Boulder To Birmingham

I dont want to hear a love song
I got on this airplane just to fly
I know theres life below me
And all that you can show me is the prairie and the sky
I dont want to hear a sad story filled with hearbreak and desire
The last time I felt like this
I was in the wilderness and the canyon was on fire
And I stood on the mountain in the night
And I watched it burn, I watched it burn, I watched it burn
Chorus:
I would rock my soul in the bosom of abraham
I would hold my life in a saving grace
I would walk all the way from boulder to birmingham
If I thought I could see, see your face
Well you really got me this time
And the hardest part is knowing I survive
And Ive come to listen to the sounds of trucks
As they moved out on highway 95
And pretending its the ocean coming to wash me clear
To wash me clear if you know what I mean

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song performed by Dolly Parton
Added by Lucian Velea
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Sledgehammer

You could have a steam train
If youd just lay down your tracks
You could have an aeroplane flying
If you bring your blue sky back
All you do is call me
Ill be anything you need
You could have a big dipper
Going up and down, all around the bends
You could have a bumper car, bumping
This amusement never ends
I want to be your sledgehammer
Why dont you call my name
Oh let me be your sledgehammer
This will be my testimony
Show me round your fruitcage
cos I will be your honey bee
Open up your fruitcage
Where the fruit is as sweet as can be
I want to be your sledgehammer
Why dont you call my name

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song performed by Peter Gabriel
Added by Lucian Velea
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Cebu Airport, 0020 Hrs

he must be a jinx

the three women who worked
as domestic helpers in taiwan for two years
with whom he had some
brief conversations about the places to visit in singapore
like sengkang and sembewang
(they were not interested about sentosa at all)
were not allowed to leave
by Immigration

they were loaded with canned goods and noodles
and they were supposed to stay in a cheap hostel
at 20 Singaporean dollars per day

he did not know anymore what happened to them
as he boarded his flight that early dawn

he must be jinx

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poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The White-Washed Sea

White bread and white maids,
Marmalade and sugar tarts: stick me
High atop the citrus tree,
Like a paper airplane, paper nose pointing
The way to the white-washed sea:
Pretty dolls and forget-me-nots,
Ivory beavers slapping dams,
Lover-boys in snowy trams making their
Procession to the white-washed sea:
Tourists there, Mickey-Mouse, and fricassee,
Conquistadors jounced on vanilla poles,
Saints and crosses like Spanish scarecrows on
Concrete atolls, bleed anemically towards
The white-washed sea: Hills of windmills are
Picaresque, lovely cherries on her white washed-
Breasts, bones of birds and pica ninnies;
Aunts sing cantos at their nieces nurseries,
Pale and freckled and on their knees,
Girls who’d been roller-skating as if on foam,
Stop and pray to the white-washed sea;

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poem by Bret R. Crabrooke
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God Rocket (Into The Heart Of Las Vegas)

Undertow, youre thrown
An old God has one bolt left
In flight
An aeroplane in slow motion
While all around are dark days
With all around unsure
Ill hole up in the right place and wait
Until the tide has turned...with anger...im dead weight...im anchored
The white dove has done
The one world has come down hard
So why not
Share the pain of our ptoblems
When all around are wrong ways
When all around is hurt
Ill roll up in an odd shape and wait
Until the tide has turned...with anger...im dead weight...im anchored
Can somebody give me the all safe
Can somebody tell me
Im so well loved in the glow and stain
In the slow parade, will somebody tell me

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song performed by I Mother Earth
Added by Lucian Velea
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Crash Mat

I wish that I could fly with you
Just wanna be with you
You've torn a little piece of skin
You make me feel alive and new
You are my oxygen
I'm sucking love through a tube
You feed me like a drug again
You're my addiction
My cigarettes and Absolut
I've gotta pull myself away
Because I'm coming down
Crashing back down to you
I'm coming down
Yes I'm coming down
Put the crashmat out
Cause I'm coming down
Yes I'm coming down
Cause I'm coming down
Put the crashmat out
You cut me and I bleed again

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song performed by Feeder
Added by Lucian Velea
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Where I Remain Dreaming

When the lions germinate they are asleep:
The airplanes are silver quarters in the arcade of cerulean sky:
And this is south Florida, or this an arcade:
And the lights are out, but the power lines, like camels,
Are still good for something:
And the canals form a safety grid so that the afterlife of
Crocodiles doesn’t flood in and disturb our Christmas;
And I don’t know what better words to use
To become the special place of fawning reptiles: If you are not
Around to receive this attention, then make sure to garland yourself
And your daughter in the sweet shade;
For it was never my intention to vulgarize you in the salt-lick plane:
Yes, I have been up the backside of so many mountains,
I have effervesced with blue collar legs from the insouciant of
Ice-cream shops of tourism;
And now why don’t you serve rum, or why haven’t you become
The better iconoclast of my sleepless harem:
Why don’t you turn off the lights and become brail:
Why are you still starving me with empty lunch pales you use to
Build sand castles when you know the tide is coming in,

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poem by Bret R. Crabrooke
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With You

A little stretch of river on a big green field
The kind you see from airplanes baby, that's the deal, that's the deal
A place to plan a future a place to keep the past
A place to raise some kids what's wrong with that, wrong with that
Maybe it's the same routine
Walking on the concrete
Running like a river so deep
Wearin' down my high heels
Wearin' down my high ideals
Of what I thought my life was supposed to be
Chorus
Everybody's got a weakness some kind of kryptonite
Wearing em' down
Everybody's got dreams they can't let go of don't they baby
Everybody has a little secret they keep inside and mine's
Livin' happily ever afterly
With you, with you
I want to paint the world with the colors that I see
Every time I close my eyes and you're kissin' me, kissin' me
I wanna wake up in your arms so far from here

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song performed by LeAnn Rimes
Added by Lucian Velea
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June

Broom out the floor now, lay the fender by,
And plant this bee-sucked bough of woodbine there,
And let the window down. The butterfly
Floats in upon the sunbeam, and the fair
Tanned face of June, the nomad gipsy, laughs
Above her widespread wares, the while she tells
The farmers' fortunes in the fields, and quaffs
The water from the spider-peopled wells.
The hedges are all drowned in green grass seas,
And bobbing poppies flare like Elmo's light,
While siren-like the pollen-staind bees
Drone in the clover depths. And up the height
The cuckoo's voice is hoarse and broke with joy.
And on the lowland crops the crows make raid,
Nor fear the clappers of the farmer's boy,
Who sleeps, like drunken Noah, in the shad
And loop this red rose in that hazel ring
That snares your little ear, for June is short
And we must joy in it and dance and sing,
And from her bounty draw her rosy worth.

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poem by Francis Ledwidge
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When The Sword Of Sixty Comes Nigh His Head

When the sword of sixty comes nigh his head
give a man no wine, for he is drunk with years.
Age claps a stick in my bridle-hand:
substance spent, health broken,
forgotten the skill to swerve aside from the joust
with the spearhead grazing my eyelashes.

The sentinel perched on the hill top
cannot see the countless army he used to see there:
the black summit's deep in snow
and its lord himself sinning against the army.
He was proud of his two swift couriers:
lo! sixty ruffians have put them in chains.

The singer is weary of his broken voice,
one drone for the bulbul alike and the lion's grousing.

Alas for flowery, musky sappy thirty
and the sharp Persian sword!
The pheasant strutting about the briar,

[...] Read more

poem by Hakim Abu'l-Qasim Ferdowsi Tusi Firdowsi
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Where'er You Walk

`Where'er you walk
Cool gales shall fan that glade'

The Pierhead where you walked will be made a park
restricted to lovers under 27
Peasants will be found merrymaking after the storm in
Canning St where you walked
The station where we first arrived at night
Will be preserved for the nation With the echo of your footsteps still sounding in the empty
roof

`Where'er you tread
The Blushing flower shall rise'

The alleyway where we read poems to dustbins after closing time
The kitchens where we quarrelled at parties
The kitchen where two strangers first kissed at a party full of strangers
The ticket barrier where we said goodnight so many times
The cobblestones in front of the station
The pub where the kindly old waiter

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poem by Adrian Henri
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Feel Like A Number

Words and music by bob seger
I take my card and I stand in line
To make a buck I work overtime
Dear sir letters keep coming in the mail
I work my back till its racked with pain
The boss cant even recall my name
I show up late and Im docked
It never fails
I feel like just another
Spoke in a great big wheel
Like a tiny blade of grass
In a great big field
To workers Im just another drone
To ma bell Im just another phone
Im just another statistic on a sheet
To teachers Im just another child
To irs Im just another file
Im just another consensus on the street
Gonna cruise out of this city
Head down to the sea

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song performed by Bob Seger
Added by Lucian Velea
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God Rocket

Undertow, you're thrown
An old God has one bolt left
In flight
An aeroplane in slow motion
While all around are dark days
With all around unsure
I'll hole up in the right place and wait
Until the tide has turned...with anger...i'm dead weight...i'm anchored
The white dove has done
The one world has come down hard
So why not
Share the pain of our ptoblems
When all around are wrong ways
When all around is hurt
I'll roll up in an odd shape and wait
Until the tide has turned...with anger...i'm dead weight...i'm anchored
Can somebody give me the 'all safe'
Can somebody tell me
I'm so well loved in the glow and stain
In the slow parade, will somebody tell me

[...] Read more

song performed by I Mother Earth
Added by Lucian Velea
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Hell In A Bucket

Well I was drinkin last night with a biker
And I showed him a picture of you
I said, pal get to know her, youll like her
Seemed like the least I could do.
Cause when hes chargin his chopper
Up and down your carpeted halls
You will think I am dressed up quite proper
Never mind how I stumble and fall.
You imagine me sipping champagne from your boot
For taste of your elegant pride
I may be going to hell in a bucket, babe
But at least Im enjoying the ride, at least Ill enjoy the ride.
Cause youre a sweet little softcore pretender
Somehow, babe, it got as hot as it gets
With her black leather and gold spike suspenders
And your chain, your black whip and pets.
Well we know youre the reincarnation
Of the infamous catherine the great
And we know how you love the ovation
And the scene that it seems to create.

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song performed by Grateful Dead
Added by Lucian Velea
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Cataclysm

We curse our lot; we gird at fate;
Like peevish children we complain;
Hope dies, and life grows desperate
Because of ease and pleasures salin.
Because bright fortune fails to smile
And pamper us, as once she used,
But frowns a little for the while,
To bleak despair we are reduced.

Yet, o'er a narrow stretch of sea,
Where lately smiled a city fair,
Falls cataclysmic agony,
And death in horrid shapes is there.
All in an instant men are hurled -
Who knew no foe, who earned no blame -
Out of a peaceful, sunlit world
'Mid shattered homes and seething flame.

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poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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A Song Of Long Ago

A song of Long Ago:
Sing it lightly--sing it low--
Sing it softly--like the lisping of the lips we used to know
When our baby-laughter spilled
From the glad hearts ever filled
With music blithe as robin ever trilled!

Let the fragrant summer-breeze,
And the leaves of locust-trees,
And the apple-buds and blossoms, and the wings of honey-bees,
All palpitate with glee,
Till the happy harmony
Brings back each childish joy to you and me.

Let the eyes of fancy turn
Where the tumbled pippins burn
Like embers in the orchard's lap of tangled grass and fern,--
There let the old path wind
In and out and on behind
The cider-press that chuckles as we grind.

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poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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Dunce

At school I never gained a prize,
Proving myself the model ass;
Yet how I watched the wistful eyes,
And cheered my mates who topped the class.
No envy in my heart I found,
Yet bone was worthier to own
Those precious books in vellum bound,
Than I, a dreamer and a drone.

No prize at school I ever gained
(Shirking my studies, I suppose):
Yes, I remember being caned
For lack of love of Latin prose.
For algebra I won no praise,
In grammar I was far from bright:
Yet, oh, how Poetry would raise
In me a rapture of delight!

I never gained a prize at school;
The dullard's cap adorned my head;

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poem by Robert William Service
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The colored spin wheel of death

The vacuum of a spin
And people dying

Style overcoming the substance
Being blighted by
A dearth of dialectic

Decoding the coded languages
Preparing the public opinion

Trading information
Slipping out announcements
Aggressive complaints
Briefings
Specific channels
Separating
Collapsing
Advocating the absence of something

Black holes

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poem by Marieta Maglas
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Monotonous Monologues

Dead space traced to boredom.
And conversations with it,
Exchange this afterall.

Monotonous monologues,
Beating into the ground
With prolonged redundancy.
Make sense for many not to listen.
Or choose to fall to sleep.

Why do some people,
Keep repeating their limited philosophies?
It makes it pointless to disagree.
This fuels a uselessness that is abused...
And purposely used for one to be contrary.

With more than a bit,
Of surfaced contradiction added to the mix.
And a dipping of bait that is solicited with it.

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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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A Gardener-Sage

Here in the garden-bed,
Hoeing the celery,
Wonders the Lord has made
Pass ever before me.
I see the young birds build,
And swallows come and go,
And summer grow and gild,
And winter die in snow.

Many a thing I note,
And store it in my mind,
For all my ragged coat
That scarce will stop the wind.
I light my pipe and draw,
And, leaning on my spade,
I marvel with much awe
O'er all the Lord hath made.

Now, here's a curious thing:
Upon the first of March

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poem by Katharine Tynan
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