Back to Puget Sound

I will admit I've learned, no, I've absorbed, the sullen firs,
The moss, the ferns, the dark and dreadful dripping sky,
The surging waters, sorrow, death, and, now, beneath
Your shallow sun and trees like lollipops and flat
Horizons, I am out of place, a bat among a cattle herd.
A thousand races crowd the shore, and babble sets
The mind aflame, but, here, a single voice prevails,
A dull and never-changing lowing, lulling those who
Hear it, and who make it, into mindlessness. The
Drone of God and country, and of whiteness, and
The certainty that things which are not these are
Evil, casts a pall across this otherwise absurdly
Cheery land. I love it here when only you are
With me looking out across this valley at the
Rippling fields, but all the darkness I absorbed,
The ringing in my ears that comes from never
Hearing foreign voices, force me, after all these
Years, to open up my wings and fly for home.

poem by Lawrence Beck
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From High School

Don’t you feel that we really belong because
There are windmills in your eyes
Darker than for your mother’s sadness when she goes
Away into the loneliness in her kitchen:
And there doesn’t have to be any more reason for these
Tattoos except that I went away to Spain so many odd years
Ago:
I barely graduated high school: a truant with a purple
And silver jaw who is no longer beautiful-
Lost so long ago: kidnapped by the long extinctions of fireworks:
Each peeling whistle strangely reminiscent of our lives together,
Until collected under another school bus, I have nothing
Else to do but to listen to the long day as it rains
In fake knives- and my Muse named Alma turns in,
Frowning over my misuse of the queens language and all of
My scars, scarred like a spearing pylon
Presumptuous in the bay that the terrapins circle, with jokes
And farts, as she bites her fingernails,
And the green cannons bask in the seashells of the afternoon sky:
It might as well be Easter with the beauty resurrected there:

[...] Read more

poem by Bret R. Crabrooke
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Disturbance

When I was a little boy
My mama dropped me on my head
I felt kinda dizzy but the doctor
Made note of all I did
Chorus
Ever since then theres been a slight disturbance in my mind
A kind of disarrangement that the surgeons cannot find
At the age of seven I just couldnt read my abc
But I gave my teacher tips on how the caveman used to be
Chorus
Reach the age of 21 aint got no...to fit my clothes
Day and night Im looning around
Dont know what Im looking for
Will they carry me away?
Oh will they carry me away?
I was 97 and Im sure my brain it had enough
Racing round in jet planes cause
My sports car aint quite fast enough
Chorus
Will they carry me away?

[...] Read more

song performed by Electric Light Orchestra
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Disturbance

When I was a little boy
My mama dropped me on my head
I felt kinda dizzy but the doctor
Made note of all I did
Chorus
Ever since then theres been a slight disturbance in my mind
A kind of disarrangement that the surgeons cannot find
At the age of seven I just couldnt read my abc
But I gave my teacher tips on how the caveman used to be
Chorus
Reach the age of 21 aint got no...to fit my clothes
Day and night Im looning around
Dont know what Im looking for
Will they carry me away?
Oh will they carry me away?
I was 97 and Im sure my brain it had enough
Racing round in jet planes cause
My sports car aint quite fast enough
Chorus
Will they carry me away?

[...] Read more

song performed by Electric Light Orchestra
Added by Lucian Velea
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Malerie fra Jyllands Vestkyst

Man seer ei Træ, ei Busk, selv Lyngen vil ei groe,
Fra Sandet pipper frem et Græsstraae eller to;
Sandklitter reise sig, de vexle Dag for Dag,
Og rundtom stikke frem de nøgne, sorte Vrag.
Foruden Grændse Havet udstrakt for os staaer,
Speilklart og glat det er, saa langt som Øiet naaer,
Strandbredden er belagt med Stene, store, smaae,
Og alle runded' smukt, see, røde, hvide, blaae!
Hist komme Fiskere, de gaae til Havet froe;
En herlig Slægt det er, med Marv i hver en Kno.
Nu læses først en Bøn, fromt folder sig hver Haand,
Saa ile de med Christ, Gud og den hellig Aand.


Den gamle Mor paa Klinten staaer,
Saa graat som Sand er hendes Haar!
Hun drikker Solens Ild saa smaat,
Og skutter sig, det gjør saa godt.
Men som hun ret paa Havet seer,
Strax hendes gustne Ansigt leer,

[...] Read more

poem by Hans Christian Andersen
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Women

Women behind bars, women in fast cars, women in distress, women with no dress
Women in airplanes, women who play games
Women in uniform, see that woman with her clothes gone
Women who satisfy, women you cant buy
Like women in magazines, and women in a limousine
Women who sip champagne, women who feel no pain
Women in a disco, and women who dont wanna know, no no
Oh, women wanting sympathy, women feeling extacy
Women who live in fantasies, bringing man to his knees
Women who boil to love, women who need a shove
Women who cant be beat, get that woman in the back seat, yeah yeah
Women in the usa, those women steal your heart away
Women into rock n roll, women who steal the show, go go go
Women that you write songs about, women that turn around and kick you out
Women you dream about all your life
Women that stab you in the back with a switchblade knife
Oh women, oohoo, talking bout women, all round the world
Yeah women, all the naughty girls, talking bout women, come on baby

song performed by Foreigner
Added by Lucian Velea
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I Can Feel..... (The Change Coming)

i can feel the change coming,
the dark swell of the clouds.
the rumble that shakes the streets,
i can smell buildings on fire.
can hear the planes,
the sound the bombs make falling,
the pulsing hate of the oil rigs,
the shuffle of money behind closed doors.
the wail of prayers in desperate churches,
the street dealer selling a loaf of bread.
the metallic sound of shovels digging graves,
the ignorant drone of great leaders.
the sound of boots on pavement,
breath shuddering through broken windows.
the silent stare of the angry and hungry,
the thunderous clenching of fists.
the haunted sound of chains and cell doors,
and riot squad bullhorns.
the tongues of truth cut from bodies,
the last cigarette lit.

[...] Read more

poem by Eric Cockrell
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What Makes The Summer?

It is not the lark's clear tone
Cleaving the morning air with a soaring cry,
Nor the nightingale's dulcet melody all the balmy night--
Not these alone
Make the sweet sounds of summer;
But the drone of beetle and bee, the murmurous hum of the fly
And the chirp of the cricket hidden out of sight--
These help to make the summer.

Not roses redly blown,
Nor golden lilies, lighting the dusky meads,
Nor proud imperial pansies, nor queen-cups quaint and rare--
Not these alone
Make the sweet sights of summer
But the countless forest leaves, the myriad wayside weeds
And slender grasses, springing up everywhere--
These help to make the summer.

One heaven bends above;
The lowliest head ofttimes has sweetest rest;

[...] Read more

poem by Marietta Holley
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Clearly Confused

She was clearly confused
Bewildered and bemused

How can it be called a civil war?
Brooding on it more and more

Dining on some jumbo shrimp
That waiter is such a wimp

Need more sweet and sour sauce
If only she had some dental floss

Hoping the bill wasn't pretty ugly
Pants are fitting a little more snugly

All in all, the meal was awfully good
Waistline was tight after she stood

Her car is parked by a Dodge Ram
Take 4th St. to avoid a traffic jam

[...] Read more

poem by Charles Hancock
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Songs Without Words

When they brought him to the Hospital

He was listed as John Doe.

He would have liked the irony-

as Harry Chapin was well known.

His hair was like a lion’s mane

His face both kind and strong

Though doctor’s tried and nurses cried

Harry had sung his last song.

[...] Read more

poem by John F. McCullagh
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The Poltergeist Biding Its Time

Boats of a long-lipped scar:
I play the housemaid of a truant, I don’t get too far:
When I was a ghost, I made it all the way
To Spain,
But when I died as ghost, living I came back home
Again;
And the city, and the village grew with invention,
And you could hear what they were making all night through
The swift toed streets.
They made those too, and the university, and the halogens
Over the soccer filled stamped with cleats;
And I loved a girl there,
I suppose:
I loved a girl there from the rose bushes no body
Knows;
But I had already died there.
I had already been eaten by the swifter avenues of the petty
Men-
The petty men who got her first and afterwards she wouldn’t
Let me in;

[...] Read more

poem by Bret R. Crabrooke
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U

I need to be myself
I can't be no one else
I'm feeling supersonic
Give me gin and tonic
You can have it all but how much do you want it?
You make me laugh
Give me your autograph
Can I ride with you in your B.M.W ?
You can sail with me in my yellow submarine
You need to find out
'Cos no one's gonna tell you what I'm on about
You need to find a way for what you want to say
But before tomorrow
'Cos my friend said he'd take you home
He sits in a corner all alone
He lives under a waterfall
No body can see him
No body can ever hear him call
You need to be yourself
You can't be no one else

[...] Read more

song performed by Prince
Added by Lucian Velea
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Transport.

I thought I would write about, how we get about,

The various kinds of transport we see, when we are out;

It could be trains, or cars, buses, and trucks we see too,

So let me write a poem, maybe of interest to some of you.

Firstly I will write about, planes we see in the sky,

Small little 2 seaters, some may use to parachute, they'll try;

Next, is the helicopter, look like an insect flying so high,

And there are jets, of all kinds, but you can't see them fly.

Next. Is the trains, with large engines travelling along,

[...] Read more

poem by Margaret Haig
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The Juggler's Song

When the drums begin to beat
Down the street,
When the poles are fetched and guyed,
When the tight-rope's stretched and tied,
When the dance-girls make salaam,
When the snake-bag wakes alarm,
When the pipes set up their drone,
When the sharp-edged knives are thrown
When the red-hot coals are shown,
To be swallowed by-and-by--
Arre, Brethren, here come I!

Stripped to loin-cloth in the sun,
Search me well and watch me close!
Tell me how my tricks are done--
Tell me how the mango grows!

Give a man who is not made
To his trade
Swords to fling and catch again,

[...] Read more

poem by Rudyard Kipling
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Window Left Open...

the vase fell to the floor,
and shattered into tiny pieces.
the broom in the corner wept.
the box in the closet drew breath sharply,
the book on the shelf turned away.
the bulb in the lamp burned out.
the spider packed up its web and left.
the empty nest fell from the tree.
rainwater gushed from the gutters.
the young boy locked in his room
crawled out the window.
the neighbor's dog barked...

god gathered her clothes,
and put on her shoes.
while warships sailed for another land.
drones killed three women on the way to market,
another baby died without having lived.
another factory shut down,
another church burned to the ground,

[...] Read more

poem by Eric Cockrell
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Have I got to close the books?

No bad weather,
murderous natives
or even the British Empire
could stop our ancestors
to make a place
their own
at the southern end
of Africa.

Till on a day
some strange people rule
that has no concept
of that which is high and holy,
and tread every thing
with time into ruins
and believe that things are better

while criminals are stealing cars,
robbing banks, murdering people
and steal just where they can

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poem by Gert Strydom
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Elegy II. On The Death Of The University Beadle At Cambridge (Translated From Milton)

Thee, whose refulgent staff and summons clear,
Minerva's flock longtime was wont t'obey,
Although thyself an herald, famous here,
The last of heralds, Death, has snatch'd away.
He calls on all alike, nor even deigns
To spare the office that himself sustains.

Thy locks were whiter than the plumes display'd
By Leda's paramour in ancient time,
But thou wast worthy ne'er to have decay'd,
Or, Aeson-like, to know a second prime,
Worthy for whom some Goddess should have won
New life, oft kneeling to Apollo's son.

Commission'd to convene with hasty call
The gowned tribes, how graceful wouldst thou stand!
So stood Cyllenius erst in Priam's hall,
Wing-footed messenger of Jove's command,
And so, Eurybates when he address'd
To Peleus' son Atrides' proud behest.

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poem by William Cowper
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Do Bears

Rowan Atkinson:
For years I thought
I'd have to live alone
I never got a letter
Had to disconnect the phone
The only girls I ever saw
Were on TV
But now I've got a Venus
Who's sitting next to me
Both:
Do I love you?
Do I want you?
Would I give my life
To you if I could?
Do birds fly?
Do fish swim?
And do bears sha-la-la-la-la
In the woods?
Rowan:
I met her in the first class lounge

[...] Read more

song performed by Kate Bush
Added by Lucian Velea
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Supersonic

(original by Oasis )
I need to be myself
I can't be no one else
I'm feeling supersonic
Give me gin and tonic
You can have it all but how much do you want it?
You make me laugh
Give me your autograph
Can I ride with you in your BMW ?
You can sail with me in my yellow submarine
You need to find out
'Cos no one's gonna tell you what I'm on about
You need to find a way for what you want to say
But before tomorrow
'Cos my friend said he'd take you home
He sits in a corner all alone
He lives under a waterfall
Nobody can see him
Nobody can ever hear him call
You need to be yourself

[...] Read more

song performed by Counting Crows
Added by Lucian Velea
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Parted

Sleepless I listen to the surge and drone
And drifting roar of the town’s undertone;
Till through quiet falling rain I hear the bells
Tolling and chiming their brief tune that tells
Day’s midnight end. And from the day that’s over
No flashes of delight I can recover;
But only dreary winter streets, and faces
Of people moving in loud clanging places:
And I in my loneliness, longing for you...

For all I did to-day, and all I’ll do
To-morrow, in this city of intense
Arteried activities that throb and strive,
Is but a beating down of that suspense
Which holds me from your arms.
I am alive
Only that I may find you at the end
Of these slow-striking hours I toil to spend,
Putting each one behind me, knowing but this—
That all my days are turning toward your kiss;

[...] Read more

poem by Siegfried Sassoon
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