STICKY POST
By greathoneybear.
Friday, 16. November 2007, 23:10:51
poetry, group
Everyone on this group can post whatever they feel like. This group belongs to us all.
Hey guys, just a FYI, we have been getting many poems that are coming in which are fantastic. Just want to let everyone know that many poems are on several pages so that all the poems can be looked at and commented on. The poems are coming in faster than people know. Which is great.
Now, I know we also have lots of members in our group. So hopefully, we have more poetry coming our way as well. "hint, hint"
This is a great group of people and I am proud to belong to this group.
By lokutus_prime.
Sunday, 7. December 2008, 22:44:20
mind, flower, Poet, Buddha
...
where are you taking me?
i asked my mind.
came back reply,
on a journey to self
and there to find
what you seek from life.
how shall i know
when i am there?
came back reply,
when all is laid bare.
what shall i do
when this i see?
came back reply,
you will know -
as does eternity.
(c)lokutus
ZEN prime
By lokutus_prime.
Sunday, 7. December 2008, 14:11:52
mind, flower, Poet, Buddha
...
when we evince innermost thought
through meditation, is this illusion
from some sort of suspended state,
in which mind is not asleep or awake?
is what we feel the revelation
of nothingness, and if it is
what then? a vacuum of preservation,
a space entirely devoid of matter,
not even the clapping of a single hand
to replace wordly chatter?
i would rather be in pasadena
or in some place where
i can see and feel
things i know are not surreal.
but my buddhist friend,
would convince me otherwise,
by telling me to close my eyes. (c)lokutus
ZEN prime
By lokutus_prime.
Sunday, 7. December 2008, 11:55:52
tents, smart, Poet, castle
...
Life in all its providence
places some in castles,
and some in tents.
The rich man with his
tax avoid, shrugs off
Life and lives abroad.
The poor man holds
his plate up high
for social welfare
from the sky.
But the middle class
see their lot
as something else
that God forgot.
Life sucks the juice
from everyone,
the rich man in Bermuda's sun,
the poor man in the begging run,
but the middle class
fret and fear
that tax is higher
than last year.
The richman with his
basking yacht
and smart accountant
ignores the lot.
The poor man thinks
he'll get a job
but social security
boils on hob.
And the middle class
wince and tell each other
that God should have had
a middle class brother.
1st ADDENDUM:
The bankers gambled the wherewithal
and markets hold all in their thrall.
The media talks (it's more of a prattle)
about 'rising prices' and says the battle
is about "chance" - give it to all.
The bankers gambled the wherewithal
and markets hold all in their thrall.
Stock is bought and stock is sold;
each holder sieves for a 'pot of gold'.
The bankers gambled the wherewithal
and markets hold all in their thrall.
The CityGuys, they run with a herd
that bellows "follow!" and then 'absurd'
becomes the "Order Of the Day".
The bankers gambled the wherewithal
but markets hold all in their thrall.
Governments fumble and lose their way
and the middle class must pay and pay.
(c) Lokutus prime
By lokutus_prime.
Sunday, 7. December 2008, 11:54:06
tobacco, rhyme, smoke, rhyming
...
In Purgatory
Dante said there is a line
stretching for ever
beyond Space & Time.
And every soul there
tried to joke
that in Purgatory
there is no smoke.
In Purgatory
Dante thought they
were describing Lucifer
at rest one day,
But Dante never knew
a smoke with filter tip
and missed the joke.
In Purgatory
Dante said there is a line
stretching for ever
beyond Space & Time.
But he has never
seen our Ed
Smokeless - shivering
under the bed
and quivering with
his smokeless head
covered in anti-nico tabs,
the things that crusaders
make in labs.
In Purgatory
Dante said there is a line
stretching for ever
beyond Space & Time.
Ed knows his Dante
and will agree
that the circles
of imaginary smoke rings
go on endlessly.
Poem (c) Prime Purgator
Original illustration (c) Gustave Dore
By lokutus_prime.
Sunday, 7. December 2008, 11:52:03
brooke, thought fox, tennyson, LEIGH HUNT
...
Out of the book I opened today
came wonderful things
that swept me away
to different places,
where worlds and times
are held in forever,
created in rhymes.
Dickinson, Keats,
Eliot, Hughes
rose out of the pages
as if from a Muse.
Auden stood up,
I heard him say
"Stop all the clocks,
I am saddened today"
but I turned the page
and he turned away.
I heard Alfred Tennyson's
words from afar
as he murmured to me
"I have crossed the bar".
I read on
and others arose
from this book of
gold pages,
treasury of prose.
Abou Ben Adhem,
may his soul be blest,
arose from the pen
of Leigh Hunt at his best.
Blake's Tyger Tyger
burnt so bright
in an immortal
forest's night.
Then Invictus leapt
and set me free
out of the page
of W E Henley,
while in a midnight
forest of Ted Hughes
the Thought Fox gave
expression in his muse.
La Belle Dame Sans Merci
called out to knight-at-arms;
John Keats let me see
the glory of his poem
and its majesty.
The Donkey brought a rider
into town, while jeers
were thrown by all
the waiting throng
and Father looked
from high upon his Son,
described by G K Chesterton.
I read 
of Rupert Brook,
wishing for Cambridgeshire
and Granchester's nook,
musing in some corner
of a foreign field,
'The Soldier' writing
in his journal now;
"I will be found
where England rests,
beneath a field turned up
by foreign plough".
Out of the book I opened today
came wonderful things
that swept me away
to different places,
where worlds and times
are held in forever,
created in rhymes.
Poem (c) Lokutus Prime
Images (c) Best Loved Poems
By lokutus_prime.
Sunday, 7. December 2008, 00:31:10
travel, love, Poet, gazing
...
I took the train
to Capital City,
packed to the gunnels
it didn’t look pretty.
the world-and-his-wife
were all there sitting
with iPods and laptops
and no one was knitting.On my left was a guy
in a sparky blue coat
with an apple and pen
scribbling a note.
I think he was writing
some sorta tune
for I heard him muttering
"you’re makin me swoon.."then he bites at his apple
swallows and stretches
scratches his beard
stands and then fetches
from the rack up above.
a bag with the words
saying freedom is love
stitched all on a Che
whose face is at peace,
as his eyes stare soft
gazing forever
at something aloft,
not seeing he’s
surrounded by
army and police.I took the train
to Capital City
packed to the gunnels
it didn’t look pretty.
the world-and-his-wife
were all there sitting
with iPods and laptops
and no one was knitting.
(c) Lokutus Prime
By lokutus_prime.
Sunday, 7. December 2008, 00:02:53
mind, flower, Poet, rhyme
...
When looking at
that flower
you call the mind
whose petals are
a cover, are a blind,
take care -
for introspection
and the like
changes the petal's hue
and leads you
on a path you never saw,
far different than the one
you walked before. (c)lokutus
ZEN prime
By lokutus_prime.
Saturday, 6. December 2008, 23:57:56
artwork, humor, bed, humour
...
under the bed, under the bed...mp3
A Painter was musing,
she'd run out of space
and her artwork was mounting
around her workplace.
She needed more room
but the laws of expansion
meant soon she would have
to move into a mansion.
Under the bed,under the bed?
she looked and she looked,
and then she just said
"I must put all my paintings
under the bed.
But I need a big bag
or something to keep
the paintings undusty
'neath the place where I sleep"
She'd heard of a Painter
who'd had an idea,
it seemed like a good one
a solution quite clear.
VanGogh stuffed his artwork,
so it was said,
higgledy piggedly under his bed,
and he slept near the edge
with his head on the right,
where his ear used to be,
an unlobe-ly sight,
but his other kept listening
throughout the long night.
Nobody knew
if his paintings all growed
in hilly-fication
where he had them,
bed-stowed.
all that is known,
from what has been said,
is the monoeared master
stacked them under his bed.
The Painter I mentioned,
the one in a muse,
shrugged her slim shoulders,
she had nothing to lose,
and she muttered aloud
"If it's good for Van Go'
then it's good for me
and I'll make that my stow".
but the law of expansion
it hungers for space,
her bed was pushed higher
and soon her sweet face
was touching the ceiling
quite out of place.
she fell off the bed,
one early spring day,
and climbed to her feet
as she started to say
"I must look for more room,
and must not be aloof
to the idea of putting
my stuff on the roof"
I saw her last week
she was digging a hole
in the back of her yard
and she said "it's my goal
to bury that overflow
up on the slate
that covers my house
for I fear I can't wait.
The paintings are growing
'cuz i'm painting faster
than the guy with one ear,
that old dutch van master!"
I turned and I left,
but as far as i know
her deep mine of paintings
continues to grow.
In Madagascar they're nervous
and pleading "no, no!".under the bed, under the bed...mp3poem & audio (c)lokutus prime
(inspired by something I read over at Pam's page on
http://my.opera.com/PainterWoman/blog/the-three-peppers)
By lokutus_prime.
Saturday, 6. December 2008, 09:04:24
enterprise, Poet, well-run scheme, frantic
...
To: Whom It May Concern
----- IF -------
If all you ever showed were lists
that hint The Winner is on there
but then allowed a fog to fill
the pages where so many care,
If every name you placed right now
is there because of lobbyied votes
or loud "hoozahhhhs!" or 'silly' notes, 
If you have never had a place
for poets, or never knew a rhyming-plan,
then I must say it's rather odd
you missed out me, The Rhyming Man,
If you declaim that black is white
and then allow that day is night
but print more lists to prove You're bright,
and then sit back while we must think
the whole ship leaks and may well sink,
Then you have earned a nom-de-plume
that tells the world you're out of tune
with what "best" means in widest measure
when used by you, as some mock-treasure,
And If you ever try again,
sparing us all from hurt-pride-pain,
then may it fall to you to know
that many viewed your several lists with woe
and in the weaving to-and-fro
you dealt a many fingered blow
to aspirants and all who dreamed
of votes counted in a well-run scheme,
but then found lists drawn and re-drawn
and saw their chosen 'fail' in one bleak morn.
If you can learn from all this and admit
you fumbled with the ball but then dropped it,
then I believe that you might organise
a future competition with a better enterprise,
(not based on bollywood or frantic lists
whose veracity is undone)
and, what is more, you'll be an organizer, my son.
(c) L Prime 
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