Poets Corner

Silent poet

I've nothing to say, nothing at all
you look to me with longing in your eyes.
something i dare say, i've never seen
to listen to a poet who's got nothing to say

I sit down to write and the words, they fall
into a balck hole of the depths of my head.
My pen i can not move for my mind grows cold
and my arm becomes broken, unable to flow

You thoughts you can say
you've still got that creative spark!
but the time is to late for me i'm afriad.
This is one writer who's got nothing to say.

It's a sad day when you find that this has happened to you
and you feel really empty and gloom sits on you.
For once upon a time, great things i wrote
stories and poems, i let my words go.

I wake up now, all alone
numb and tired with a silent mind.
So this is it, my last HOORAH!
Becuase this is one poet who's got nothing left...

not a single word to tell the world...

My Family

Here I sit, not knowing what to do
I've been there and I've given
Of myself and even what wasn't mine
I gave it up for you for you to be happy
And you repay me with the emotions I feel right now.

Now my world is falling apart all around me
Everything I have given has been for nothing
I awake to find your dagger in my heart and back
And your actions have affected not only me but others.

What were you thinking?
Didn't you ever listen to me all those times?
Why would you feel the need to hurt me as you have?
Why do I feel like the failure when its your life that will suffer?

So now I sit here with tears in my eyes and a lump in my throat
Not knowing what to do or say to either of you
One has taken the other one down a path of destruction
And I sit here weeping for both and what could have been

So what is my next step?
Do I let both of you go and start over?
Do I buy a one-way ticket to Utah?
What about my faith (the old and new one)?

I found myself not even being able to counsel a hurting soul yesterday...I am even making those around me suffer.
Razor blades and implements pass through my head
If I didn't know for sure that I would end up in a worse Hell
I'd be gone.

So here I sit, talking to what seems to be my last friend
The only one that listens without prejudice
I can't talk to either of you because one has affected the other
So here I sit....

Here it sits, this looking glass,
unframed and tossed, is there nothing left?
The reflection given, and a question asked,
is it the mirror broken? Or is it the man?
Broken shards, and a splintered soul,
a river of tears, his tale untold.
Dreams of happiness, dashed against the cliffs,
his screams go on impotent, what has he got left?
He looks to salvation, he looks to the steel,
he knows it should hurt, but will he really feel?
From the steel to the frame, on the ledge over his world,
he flashes back to happier times,
to a time when his world felt real.
So he screams and he rages,
against the mockery of the world,
and left to sit alone, in a box so full of fear.
Is there light? Is there day? Has life finally passed him?
Oh where did he go astray?
So he makes his choice, and takes to his feet,
throws the steel to the floor, and dries his eyes that leak.
He rips aside the curtains, that shaded out his light,
and takes a good long look......
at a world that is not right.
With a single thought of glory, a single glimpse of joy,
he smiles like a madman, left alone with his brand new toy,
then turns to grab a broom, sweeps up his broken self,
and smiles at the picture, he set upon the shelf.

I'm a soldier, yes, that much is true,
that does not mean that I'm not like you.
When friends go to war, and don't come home,
a soldier will cry, yes, he will mourn.

I'm a soldier, yes, that much is true,
that does not mean that I'm not like you.
I'm trained to kill, and to destroy,
but I'd rather play with my children, and all their toys.

I'm a soldier, yes, that much is true,
that does not mean that I'm not like you.
I'm flesh and bone and love and hate,
I'm all for friends, and going on dates.

I'm a soldier, yes, that much is true,
that does not mean that I'm not like you.
one limb at a time I dress myself,
and have family pictures, though they not be on a shelf.

I'm a soldier, yes, that much is true,
that does not mean that I'm not like you.
I grow weary of war, and taking lives,
but I do it all, so you'll survive.

I'm a soldier, yes, that much is true,
that does not mean that I'm not like you.
I work and I play and do tedious chores,
though I must admit, mine are easier than yours.

I'm a soldier, yes, that much is true,
that does not mean that I'm not like you.
I work for a living to provide a good home,
but the one I provide is for everyone.

I'm a soldier, yes, that much is true,
that does not mean that I'm not like you.
For when my time comes, I check out just like you,
but my marker's a rifle, in the ground between my boots.

I'm a soldier, yes, that much is true,
that does not mean that I'm not like you.
Against injustice you fight,
and thanks to me, that you have that right.

Halfway down the trail to hell
In a shady meadow green,
Are the souls of all dead troopers camped
Near a good old-time canteen
And this eternal resting place
Is known as Fiddler’s Green.

Marching past, straight through to hell,
The infantry are seen,
Accompanied by the Engineers,
Artillery and Marine,
For none but the shades of Cavalrymen
Dismount at Fiddlers' Green.

Though some go curving down the trail
To seek a warmer scene,
No trooper ever gets to Hell
Ere he's emptied his canteen,
And so rides back to drink again
With friends at Fiddlers' Green.

And so when man and horse go down
Beneath a saber keen,
Or in a roaring charge or fierce melee
You stop a bullet clean,
And the hostiles come to get your scalp,
Just empty your canteen,
And put your pistol to your head
And go to Fiddlers' Green.

Written anonymously for the U.S. cavalry, published in a 1923 U.S. Cavalry Manual. It is still used in modern cavalry units to memorialize the deceased.

It's the terror of knowing
What this world is about
Watching some good friends
Screaming 'Let me out'
Pray tomorrow - gets me higher high high
Pressure on people - people on streets
Turned away from it all like a blind man
Sat on a fence but it don't work
Keep coming up with love
but it's so slashed and torn
Why - why - why ?
Love love love love love
Insanity laughs under pressure we're cracking
Can't we give ourselves one more chance
Why can't we give love that one more chance
Why can't we give love give love give love give love
give love give love give love give love give love
'Cause love's such an old fashioned word
And love dares you to care for
The people on the edge of the night
And loves dares you to change our way of
Caring about ourselves
This is our last dance
This is our last dance
This is ourselves
Under pressure



Artist: David Bowie / Queen Lyrics
Song: Under Pressure Lyrics

In shadows dark, I learned to walk,
my path not clear, sometimes a lark.
But on the way, I met myself
shook my hand, and sat a spell.
I heard tales of glory, tales of woe,
tales and stories never told.
I met with greatness, I met with sorrow,
I dined with insignificance, I dined with me.
There were no trees, there were no walls,
just empty bottles, and stranded thoughts.
Rivers of wisdom, and pools of love,
no sky above me, no ground below.
But in the shadows, myself was found,
for better or worse, for life or death.
But as all things, it had to end,
so I took my leave, and said good-bye.

Some seek meaning, in nickel plating,
a screaming lord of flame and sulfur!
In this \"God\", they find their meaning,
to take what they wish, and to hell with all else!
The street is their chapel,
their confessions done in shadow,
losing themselves in a haze of pain,
pleasure and chemical prayer.
Symbolism be damned and claiming it all!
No need love for the law,
and not asking forgiveness,
strong survive, that's this jungle's law.
So war they wage,
while forging their own ends,
by the gun they live, by the gun they'll die,
and when all is said, and all is done,
I ask them again,
How strong were you?

Here come old flattop he come grooving up slowly
He got joo-joo eyeball he one holy roller
He got hair down to his knee
Got to be a joker he just do what he please

He wear no shoeshine he got toe-jam football
He got monkey finger he shoot coca-cola
He say \"I know you, you know me\"
One thing I can tell you is you got to be free
Come together right now over me

He bag production he got walrus gumboot
He got Ono sideboard he one spinal cracker
He got feet down below his knee
Hold you in his armchair you can feel his disease
Come together right now over me

He roller-coaster he got early warning
He got muddy water he one mojo filter
He say \"One and one and one is three\"
Got to be good-looking 'cause he's so hard to see
Come together right now over me




The Beatles - Come Together

Five Ways to Kill a Man

There are many cumbersome ways to kill a man.
You can make him carry a plank of wood
To the top of a hill and nail him to it.
To do this properly you require a crowd of people
Wearing sandals, a cock that crows, a cloak
To dissect, a sponge, some vinegar and one
Man to hammer the nails home.

Or you can take a length of steel,
Shaped and chased in a traditional way,
And attempt to pierce the metal cage he wears.
But for this you need white horses,
English trees, men with bows and arrows,
At least two flags, a prince and a
Castle to hold your banquet in.

Dispensing with nobility, you may, if the wind
Allows, blow gas at him. But then you need
A mile of mud sliced through with ditches,
Not to mention black boots, bomb craters,
More mud, a plague of rats, a dozen songs
And some round hats made of steel.

In an age of aeroplanes, you may fly
Miles above your victim and dispose of him by
Pressing one small switch. All you then
Require is an ocean to separate you, two
Systems of government, a nation's scientists,
Several factories, a psychopath and
Land that no one needs for several years.

These are, as I began, cumbersome ways
To kill a man. Simpler, direct, and much more neat
Is to see that he lives somewhere in the middle
Of the twentieth century, and leave him there.

-- Edwin Brock

It's a strange and haunting poem, and it's not that I \"like\" it, but it sure resonates with me...