Conference rdvax::grateful

    Ooh!  Thanks for creating this for us!  Now...now all we have to do is
    get some stuff to put IN here. :)
    
    Rob
    

    Disappointment runs deep in a weary soul
    Tattered from the torment of the miles,
    You look out with a haunting stare . . . 
    
    Through the haze it becomes unendingly clear
    It has arrived to ravage within you
    Sorrow has come to breed again
    
    A fire feeds on the pain in your heart
    Lighting a tunnel which echoes the past
    And you watch the engulfment of your fears.
    
    The flame doused, the smoke curls and lifts
    The vision leaves you passively mesmerized
    Allowing continuance of your dream
    
                                "heartbreak"  
    					Sparky
    
    
    
    -------------------------------------------------
    Not a very good one, but the only one I could
    remember off the top of my head.  I wrote it
    when I was seriously bummed -- obviously.  Writing
    helped me get over it.

    :^)  
    
    hey now, do lyrics count as poetry?
    
    Green Things -- da ve
    
    i've got green things
    growing in my back yard
    you may not see them
    but i tell you that they're there
    now you might think
    that the ground
    has grown too hard
    but roots run strong
    and you never know what's living there
    
    now i have seen things
    turn to brown
    from all the sunlight
    too much of a very good thing
    brings on the night
    but sometimes the seed has to fall
    before new growth comes
    and roots run strong
    long before you know what's living there
    
    so cry your tears
    	don't hide it all
    into each life
        some rain must fall
    and life, like rain
    	kissed by the sun
    helps roots run strong
    	lets new life come
    
    i see your green things
    growing in your front yard
    you may not see them now
    but i promise you they're there
    so don't you go thinking the soil
    has grown too hard
    because roots run strong
    and you never know what's living there.....

Message in a Bottle*  - Dave Weiss 12/3/86

Bottles empty
on the wall, filled
with stories, tales
of drunkenness,
   hatred,
   fights,
   friendship,
   love.
Parties:  big,
          small,
          for two.
Beer,
gin,
vodka,
bourbon;
all different, yet the same
effect can be induced 
by each.  Memories
of gifts,
   finished finals,
   special occasions,
   anniversaries,
   birthdays.

The contents of the bottle
may make us forget,
but its emptiness
can make us remember.


*With all due respect to Sting and the boys.



-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

This is the only poem I've written that I both really like, and is not
depressing nor motivated by something depressing.

Hope you like it!  Critiques welcome!  Feel free to complement or tear it
apart! :-)

Dave

    :) nice job David!
    
    What about Captains?  :) :) :)
    
    		sparks

What follows are a couple of things that I wrote several years ago. The first 
is not a poem but seems to have some meaning, at least to me. the second is a 
poem that I forgot I had written. Somewhere I have another poem that won an 
honorable mention in a poetry contest about 15 years ago. I'll have to see if 
I can dig it up and put it in here.

							Thanks,

							Geoff


         Life in the USA is a very strange thing. We are purported to 
         have freedom, however, we see everyday that this is just an 
         illusion purpetrated by our government to keep us an easily 
         manageable crowd. An example of this is the ban on smoking 
         in several public places. Supposedly we have freedom of 
         choice. We can choose not to smoke or we can choose to be 
         fined some ungodly amount of money for choosing to smoke. 
         This fine is over and above the outrageous price we pay for 
         our smoking material in the first place.  We can choose to 
         go to public school and only learn what some extremely 
         (Supposedly) consciences group sais we can learn. Or we can 
         choose to get properly educated by paying many thousands of 
         dollars for private schools.  We can choose to follow the 
         masses in what we are told is right or we can choose to do 
         what we feel is right for us, in which case we will be, more 
         than likely, publicly denounced and probably thrown in jail.
         
         Who is it who decides what is good for the people as a whole 
         and what makes his or her judgement any better than anyone 
         elses?  Who is to say that what is right for you is right 
         for me, or my friends, or the person who likes to be 
         illusioned with mind altering substances.  How do these 
         people know that they are living a reality and people who 
         are said to be insane are not? 
         
         What the hell is a moral majority? I personally don't think 
         I've ever seen one.  Are they good to eat, and if so what do 
         you serve them with? Peas or Asparagus? Red or white wine 
         (oops I forgot alchohol is a no-no). Most of all if I do 
         ever see one should I trap it or should I shoot it. Are they 
         best boiled, broiled or sauteed.
         
         If you have answers to any or all of these questions please 
         respond.
         
         							     
                                                      :-)(-: Mr. Fejj

                              Stranded In Mid-air
         
         When you're gliding down a mountian side,
         wind whipping through your hair
         flying off a cliffside trail,
         stranded in mid-air.
         
         Life seems but a silly game
         with petty little rules,
         working all that fiveday week,
         just to wear weird shoes.
         
         Falling, falling, falling now,
         staring at the sky
         those silly rules seem so blase,
         still stranded in mid-air.
         
         Landing in a pile snow,
         swishing down the slope
         life itself seems so unreal,
         while stranded in mid-air.

         

	
	The day the sky turned yellow	


	The day the sky turned yellow
	was a day I can always remember
	it was on an unusually humid day
	almost the first of September	 
	
	I was a little youngster
	maybe about 5 or so
	a thunderstorm had just passed
	not even an hour ago
	
	The chimes on our porch were blowing 
	in a most unusual way
	the air was hot and sticky
	and everyone was in a daze
		
	I peered out my window
	I couldn't believe what was there
	the sky looked like amber haze
	and yellow was everywhere

	I ran downstairs so fast
	and ran right outside
	my Mother and Father were right there 
	very close by my side

	The neiborhood was all out too
	silence and stillness was in the air
	everyone just looked around
	at the yellow that was everywhere

	Not much later
	the wind started to really blow
	my Father looked at Mother and said
	"Shit! I think it's a tornado!"

	We heard a sound off in the distance
	it sounded like a train
	at first we saw pellets of hail
	and then we saw some rain

	The three of us ran to the cellar
	my Dad said we'd be safe below
	but all I wanted to do
	was to look out of a window

	A zepher, a whirlwind, 
	a vortex, a twister, a spout
	took the woods behind our house
	and then spit them out

	A tornado is powerful item
	it's not a thing to tease
	because it could have blown me away
	with grace, and with ease  		

				
					D. Smith

    
    
    Well, I'll jump on this bandwagon...  It looks like too much fun to
    miss out on.  This one is being formulated into a Slipknot original
    that will be debuting in the next month or two...  It's a tale of a
    trip that I took (with /mon) seeing Slipknot play a year or so before
    joining them.  Words by me, the music (when we play it) is by Mark
    Muntzer...  It's called:
    
    Night's Aglow
    
    
    
    Travel's been ingested
    and delight of what to see
    but pretty music and the lights
    of all good company
    
    Happiness upon me
    people are all good
    but now some time for others
    who bring me what they should
    
    Night's aglow and moving me
    through all these wondrous sights
    Which way my dearest eskimo
    to planet earth tonight?
    
    Readings and a twilight glow
    from kerosene on fire
    please tell me Mr. Edgar Poe
    what spawned your desire?
    
    Captured vignettes reality
    I even have a witness
    but show me a 12 man jury
    that will hear our evening's sight
    
    Thoughts alive and flickering
    tween to and fro beliefsNever stop til landing 
    my feet upon the ground
    
    I look up I look down to find me where I was
    A journey had yet a familiar place right behind my face
    Cobwebs not too distant clutter some of my morning's view
    Though morning's entrance is welcomed with the sun to acquiesce 
    
    There are trees in every jungle and fungus in every tree
    Help yourself to the forest guide and that will be your key.
    

    
    Can't wait to hear it Tree!  
    
    MJ

	SPINNING

	as I spin into the abyss
	I wonder

	am I coiling inward downward
	closer and closer
	pulling my world and wits
	as if a tightly-wound watch
	
	or 

	am I flying forward outward
	further and further
	gaining unknown new strength
	as if a just-released top

	I wonder

Kinda came up with this one on the fly...

	A Wish
	-------

Wish I could give you a hug.
Wish I could make it all go away.

Wish I could regain your trust,
     even though I never lost it.
Wish I could remove your pain,
     if only you would let me, I would.

I wish all that could done with a hug.



		Dave Weiss  7/29/92

    
    
    One I posted a while back...  (Grateful_old?)  but since there's a
    poetry note now...  Well I couldn't resist!  :^)
    
    
    
        Earth's Parasite
    
        Of all the planets in our system
        one is blessed with life yet plagued.
        Without its doom the earth would grow
        in balance through evolution.
        Natural beauty would abound
        in melodic disproportion,
        should all the species have come forth
        save one, a vast contortion.
    
        This is how the story starts,
        in cosmo-mirth and wonder.
        The earth was born and life was formed;
        a gift unto its giver.
        The chain took place for all to face
        one species fed another.
        This was the way for all to pay
        for their spot upon the earth.
    
        The page is turned, the story's burned
        comes man, the breaker of chains.
        The beast is clubbed, the feast is dubbed
        a trophy of his knowledge.
        Earth's blood is burned, goes up in smoke
        it can't cry out in pain.
        We rip its skin right off its bone
        and say we do it justice.
    
        Flesh and soil is turned to steel
        and steel is turned to structure,
        Structure forms an earth anew
        and causes the old to rupture
        Man becomes a working ant
        and drives us from our roots.
        With every stitch of progress made
        the earth becomes our foe.
    
        What will be ahead of us
        in times we can't yet see?
        The death of earth will kill us all
        it's wrath we can not flee.
        So man on earth will change its course
        from green and blue to brown,
        The progress of his life is true
        but for earth is a spiral down.
    
        Is there room for both of us?
        Man and Earth alike?
        Or is it as I fear it is,
        are we its parasite?
    

    I used to write a sh*tload,.. have quite a bit stacked up at
    home../// and Treemons seen some of it through the music we used
    to make,.. but,. I don't know whats happened to me,.... I never
    write anymore :-?....
    
    I just playze me geetar ... its like poetry without the words?
    
    I'll throw this one out from the past,.. but first
    I want to say to Treemon that I can not wait to hear you guys do that
    tune! :-),.. Very fond memories of that night for me too ... :-)
    
    	Fungus in every tree indeed!
    
    	Anyway,.. This one was probably my first song ever written. There
    were trees in every jungle that night too and this is about "my friend"
    I told you about who is now having a real tough fight with his
    lymphoma (sp?) :-(,...    :-( :-(
    
    	He was the person who hipped me to the dead and ,. .er,.. gave me
    my first guided tour of the jungle,.. this song was a result of that
    tour
    
    	It seems simple,.. but thats what happens to the complex stuff
    when you try to put it to music,.. I can't even rememvber what
    the original was like,.. but heres the song version. Picture
    a solo blues acoustic guitar strumming awwy in the background...
    
    			Me and my friend
    
    	Me and my friend
    	Me and my friend
    	we were-a-walkin' 
    	just the other day
    	he showed me some things
    	I'm glad I saw it his way
    
    	Me and my friend
    	Me and my friend
    	We were-a-talkin 
    	just the other day
    	he told me some things
    	I'm glad I saw it his way
    
    	Hes right inside
    	Don't let him hide
    	he wants to take you
    	places you've never been
    	and if you let him
    	he'll do it again and again
    
    	Hes out on a boat
    	you think its too far to swim
    	then someone grabs you
    	throws you into the drink
    	you better swim man cuz 
    	you aint got time to think
    
    	Me and my friend
    	Me and my friend
    	we were a walkin
    	just the other day
    	He showed me some things
    	I'm glad I saw it his way
    
    
    
    
    	I know theres more to it buit I can't remember it now "suppressed
    memory?",.. I hope not :-/
    

    
    All of this discussion in another note about religion has prompted me
    to put in this set o' lyrics (prose, poetry... whatever).  It was
    inspired by a dream I had one night that was quite vivid:
    
    The Room Evolves
    
    	It was a Sunday morning on a Friday night
    	all who came were unaware of their plight.
    	We walked up to the large gothic door,
    	a building of peace yet with chaos in store.
    	Walking inside, the temple changed its form
    	from a neatly rowed space to one of symbolic norm.
    
    	With stairs up and down 
    	and doors all around,
    	there are many unaware 
    	that there's more than one lair.
    	People push and people shove
    	to commune with up above.
    	People dying on the right 
    	while on the left they want to fight.
    
    	Hallowed be the one who sees our doom,
    	The one who sees all the doors lead to one room.
    
    	Saturday morning I awoke with a smile,
    	finally knew from inside what I knew for a while.
    	Because time's not a statue in a manicured lawn,
    	when it comes to time, the human being is the pawn.
    	Because we all have our leaders who bring us under their wing,
    	Yet the reason we're here can only be one thing.
    
    	With stairs up and down
    	and doors all around,
    	what you and I must do
    	is rise above this view
    	and look into the room
    	to avoid our pending doom.
    	We must know a little more
    	about the view from every door.
    
    	Hallowed be the one who sees our doom, 
    	The one who sees all the doors lead to one room.
    
    	Hallowed be the one who sees our doom, 
    	The one who sees all the doors lead to one room.
    
    
    Tree 

    Yeah, Tree, I agree.  You're quite a talented type o' guy.  Not only
    can you turn yourself into our own personal Tree-Cam, but you can write
    verse, too. :)
    
    Rob
    

    
    Thanks you guys.  
    
    That means an awful lot to me.  :^)  Big Smile...
    
    Tree

    re: 276.10
    Debess,
    This is beatiful and poignant.  I feel I know you a little better.  
    I hope we can meet sometime.
    
    Rose
    

    Both Voices
    
    Cowering with dread in a secret place,
    Missiles of destruction fill the air.
    Stay small so no one can see!
    
    The soul dwells in a twilight state,
    Where fear and anger can not be felt.
    Only one voice is heard, the child's.
    
    Moving invisibly through time and space,
    Outward appearance must give no clue.
    Lest the monster rages, and can kill!
    
    An Enduring Presence pushes back the fog,
    Not wavering as the dance unfolds.
    Empowered, the soul can awaken,
    Tumbling the walls resistance builds.
    The tortured spirit begins to expand,
    And now, both voices can be heard.

    Wow

		Winter Solstice

This cold winter morning,
 brightens the solstice sun.
The air slides like ice across my palate
 falls into my chest, and somehow warms me

Mornings like this revive memories of the past
 of standing on the brittle corner bus stop.
I remember kicking icebergs in the street,
 playing hockey, and waiting for the future.

Something about the winter's cold dawn
 brings thoughts of things to come.
It beckons those who would scarcely notice,
 to pierce the gloomy present, for yet unseen light.

And even though that future has called me
 from those cold streets of the past,
it has yet to find me, but it still promises 
 some brighter, warmer dawn that's yet to come.

    
       hey now all,
    
         who are your favorite poets/what are your favorite poetry books?
       i saw brenad kahn play the other night and towards the end of her
       set she took out a poetry book and started reading some really deep
       stuff. she stealthily departed the show and i didn't get to ask her
       what she was reading. but i have decided to put my dean koontz and
       steven king books temporarily aside and indulge in some poetry. any
       ideas?
                                                                ^dave
                                                         

RE: .22

Check out Gary Snyder...  Pretty cool guy...  To the best of my knowledge, 
Jack Kerouac based one of the characters in "The Dharma Bums" on Snyder.

In addition to being a very moving poet with an appreciation for nature,
Snyder has been a lumberjack, cowhand, student of Zen, advocate of Native
American spirituality, and contemporary of such people as Alan Ginsberg, 
Ken Kesey (?), and others of that ilk.....  

It has always been fascinating to me that some people who were born in my 
father's generation (late 1920's) were aware of environmental issues, and
were not content to follow the "typical" American dream....  

-- T-Bone

well this came across the wire but didn't really want to stick in the 
joke note so I'll resurrect this one....

mmmm, can't wait to get home....



Subject: FWD: HUMOR: Spam Haiku


A collection of Spam haiku...

Grotesque pinkish mass
In a blue can on a shelf
Quivering alone

Like some spongy rock
A granite, my piece of Spam
In sunlight on my plate

Oh Argentina!
Your little tin of meat soars
Above the pampas

The color of Spam
is natural as the sky:
A block of sunrise

Little slab of meat
In a wash of clear jelly
Now I heat the pan

Oh tin of pink meat
I ponder what you may be:
Snout or ear or feet?

In the cool morning
I fry up a slab of Spam
A dog barks next door

Pink tender morsel
Glistening with salty gel
What the hell is it?

Ears, snouts, and innards,
A homogenous mass
Pass another slice

Cube of cold pinkness
Yellow specks of porcine fat
Give me a spork please

Old man seeks doctor
"I eat Spam daily", he says.
Angioplasty

Highly unnatural
The tortured shape of this "food"
A small pink coffin

Slicing your sweet self
Salivating in suspense
Sizzle, sizzle..Spam

Pink beefy temptress
I can no longer remain
Vegetarian

Bob, thanx for posting that...it's classic !!!  I never thought of spam as a
block of sunrise :)))  too funneee

Wes