Poems Of Any Length

[Moontanman]

Pine trees

If time were a direction, down the street,
around the bend, and the further I walked the younger I would be

And I could spend an afternoon visiting the past as easy as walking to the lake

I would take the direction that leads to a long winding road at the top of a hill

Where tall pine trees sway in the breeze, where a young girl with flaming hair waits for me

Her blue eyes shine with joy, with lips as sweet as rose petals covered in honeydew

If I could again drink deeply of the innocent love that was given to me

No distance would be to far to walk; nothing could stop my feet as I walked along that time twisted street

To kiss your neck, smell your hair, feel your young heart beating next to mine, look into your eyes so blue

How many times would I make that trip to a rendezvous addictive as any drug and just as sure not to last?

How did those moments feel to you? Did your heart beat with fear or was it desire?

How often would you make the trip along that time twisted path to relive those moments of romance?

What would be the cost of each of those trips? Would you trade one day of your future for a day of the past

To kiss your sweet young lips, to see the blush between the freckles on your face would be worth any price

I am afraid I would walk that past until my future was gone, until only a ghost would walk the street

Or maybe I would only walk the twisted street once, pull you up on my motorbike and take you away

But would you give up all that has passed into this future for another unsure future roll of life’s dice

The past is gone, the future is fixed, but we still have the memories of those days under the tall pines

Michael Hissom

[Moontanman]

the Stars Beckon


Once When Men Looked At The Stars, They Saw Gods
They Prayed And Begged But The Stars Gave Them Not Even A Nod

Them Men Became Wise And Saw The Stars As Distant Suns
Trips To These Distant Lights Were Planned In Fun

Then The Earth Became Small, And Men Looked At The Sky
Those Worlds Looked Like The Answer To The Crowded Earth’s Cry

But The Wise Men Who Make The Rules, The Ones Who Decide
Said “not Yet, We Must Protect Ourselves From The Other Side.”

Weapons Of, War, That’s What We Need, More And More, With Godspeed
So They Bought And They Bought With Fear And Pride To Fuel Their Greed

So These Men, With No Thought Or Care, Borrowed From Those Yet To Be,
All The Wealth, The Coal, Oil, And Gas, Even The Last Of The Trees

When The Others Proved To Be No Longer A Threat
To Move To The Stars Looked Like A Sure Bet

But Again The Men, The Men So Sure Their Wisdom Knew No Bounds
Said, “not Yet, To Solve Our Problems, More Wealth Must Be Found.”

But Men Made More Men, And The Cry For More Room Grew Louder Still
And Our World Grew Smaller And, And The Future Was Stolen To Pay The Bill

One Day The Men In Control Saw The Wealth Had Run Out
Suddenly The Wisdom Of These Wise Men Knew The Pain Of Doubt

They Said “where Are Voices That Planned For The Stars?”
The Answer Was “ We Traded Them For More Boats, Planes, And Cars”

So The Wise Men Looked For The Riches It Would Take To Reach The Sky
But Nothing Remained, No Oil, No Trees, Not Even Birds On High

Just A Small Foul Planet, With Men To Spare
A World Pillaged, Now Filled With Dispair

Many Years Later, In The Sky, Appears A New Light
A Mighty Vessel, A Starship, Looks Down From A Height

No Longer Do The Works Of Man Dominate The Veiw
Just Clean Air, Pristine Forests, And Oceans Of Blue

When These Visitors Stride Across What Was Once Our Land
Through Moldering Cities Built At Mans Command

Our Epitaph Transcends The Barriers Of Species And Time
Screams Out From The Ruins The Story Of Our Crime

We Took No Bold Steps, We Got What Men Crave
We Provided For Everyone, From Cradel To Grave!


Michael Hissom

[Tarantism]

I love all of you for making art here.

[Tarantism]

Norse code is awakened inside the figure eight
humbled through centuries of muttered beeps
tablature on skinny paper,
and the language is trascribed in dots
dots that drip down the spine in colors of orange, yellow and indago glow
you could see it in an x-ray if you drained your latrine.

Scales come from these words;
"I guess you could call them words,
the languages of the past smell and sound like the bellowing of birds
and the screaming of beasts to me".

THERE ARE MORE NOTES THAN A-G, infact the extend infinitely
across the sea and through the trees
towards the infinity that is me,
the thing that slowly and surely spouts from these seeds
magic beans, the beginning on which the tree leans

wait, that isn't me, it already happened and I am happening
now is not then, and the future is now and soon to be constantly arriving.

[Turtle]

not by me, but of me. muchas gracias y salute monsieurs bierce y delaso!

source

Originally Posted by ambrose bierce

TORTOISE, n.
A creature thoughtfully created to supply occasion for the following lines by the illustrious Ambat Delaso:

TO MY PET TORTOISE

My friend, you are not graceful -- not at all;
Your gait's between a stagger and a sprawl.

Nor are you beautiful: your head's a snake's
To look at, and I do not doubt it aches.

As to your feet, they'd make an angel weep.
'Tis true you take them in whene'er you sleep.

No, you're not pretty, but you have, I own,
A certain firmness -- mostly you're [sic] backbone.

Firmness and strength (you have a giant's thews)
Are virtues that the great know how to use --

I wish that they did not; yet, on the whole,
You lack -- excuse my mentioning it -- Soul.

So, to be candid, unreserved and true,
I'd rather you were I than I were you.

Perhaps, however, in a time to be,
When Man's extinct, a better world may see

Your progeny in power and control,
Due to the genesis and growth of Soul.

So I salute you as a reptile grand
Predestined to regenerate the land.

Father of Possibilities, O deign
To accept the homage of a dying reign!

In the far region of the unforeknown
I dream a tortoise upon every throne.

I see an Emperor his head withdraw
Into his carapace for fear of Law;

A King who carries something else than fat,
Howe'er acceptably he carries that;

A President not strenuously bent
On punishment of audible dissent --

Who never shot (it were a vain attack)
An armed or unarmed tortoise in the back;

Subject and citizens that feel no need
To make the March of Mind a wild stampede;

All progress slow, contemplative, sedate,
And "Take your time" the word, in Church and State.

O Tortoise, 'tis a happy, happy dream,
My glorious testudinous regime!

I wish in Eden you'd brought this about
By slouching in and chasing Adam out.

[Michaelangelica]

SAID HANRAHAN
by John O'Brien


"We'll all be rooned," said Hanrahan,
In accents most forlorn,
Outside the church, ere Mass began,
One frosty Sunday morn.


The congregation stood about,
Coat-collars to the ears,
And talked of stock, and crops, and drought,
As it had done for years.


"It's looking crook," said Daniel Croke;
"Bedad, it's cruke, me lad,
For never since the banks went broke
Has seasons been so bad."


"It's dry, all right," said young O'Neil,
With which astute remark
He squatted down upon his heel
And chewed a piece of bark.


And so around the chorus ran
"It's keepin' dry, no doubt."
"We'll all be rooned," said Hanrahan,
"Before the year is out."


"The crops are done; ye'll have your work
To save one bag of grain;
From here way out to Back-o'-Bourke
They're singin' out for rain.


"They're singin' out for rain," he said,
"And all the tanks are dry."
The congregation scratched its head,
And gazed around the sky.


"There won't be grass, in any case,
Enough to feed an ass;
There's not a blade on Casey's place
As I came down to Mass."


"If rain don't come this month," said Dan,
And cleared his throat to speak -
"We'll all be rooned," said Hanrahan,
"If rain don't come this week."


A heavy silence seemed to steal
On all at this remark;
And each man squatted on his heel,
And chewed a piece of bark.


"We want an inch of rain, we do,"
O'Neil observed at last;
But Croke "maintained" we wanted two
To put the danger past.


"If we don't get three inches, man,
Or four to break this drought,
We'll all be rooned," said Hanrahan,
"Before the year is out."


In God's good time down came the rain;
And all the afternoon
On iron roof and window-pane
It drummed a homely tune.


And through the night it pattered still,
And lightsome, gladsome elves
On dripping spout and window-sill
Kept talking to themselves.


It pelted, pelted all day long,
A-singing at its work,
Till every heart took up the song
Way out to Back-o'-Bourke.


And every creek a banker ran,
And dams filled overtop;
"We'll all be rooned," said Hanrahan,
"If this rain doesn't stop."


And stop it did, in God's good time;
And spring came in to fold
A mantle o'er the hills sublime
Of green and pink and gold.


And days went by on dancing feet,
With harvest-hopes immense,
And laughing eyes beheld the wheat
Nid-nodding o'er the fence.


And, oh, the smiles on every face,
As happy lad and lass
Through grass knee-deep on Casey's place
Went riding down to Mass.


While round the church in clothes genteel
Discoursed the men of mark,
And each man squatted on his heel,
And chewed his piece of bark.


"There'll be bush-fires for sure, me man,
There will, without a doubt;
We'll all be rooned," said Hanrahan,
"Before the year is out."

------------------------------------------------------------------------
Around the Boree Log and Other Verses, 1921

SAID HANRAHAN by John O'Brien (1878 - 1952)

[Loricybin]

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