.
He never saw joy in my life, now hard won.
My children rebuke him, my sorrow is strong.
They wouldn't take time to learn it was wrong
To push people aside, though others may tell
Them that dad was a bad man and now lives in hell.
My father's not there! You'll be wasting your time
If you look beyond heaven. For you'll find him inside
Where the Lord's stronger hands are helping him stand
And his life is now happier than ere any man.
So, when I was there, when he died. By his side,
I told him I loved him, and took him aside
From the rest of the family, all gathered there,
And, quietly, silently we said a prayer.
And then he was gone. (He'd been ill for a time.)
And he left us with feelings of loss, yet sublime
In the knowledge he'd touched us, and given the best
Of his life and his love to us. May he rest!
tony
|
| 520.13 | the FE | FSTTOO::BEAN | Attila the Hun was a LIBERAL! | Fri Apr 05 1991 12:09 | 96 |
| The first 30 lines of this poem are anonymous.. It's been floating
around for years.
I was a Field Service Engineer for 25 years... and I've carried this
poem around with me for a LONG time. I ran across it again yesterday,
and thought I'd add a little to it, so the last few lines are my own.
enjoy
tony
THE CONDEMNED
When the earth was created, the powers above
Gave each man a job to work at and love,
He made doctors and lawyers and plumbers and then,
He made carpenters, singers, and confidence men.
And when each had a job to work as he should
He looked them all over and saw it was good.
He then sat down to rest for a day
When a horrible groan chanced to come to come up His way.
The Lord then looked down and His eyes opened wide
For a motley collection of bums stood outside.
"Oh! What can they want?" The Creator asked then.
"Help us," they cried out, "a job for us men!
We have no profession." They cried in dismay.
"And even the jails have turned us away."
Said the Lord, "I've seen many things without worth
But here I find gathered the scum of the earth!"
The Lord was perplexed, and then He was mad.
For all the jobs, there was none to be had.
Then He spake aloud in a deep, angry tone,
"Forever and ever ye mongrels shall roam
Ye shall freeze in the summer and sweat when it's cold;
Ye shall work on equipment that's dirty and old;
Ye shall crawl under raised floors, and there cables lay;
Ye shall be called out at midnight and work through the day;
Ye shall work on all holidays, and not make your worth;
Ye shall be blamed for all downtime that occurs on the earth;
Ye shall watch all the glory go to software and sales;
Ye shall be blamed by them both if the system then fails;
Ye shall be paid next to nothing from sorrow and tears;
Ye shall be forever cursed, and called Field Engineers."
*****************************
When your system breaks, or you need to install
That new disk drive, or tape, or place in a call,
Remember to give your FE no help,
Don't remind him, or tell him it's just a broke belt.
Make him sweat, and turmoil, don't assist him a bit.
Let his errors abound, and then throw a fit!
Call him names! Show him up! And, then call his boss.
And accuse him of malaise, and then, for a toss,
Throw incompetence in, and every new sin
You can think of. Remember, the Lord did him in!
He's the scum, so it's said, and he's worthy of this
It's his Lot, saith the Lord, it's his calling to bliss!
Remember, that God has condemned all FE's
And, remember, it's His Will you all try to please
By trying to make life as bad as can be
For the worst of them all, the lowly FE.
And so it has been, 'till this very day.
As in the beginning, so never dismay,
All FE's, together, from this coast to that,
Are lower than life, without even a hat
To put over their heads, to shield them from rain
And protect them from fallout from those with a brain.
And when life is over, at last they can rest
And recover some semblance of peace, or at best
Look around, and discover, the place they are in
Is a haven for all who fixed, or did in
Those pieces of software, so sloppily wrote,
That are in every program. No wonder they broke!
And those who were sellers, and some OEMs,
Are present, accounted for, every last man.
"Added Value", they said! (want to bet? you proclaim!)
They're all here! In this place, where the FE's disdain.
For it's hotter than Hell! Why, there's no comfort there!
It's worse than we thought, and it's full of dispair!
But, the FE's new home? It never gets hot.
For the climate's controlled by a system that's not
Going to break, or go down, or fail to run
The one program that's written by one of their own.
tony
(who was an FE for 25 years)
|
| 520.14 | I forget the rest (composed *years* ago) - Hoyt | PENUTS::HNELSON | Resolved: 184# now, 175# July | Mon Jul 01 1991 17:36 | 29 |
| This is the story of a former investor, the "former" status due to his having
lost his fortune to his ex-wife, and his inability to reestablish working
capital because of the alimony.
(To the tune of Fats Waller's "Ain't Misbehavin'")
The Divorced Investor's Lament
No one to talk to,
my broker won't call,
No one to hawk to,
no assets that I could sell.
I ain't been savin', just sendin' all my dough, to you!
My downpayment.
Buys your raiment.
I go nowhere,
so you get new wear.
Your wardrobe keeps my net worth low,
and me looone-ly.
I used to buy gold,
and sell silver too.
Now you got my gold,
and I drive a Suburu.
I ain't been savin', just sendin' all my dough, to you!
|
| 520.15 | I like that! | AIMHI::RAUH | Home of The Cruel Spa | Mon Jul 01 1991 19:03 | 1 |
|
|
| 520.16 | Some grave stuff from the poetaster of yours truly... | VINO::XIA | In my beginning is my end. | Tue Jul 02 1991 17:17 | 44 |
|
The Monastery
High on arid plateau of barren hills,
Stands tall a monastery of gray walls,
Always aloof and never with a smile,
A ragged face engraved with the wounds and scars
Of thousand years of wind and desert storms.
Where a lonely solitary soul dwells,
Desiring, yearning for a gust of rain,
The long awaited ringing spring will bring.
At the center, in the court, reign supreme
The blind and deaf and austere statues of
Solemnly dead poets and composers,
In perfect shapes, forms, numbers and of laws.
Carefully dusted; carefully preserved.
Immersed in praises of eternal hymns,
In the sacred Heiliger Dankgesang,
Sheltered from the dust of ruin beyond.
The desert echoes and murmurs under,
Announce the tumultuous clashing thunders
The imminent arrival of the rain.
The foundation resonates and fractures
And upon the shattered drenched ground, rises
An infant flower trembling in triumph.
Born in depth of heart where mind cannot reach,
Dare to crush the walls and re-shape the core.
The soul lingers blindly from hall to hall,
Sensing the rugged rocks between wall and wall.
The bleeding palms hold still the flowering--
Fresh, fragile budding of life from within,
"Shall I allow you to grow and blossom
To wreck the statues and lay waste the walls?
Can you alone endure the winter frost?
Or should I, in the name of peace and peace,
Strangle you at once?"
Eugene Xia, Feb. 1991
|
| 520.17 | Hell manifest itself in many ways ... | MORO::BEELER_JE | Iacta alea est | Sat Jul 27 1991 13:10 | 9 |
|
And when he goes to Heaven
To St. Peter he'll tell:
Another Marine reporting, sir,
I've served my time in Hell.
-From a grave marker,
-1st Marine Division Cemetary
-Guadalcanal, 1943
|