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9/2/2006 Talking about Poems by Me......
SINCERITY......?HMM i wrote a poem once that ends .... TRUTH IS SINCERITY, AND i WONDERED ABOUT THIS WORD .. SO i AM GOING TO GO NOW GET THE DEFINATION. LATER...... ENJOY MY NEW PICTURE..... Poems by Me...... 6/8/2006 Poems by Me......NOTHING ORIGINAL COMES EASILY
NOTHING ORIGINAL COMES EASILY
SAVOR THE THOUGHTS LIKE A
SIMMERING BREW
STIR IT UP, SWISH IT AROUND
TASTE IT AND IT WILL TAUNT YOU
THAT ORIGINAL SPICE IN LIFE.
IT MAY BE THICK AND POIGNANT
HARD TO SWALLOW
OR SWEET TO THE LIPS
AND PURL PROLIFICALLY.
2006, WE START A NEW ERA
UP FROM THE DIRTY, SORID, AND UGLY,
FAR FROM THE MASSING OF PEOPLES
WHERE THE EYE WANDERS MORE FREELY...
OVER THE SURFACE, TO REACH THE PINNACLE.
OLD CHRONICLER OF NOSTALGIC
WALKS THE MILESTONES TODAY.
SCRAPES AND CUTS ENDURING
ALL ALONG THE WAY.
UPON CASTLEROCK IS HEARD THE ECHO
THAT ONLY A TRUE CRUSADER COULD FOLLOW.
SCRAPES AND CUTS ENDURING
ALL ALONG THE WAY.
2006, WE START A NEW ERA
SO HIGH ON CASTLEROCK
ABOVE THE MIDST OF PLENTY
NATURAL INSIGHT IS SOUGHT.
WISHED-FOR JOYS WILL BE SUBLIMINAL
THE NEED TO UNDERSTAND DISCIPLINES
AND PURE EXPRESSION MUST BE MASTERED,
TO ACHIEVE ZEN GENUINE SATISFACTIONS.
TODAY, WE ARE A CRUSADER
IN UNISION WE MARCH, TO ADHERE
SEEKING THE CONGENIAL ATMOSPHERE
RETROSPECTIVE TRUTH IS SINCERE.
TODAY WE START AGAIN
NOSTALGIAS HAVE NO FEAR!
ABOVE THE VALLEY, THE END OF TRAIL IS NEAR.
WEARING WORN TENNIES, TRUTH IS SINCERE.
PROSTITUDE
PLUMP WAYSIDE GIRL,
CHEWING ON SPEARMINT GUM.
BANGS IN A CUTE CURL,
WAITING FOR SOME RICH CHUM.
POOR WAYWARD GIRL
HAD TO HAVE AN ABORTION,
BEEN IN AND OUT OF JAIL
ALWAYS ON THE RUN,
PROSTITUDE WANDERING SOUL.
BIZZARE THRILLS WITH CHEAP FUN.
LIFE HAS BEEN ON BIG HELL.
KILLED HERSELF WITH A GUN.
POOR DEAD PROSTITUDE GIRL.
WOMAN OF LUST AND NO LOVE.
YOU NEVER DID SEE YOUR PEARL...
ARE YOU FLOATING SOMEWHERE UP ABOVE?
HOW REAL? HOW FAR?
ONCE IN SUCH A LONG TIME
YOU CAN BE YOURSELF.
YOU GIVE AND GIVE IT ALL,
BECAUSE YOU ARE FREE TO BE.
BUT ONCE YOU LOOK BEHIND YOU...
YOU KNOW THEN WHERE YOU HAVE BEEN.
IT CAN BE A LIE...
OR IT CAN BE TRUTH.
HOW FAR CAN YOU BEND?
LOST IN A SATIRE,
GO AHEAD! THROW THE DART
TOOLS OF THE ART...
CAN BREAK YOUR DELICATE HEART.
RIGHT FROM THE START
YOU FELT THE PART
HOW REAL CAN YOU FEEL?
HOW FAR TO THE THRILL?
HOW FAR CAN YOU BEND?
IT'S A NEW GOTHIC TREND
YOU WANT TO BLEND IN
BUT YOU HAVE NO FRIEND.
MOVING THE STARS
THE SPIRIT FLIES OUT AND STANDS, IT SEES...
MOCK ON, MOCK ON...'TIS ALL INVAIN!
YOU THROW THE SAND AGAINST THE WINDS...
AND THE WINDS BLOWS IT BACK AGAIN...
AGAIN TO BLIND...THE MOCKING EYE.
AND HERE I AM. . . MOVING THE STARS THAT ARE! 5/14/2006 My Grandmothers name was ORANGE BIRD, AND MY MOTHERS NAME WAS MAY BIRD AND HERE IS MOMS POEM I WROTETO MY MOTHER
LAUGH OR JUST CRY
***************************************
SOMETIMES IT FEELS SO GOOD...
LIKE RIGHT NOW WHEN I AM TRYING
AND BEING VERY STILL.
I CAN TELL YOU WHAT I SEE...
SO, SO PRETTY...
AND I CAN TELL YOU ABOUT THE SMELL,
CLEAN,
AND THE SOUNDS ARE THE ECHOS
OF THE WHOLE WORLDS SOUL.
THE ECHO OF THE WHOLE WORLDS SOUL,
IS LIVING...
IN EVERY SPECTRAL OF HUES
JUST OUTSIDE MY VERY OWN WINDOW.
WINDOWS ARE LIKE MIRRORS
IF YOU LOOK HARD,
HARD ENOUGH YOU CAN SEE
YOURSELF.
I REFLECT OFF THE REST OF THE WHOLE WORLD
AND I BOUNCE AROUND...
LIKE SOME PAINTED CLOWN.
I DO NOT IMPRESS,
ONLY MYSELF.
BUT, SOMETIMES I FEEL JUST LIKE GIVING UP...
BUT THEN I REMEMBER YOU MOM...
AND I CAN BE ANYTHING,
AND I START A NEW DREAM.
THEN I AM FLYING MOM!
I AM A MARSH~MELLOW PIE,
A SILVER CLOUD IN THE SKY...
SO HIGH!
MOM, I DO NOT KNOW WHETHER TO
LAUGH OR JUST CRY.
DEDICATED TO MY MOTHER
GONE SINCE august 15, 1981
gosh but i miss your silly ways. 3/15/2006 SPIRED COMPLETION by Linda
Spire me, High, I shall ascend Soring, of life I leap, So buoyant I shall transend.
Elevate Heightened, to the frolicsome Upward, in motion, Palpitate, World the Evolution In submersion, quaver, earthquake.
Wind Lass Lips, the kiss of rawest melon. Moondame, on an astral plane, to pacify the strong silent love of salaam, where the heart beats, the same.
Worldsome looks at self and search to see the atonement that befalls the pious martyr.
Dual visions encounter the yoke, of polarity, hand in hand, two fluids flow as the water.
Spired. High to elevate, soring in the motion, the worldsome, buoyant and pious do celibrate simple harmony, the true completion.
by Linda
3/2/2006 SO THERE!SO THERE! THESE ARE THINGS I WROTE ALONG TIME AGO
I JUST WANT TO GET THEM DOWN FOR PROSPERITY
Empty so empty,
you take my identity,
and you vanish my pride.
Fill me with insecurities,
and search deep in my eyes.
To see the void of hollow,
nothingness it reflects matterless.
And knowone listens,
and knowone cares,
and knowone sees me.
I am invisable, empty.
I make a world.
Something to cling to the edge,
before I fall! And I do fall!
I am falling, but I awake with a
start, and a hole in my world.
There is nowhere to fall.
I am just here, nowhere.
It does not matter.
The matter, a mad hatter. So there!
I strain to feel,
I strain to understand.
Where and what is love?
It can not be,
if you do not see!
See me, see me...
You laugh at my ways,
you do not communicate.
We sink into the dispair,
of wanting and have not. Am not.
I am lonely, why? Why?
Can not I find peace?
Here inside of me,
where is the peace?
I do not conceive,
the bits of instance,
I am the asylum of all that is fear!
These are just words, and they are.
But I am not. So there!
I have knowone, I am alone,
in my inner being, so alone.
The games they do.
The games they are.
But I can not play,
because I do not know how.
Wait! You are tiring, of it all!
Do not stop, hold on to me, tight!
I do love you, I do care. I will warm your elements,
because all this is, "IS!"(unexplainable,unknown)
All are the elements of you and me. So there!
I can not help what I can not conceive.
I can not conceive what I can not help.
The circle.
The misunderstood.
The longing.
The need of the unknown.
The great search.
Each page is all the same,
you can look and walk away.
Not to be understood, I stand.
Why?
Why not.
How?
How not.
So there! ! !
THE END BY LINDA
THE GATETHE GATE TTHIS IS THE FIRST TIME I WROTE ABOUT ONE-THE-SAME
Gryphons and gargolies,
guarding the treasures,
the secrets.
Secrets you can not see,
just a glimpse of their ways.
Hidden in the fog,
smog, haze and shadows ONE-THE-SAME.
Lurking behind you,
twist and glimpse as you may.
They do exist, pound the ivory gate ,
with your fist!
Do they bite your neck, cause flushes, headaches?
The Gryphon wall, tall,
none may enter the archway.
Guarding the treasures til domes day,
but forever surrender...
and they will show you the gate.
by Linda BEING (BEFORE I KNEW THE ILLUSION AND WHO I AM)BEING (BEFORE I KNEW THE ILLUSION AND WHO I AM)
Where is the intensity? " THE CAUSE?"
Purpose and meaning?
I have frivolously not been true to myself.
How can I lie to myself?
To hide truths from even myself,
just to uncomplicate it "ALL".
A cosmic transformation threw time, and history,
to the all fearsome, awesome reality death.
I know that reality is birth-death,
but it is the middle, life...that confusses me.
The intellectual stimuli of the five senses,
seeing,feeling,smelling,hearing,tasting.
Feeling, one big long life orgasim,
the unquencable vaseness.
I want to retain more knowledge.
The artistic glow of irrational rebellion.
Rules are for ants, social parasites,
life is for breaking the mass half-wit social rules.
Life is developement, exploring, and feeling.
I am who I choose to be,
I feel only what I choose to feel.
I will do as I choose,
to feel openly and intensely.
To die fulfilled, knowing the warmth,
and vastness of living, of being.
Life is the delirium of Love!
By Linda
3/1/2006 THEY'RE GLARING, YOU'RE IGNORINGTHEY'RE GLARING, YOU'RE IGNORING
When you get sick enough,
to find out what is wrong,
inspite of all the remedies,
you have tried, get your lessons,
from the mature and wise.
It is probibly wise,
to check the symptoms,
the sissy side effects,
and unbearible decisions.
Does something suddenly change?
Bring on all the tensions, pain?
Parents making all the comparisons?
Fuddy duddy visions.
Everytime plans executed with care,
are never right or wrong,
they are nowhere.
They're glaring, you're ignoring,
it is a final once-and-for-all,
on the road with knowone to call.
Realistically,
I will tell you ,
I have been comparing very carefully,
They're glaring, you're ignoring,
and when hell freezes over,
you will of been snoring!
By Linda (silly teenager pains)
everyone sleeps I will finish some old poems, AN ENIGMATIC FIGUREAN ENIGMATIC FIGURE
Knowone sees,
as childrens eager eyes.
A clear vision,
no obligations.
That endearing sexless age of innocence.
Cuddly infant specimens,
totally ignoring rationalization.
While carbon copy parents,
antisapate,
those lollipop dreams to disapate.
Lulled to sleep in permant press sheets,
and an electric blanket,
here lays a childs soul.
Torn between the tragic bloodknot,
the domesticated, liberated mother,
and the pathetic unvoting father.
They are the potentially potent man,
and his sibling rivalry woman.
And so goes the parent child inextricable bond.
From love to loathing,
this is the "ALL AMERICAN FAMILY".
Living in a democratic nation.
These are the virtueous nurtured souls,residing in the unforgettable land of fables.
Their existence grown from the massicure of Indians,
and the discriminated bondage of Negros.
White masters totally immersed in social sins.
Oblivious to perception,
an enigmatic figure,
the American.
Living in an out of porportion leisure situation,
while computers feel it is controversial,
to be, be alive!
You are just another statistic,
trying to survive!
by Linda 2/27/2006 MOONGALLMOONGALL
HALO OF TRUST
 BECON I CALL!
AND VALUE, O'MUST
OLD OF RUST
WRITHER US ALL.
CURTSY TO THE MOON
MELLOW A BALL
CRIMSON COME SOON
TO SING A TUNE
WE DO CALL.
SHIMMERS THE LIGHT
BEFORE THE FALL
TO BARE THE SIGHT
AND SHINE ABRITE
HEAVENS OWN GALL.
By Linda ( special for Moon) MY SONG OF OISILLON (means young , little birdy)MY SONG OF OISILLON
Faith alone makes for love,
and he who lacks the first,
will be denied the second.
My song of Oisillon suffers,
common life, full of clash
and "romantic moods"...
fits of schizophrentic nympholeptic despair,
and idiodic folly.
Doomed of no finances,
naive class
and so shallow bordoms lived.
"Light" , plays in thy minds-eyes-distance
of whimsical loones-tunes.
Sharp, are the incessant sounds.
Oisillon cries for mercy...
go unheard.
And it is so,
Oisillon walks and talks,
social deceased marrionett.
But Oh!
Secrets of how to feel,
the mystery, oh! mastery.
Triuphs!
Feelings do sing...
A chorous of written words.
Are but the solum voice,
perpetually,
softly a singing...
My song by Oisillon.
NOBODY BUT YOURSELFNOBODY BUT YOURSELF
Nobody but yourself,
sees it just this way.
fantasy image of myself,
play the illusion each day.
Want the hippocratic wealth?
Living from each pay-day,
ulser wealth is your hell-health.
Do you think you are molded from society clay?
Oh! Yes, nobody but yourself,
and sufforcating you can wallow and stay.
Tears and heavy fears are felt,
folly games of happy you do play!
By Linda  LOVE WINELOVE WINE
 Fruitful grape vines of estasy ,
flourish in natural harmony .
We were intertwined,
as a sweet grape -vine.
Togather young and tender,
pure love wine.
Flowing juices given in purest delight,
budding and flowering in time,
under blue sunlight.
Leafs of seasons did not hinder our sweet love ,
growth only as the stems of a vine,
gradually to bud.
Ripe and delicious as the grapes,
were our gentle kisses.
The nectar flowed as natural as wind breezes .
Beads of dew drops danced in our eyes,
as we intertwined,
and threw the years our love wine has survived.
Like grapes are harvested,
and made into rich wine,
our sweet love is so devine.
by Linda Words to myself, long ago another time.You do seem changed to me. You seem more grown-up and more
yourself. I am glad to see that change in you. Sometimes I have just
wondered what it is we are fighting about myself and I... and then I will sort of remember. Probibly a new version in my mind each time, how sad.
I see so many faults in myself they just seem so overwhelming to change. It always seems like no matter what I do it is always into a deeper hole and always hurts me or someone dear. Am I just made up of bullshit stuck-togather.
It seems like only yesterday I was a virgin and a little girl with big hopes.
I really try sometimes, so hard and I feel so deep, and to be so real...
I just do not know what I am doing, but I can be fooled so easily.
I am so far away and distant, such a lie! Because I can get no answer when I ask ,"Who am I?"
by Linda MIGHTY MOEMIGHTY MOE
Mighty Moe
sure is slow
heavy load in tow.
Just a working smoe
toil until he is dirty
go home to his girlie.
Mighty Moe
does not know?
What is whoa?
Does not care,
about holes in his soles.
Mighty Moe
in his thoughts,
all alone.
Can not squeeze water
from a stone.
Mighty Moe his dignity,
does not show.
Walking so very slow
heavy load in tow.
His lessons are not at face value,
unless you count the wrinkles
that smile around the eyes,
as he sips his beer,
a friend true-blue.
Oh! Mighty Moe
What do you know?
Eyes all aglow,
as you smile so.
by Linda MY SON WAS SEVENTEEN WHEN HE SAID THIS TO MEHe sat staring vacantly in an uncomfortable manner,
as an adult parent figure he asked for reasons,
finally after alot of twitching, a comment.
"I don't know what you want, as far as I am concerned.
I can not relate to what you are doing, or feeling,
because I haven't been there. I don't know how
you can love one person and then another...........
I won't love more than one person ultimately
and once they are dead, it is all over,
not say OK this possition has to be filled!
Two would make it imperfect, wrong.
One person is like evolution."
True story.
by Linda A CLOWNS FAITH A CLOWNS FAITH Listen to the jokes of the comedian,
from the egg an epigrammatist.
Who wakes laughter upon the air,
in lifes ludicrous circus-fair.
The many faces of an aversion,
paint the clown a caricturist,
a pantomine consious of smiling rectitude.
That jesters to snicker in additude.
Jovial punster of frolic that needs to entertain
you're the punchinello,that enthusiast,humorist
who before the footlights mimics and cackles,
and behind the scenes at lifes buffoonery chuckles.
The comic of limelight, stands before lifes curtain,
diverting the audience to giggling marionettes.
Who applaud the clowns faith,
which says it matters not!
To excite the laughter it does matter alot!
It is not the applause it is the laughter.
by linda 2/26/2006 gibbish yibbish, a poem for my son "ID SURELY MERMAID VON-SON"ID SURELY MERMAID VON-SON
Dally me, whet young bosom
plight one's ship Id von-son troth
surely mermaid per-say.
Id mist O'frolly likin' Scars of O'Hella.
Id spirt thee futal! Bore von small son.
Water swims of life, chagrined von world SO DAUFT!
Fret and fume, Id search pure-so-mercy.
Wince and cling, rue sanity...to daze, far better.
Along Id way did ruin some.
Doing things of NOT, ought be sought,
so we blink Id eyes, and sea of another waves.
And sail no social tide, hells gail be fair weather.
Shallow sea, wet Id woosome...
Splat Id emerge liguid, Id lifes bath ILLUSION!
Pearly shells, patterned Id a hurry?
Floating Id an ocean, tide to an anchor,
bait and sink HER, that has caught none...
Cried pools, tears, only to swallow and drown.
Von Ocean Son, just to hear the sea,
just to hear sea echos and storms,
so WATERS-THEMATTER???
(this is a special, MOTHER ID SON!)
by linda
2/25/2006 HOLLOW BELLSHOLLOW BELLS
You have tied your heart,
to the universal ball of twine.
And now your shallow smiles are drinking,
salt tear wine.
Hypnotic lies,
flurtatious sighs,
monotone mouth breaths unreal highs.
It is a cure all ails,
to pretend to hear the hollow bells,
and loose yourself in superfical qualities.
It is an alliance to passion,
divorced from loves,
desolation flight from a sea of feelings.
You have succeeded in floating motionless,
in a thoughtless relationship.
Not hearing the crashing ocean swells,
you still pretend to hear the hollow bells.
by Linda GOLDEN BOYGOLDEN BOY
He looks in the golden mirror
seeing all the bits.
His smile is lovely,
holds the world at his fingertips.
He's a golden boy,
with a golden smile.
All the people adore and want him,
a broken bit.
He belongs in an ivory castle.
His heart is fair and soul so gentle.
His lady love can't hold him,
he wants to be free, with style.
He knows not what direction,
he will follow the golden mile.
If you really love someone,
they say set them free
and if they come back
they'll still be free.
When he looks in the golden mirror,
he'll see reflections of the lady.
Lady who loved him and let him be.
He'll look in her direction,
and remember me...
by Linda
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