Run Away

Run away--run away from here
Run away--run away from here
Run away all alone--run away from fear
Run away from sadness--run away from tears
Run away from home--from the wife & kids
From the cats & the doggies--run away to forgive
Run into the light . . .
Chorus
Hide away--in the lion's den
Play with matches--get burned
Flyin' high--in an aeroplane
Run away . . .
In a fast car--on a highway
Burnin' tracks--towards the sunset
No turning back--and no regrets
I'll think of you . . . (if i don't forget)
Run away from the church--run away from guilt
Runaway from (your) dream--everything you built
Run into the light . . .
Chorus

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song performed by Oingo Boingo
Added by Lucian Velea
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Where I Belong

The autumn’s presence has come on strong
The old bull frog’s tweedling his drone
And the bird's chirrups seem to belong
All in a melodious song
In this melodious song
The squirrels fidget behind the pine combs
The owl’s hooting joins right along
A woodpecker is pecking a hymn unknown
All in a melodious song
In this melodious song
And on the ground, I am prone
For I can’t find where I belong
I’m never happy, never strong
For this tune sounds horrible with groans
All in a melodious song
In this melodious song
But what if my purpose, my purpose is known?
To just sometimes listen to this cheerful song
And let it inspire me, all of these tones
All in a melodious song

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poem by Whitney Albright
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Melodious song

The autumn’s presence has come on strong
The old bull frog’s tweedling his drone
And the bird chirrups and seems to belong
All in a melodious song
In this melodious song
The squirrels fidget behind the pine combs
The owl’s hooting joins right along
A woodpecker is pecking a hymn unknown
All in a melodious song
In this melodious song
And on the ground, I am prone
For I can’t find where I belong
I’m never happy, never strong
For this tune sounds horrible with groans
All in a melodious song
In this melodious song
But what if my purpose, my purpose is known?
To just sometimes listen to this cheerful song
And let it inspire me, all of these tones
All in a melodious song

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poem by Whitney Albright
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The New `Our Times' (for Mix Fénéon)

1

At 3 p.m. yesterday, a Mr Adolphus Edwards, a Jamaican immigrant, was pecked to death by a large Bronze Eagle in Upper Parliament St. A U.S. State Dept. spokesman said later, `We have no comment to make as of this time.'

2

Police­Constable George Williams, who was partially blinded by a 15 lb. jelly baby thrown at a passing pop singer, is to be retired on half­pension.

3

Bearded Liverpool couple put out of misery in night by drip oil heater, court told.

4

A certain Mrs Elspeth Clout, of Huyton, was killed by an unidentified falling object. It was thought to be a particularly hard stool evacuated from the toilet of a passing aeroplane.

5

2 chip­shop proprietors were today accused of selling human ears fried in batter. One of them said `We believe there is room for innovation in the trade:

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poem by Adrian Henri
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Poor Happy Jimmy

(tribute to jim croce)
Give him a soft guitar to play what he choose
He aint got no fancy chords
Only got his blues
Poor happy jimmy
I didnt know him very well but he was with me
And I wont take a dime just to make it rhyme
Cause I cried and cried the day he died
Poor happy jimmy
Give him sweet melodies he sing with all he has
He got a funky paraphrase
It sound like good time jazz
Poor happy jimmy
I didnt know him very well but he was with me
And I wont put the blame on the aeroplane
But I boo-hood on the day he flew
Poor happy jimmy
I wonder why
That I cant forget all the things you said about your life and times
You set a spell inside

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song performed by Gino Vanelli
Added by Lucian Velea
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My Aquarium

i used to admire my brother who had
aquariums of fishes outside the garage
and in our rooms, fishes that swam
through every phase of our teenage years
now another of his fruitful hobbies steals our sights,
breath and hearts
he keeps a garden of orchids, many he
fervently crossed breed himself with a secret
wish to name a few at least after his sweet heart,
special friends and luminaries in town
with also the hope some would make their
way into every florist's vocabulary
the blade leafy shrubs have started to
make a cut into the finer part of our life
showering us dainty fair ladies in their best wear

i am always at a loss of their names
those protrusions with an array of flowers
of subtle shapes, racy exploding colours and scents
carrying apt names such as slippers, tigers, spiders

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poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Shes My Baby

Shes got her pudding in the oven
And its gonna be good
She better not leave me
And go out to hollywood
She got the best pudding in the neighborhood
Shes my baby
She can drive a truck
She can drive a train (my baby, ma-ma my baby)
She can even drive an aeroplane
Shes so good to look at in the rain
Shes my baby
Shes comin down the sidewalk
Shes stumblin through the door
Shes coming home from places shes never been before
She sits down on the sofa
She poors herself a drink
Says, honey, honey, honey aint no time to think
My baby
My baby
My baby

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song performed by George Harrison
Added by Lucian Velea
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Ex Post Facto

i. Prologue Ex

This forever war is flowing somewhere…
A ballad of the blues over sanguine seas.

The baghdad blues:
a man in a corner does not move.
His wife and children, strewn: lost love-letters of blood.

Beneath the veil of a willowy dream,
as if the world shall absolve you with buttery palms.
God is watching you, sad soldier,
dragging the landing gear of prosthetics.

ii. Post En Medias Res

In this land of no escape,
Take me to Walter Reed,
The privatized foothold of rats,

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poem by Marina Gipps
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Declaration in Flight

The aircraft in ascent, I swore
To write something of beauty, that would prove
Enough to lighten hearts, and cause
The world to celebrate, elders of Zion
& Palestine convert each other
To a peace of faith, the scientists
Of terror & martial machines
To dance together in the lands they freed
And donate to those in need. The husbands
Of war-widows be restored. The tortured
To return to the genesis of pain,
Smiling at torturers whose hands
Will not be raised again. The souls
Burning in loneliness of love be healed
By cool streams of compassion
Received without demand, given without aim.
The children born in poverty be lifted by
Abundant arms & those abused
Finding the shore
Where nothing will be fearful anymore.

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poem by Frank Bana
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Scenes from a New England Winter

Streams of black winding there way from here to there
cutting through a field of white
trees struggling with all their might against the soft white invader
as people stop and stare

cars turned into moving mounds of snow
people hurrying off to some secret place to go
the softness of sounds in the cold
this is winter to me

the sun a creates such a glare against the snow
your breath a frosty mist hanging in the air
people bundled up tight against the cold
eyes blinking against the white

the crunch of snow under a boot, the laughter of children
home from school, all decked out in their new snow suit
the far off drone of a snow blower says work is near
winter, in New England a time to hold dear

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poem by Jim Milks
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Knowledge

What happens to our knowledge
when we pass from here?
Will it be buried with us
for an eternity to be undisturbed,
or do we leave tracks
of our knowledge behind?

Great minds have already written down
things they did not want to forget.
Is it possible that great knowledge
is gathering dust somewhere
in those forgotten chapters
of our history?

Leonardo Da Vinci’s drawings
of airplanes and submarines.
Were they just fanciful dreams,
or were they reality?
Could these things have existed,
but of their presence in history

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poem by David Harris
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Rats

As a toddler I grew up in my
Grandparents ancestral house
Large house with several rooms
Sloping red tiled roof
Semi dark, even during mid day
Located in the centre of vast estate
With reddish gravely soil
Horizontal terrain with several elevational layers
House encircled by tall trees of
Coconuts, Jackfruits, mangoes, bananas
Tamarind, papaya, pepper creepers
Such large house occupied by only
Four human beings
Myself, grandparents and a servant maid
House was infested with
Reptiles, lizards, small crawling snakes
Cockroaches, spiders, squirrels, frogs
Millipedes, centipedes, cats, kitten and rats
Black bats flying and clinging to ceiling, heads down
Best place for zoological research

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poem by Chandra sekharan
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Brunt Of The Storm

the old woman
sits on the floor,
talking to the vacuum cleaner,
and laughing with the broom.
and the pictures of children,
like leaves turning seasons,
stare silently from a distance,
both chosen and not!
the dog bows her eyes,
with worry and love.
and the drone of the tv,
bores holes in the wall.
long grey hair glistening,
as sun sifts dirty blinds.
and the smell of passion,
has turned to old feet.
and no one gives a cold damn,
or understands why...
she has no need of people,
no need for chatter.

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poem by Eric Cockrell
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August Day

(words by sara allen
Music by daryl hall)
I saw the sun, though it didnt shine
Gave up no shadows, gave out no way to know the time
No wind to blow the silver leaves
The drone of clever talk just stopped
The air hangs out, hesitates to carry a thought
Away from me
And the sky colored heavy gray
August day
Stir the dust and carve a rhyme
Barefoot blues watch and wait till suppertime
Will a smile break through
Distant thunder and the slow dance
Static lightning sky daring me to take a chance
And say that I love you
And the sky colored heavy gray
August day

song performed by Hall & Oates
Added by Lucian Velea
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Kral Majales (King of May)

And the Communists have nothing to offer but fat cheeks and eyeglasses and
lying policemen
and the Capitalists proffer Napalm and money in green suitcases to the
Naked,
and the Communists create heavy industry but the heart is also heavy
and the beautiful engineers are all dead, the secret technicians conspire for
their own glamour
in the Future, in the Future, but now drink vodka and lament the Security
Forces,
and the Capitalists drink gin and whiskey on airplanes but let Indian brown
millions starve
and when Communist and Capitalist assholes tangle the Just man is arrested
or robbed or has his head cut off,
but not like Kabir, and the cigarette cough of the Just man above the clouds
in the bright sunshine is a salute to the health of the blue sky.
For I was arrested thrice in Prague, once for singing drunk on Narodni
street,
once knocked down on the midnight pavement by a mustached agent who
screamed out BOUZERANT,
once for losing my notebooks of unusual sex politics dream opinions,

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poem by Allen Ginsberg
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Summer

Winter is cold-hearted
Spring is yea and nay,
Autumn is a weather-cock
Blown every way:
Summer days for me
When every leaf is on its tree;

When Robin's not a beggar,
And Jenny Wren's a bride,
And larks hang singing, singing, singing,
Over the wheat-fields wide,
And anchored lilies ride,
And the pendulum spider
Swings from side to side,

And blue-black beetles transact business,
And gnats fly in a host,
And furry caterpillars hasten

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poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti
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My Bees: An Allegory

"O bees, sweet bees!" I said, "that nearest field
Is shining white with fragrant immortelles.
Fly swiftly there and drain those honey wells."
Then, spicy pines the sunny hive to shield,
I set, and patient for the autumn's yield
Of sweet I waited.
When the village bells
Rang frosty clear, and from their satin cells
The chestnuts leaped, rejoicing, I unsealed
My hive.
Alas! no snowy honey there
Was stored. My wicked bees had borne away
Their queen and left no trace.
That very day,
An idle drone who sauntered through the air
I tracked and followed, and he led me where
My truant bees and stolen honey lay.
Twice faithless bees! They had sought out to eat
Rank, bitter herbs. The honey was not sweet.

poem by Helen Hunt Jackson
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Sometime Soon

Watching the world turn. Watching it spin. Oh baby where do i begin. Another night without sleep. It my conscious getting to me. I like to say sorry but i just don't know how. I would if i could, but i know what it would mean. Bringing back my demons. In the living fresh. A nightmare of my own mess. I confess it has been difficult. But still we must march are separate ways. We are each others enemy. Cause to much pain, to ride together in a personal airplane. Provide the evidence that your through. And maybe i ll write you. I have a box of letters in my head, waiting for that day. And i pray its not to soon. Some would call me a loon and maybe their right. But regardless this soul can never be locked up tight. No drugs can cure, watch me as i take wings and soar.

poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
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Cover Up

I agreed to surrender all and speak of lasting peace
But there is still blood on the sidewalks and disease
I have gathered the children and dried their tears
Although the line is busy to the army of volunteers
I told all that there is hope to survive and to smile
But they laughed at me and remained very hostile

In June it was snowing and we decorated a tree
But the Federal Marshal wrote me a ticket for a fee
I was in a locked room walking on mirrored glass
Regretfully they said that the check up I did not pass
I was set free but could not shed the striped shirt
At the time you saw me hiding because I was hurt

On the way to the meeting I rode in a lavender bus
I was whispering confessions I usually don't discuss
When the man in the corner started to bleed in red
I knew that there was a mistake and word had spread
The corner store sold stale bread for a steep price
But who is to complain if we only grow brown rice

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poem by Kristina Louisa Carr
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Already Dies.

After the service
at the church

on Sunday morning
in 1962

she and you
leaving the choir

and she taking your hand
in hers and staying behind

until the others had gone
she kisses your lips

and the echo
of the organ’s drone

silent and the smell
of her mother’s

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poem by Terry Collett
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