Since it's that time of year (?), here are some LISTS:
Best 80s Bands, according to me:
- Echo and the Bunnymen
- The Clash
- Grandmaster Flash...
- U2 (they're still around, aren't they?)
- The Cult (another Ian fronted band)
- The Cure
- The Smiths
- Van Halen (Eddie ruled)
- The Waterboys
Surreal Movies That Every Film Fan Should See:
- Orphee (Orpheus) by Cocteau
- Blue Velvet
- Wild at Heart by David Lynch
- Brazil
- Being John Malkovich
- Lost in Translation (really just a fine existentialism film)
- The Royal Tenenbaums
Sunday, April 29, 2007
Monday, April 09, 2007
For National Poetry Month... for the coterie that reads poetry
I had a request for one of my poems, so here it is - thanks. It's a work-in-progress, of course. Plus, another, older one below this one.
A HOMECOMING
They bring them home
in silence, wrapped in crimson stripes,
Death's import
their last flight across the Atlantic –
its choppy waves far below –
they did not sense
the hum of the plane
is a hollow drone
can they see in their new dark?
Their families –
standing at a base of black –
await their arrival home
Three a.m.
tired eyes cry
never got to say goodbye
~
THE WASTING OF NOW
drifting down the river, most buoyant and free
no fear of snakes or harm, but no reason why
carefree attitude is a free-will choice, embracing life
the wasting of now is most productive in its joy and meaningless
affirmation of breath, skin – mildly cold and defensive – eyes, nose, and ears gathering without judgment, only drinking in
the lavish hues and scents: spectrum of greens and browns; mud, earth, bacterial decay, crisp-sky air, my own breath
arms swaying and waving in the cool water, correcting path
feet pointed downstream, guide for eyes, sight on each gentle apex
a light rain begins and I weep thinking of this return, the cycle of
water
my tears mixing with rain and river
A HOMECOMING
They bring them home
in silence, wrapped in crimson stripes,
Death's import
their last flight across the Atlantic –
its choppy waves far below –
they did not sense
the hum of the plane
is a hollow drone
can they see in their new dark?
Their families –
standing at a base of black –
await their arrival home
Three a.m.
tired eyes cry
never got to say goodbye
~
THE WASTING OF NOW
drifting down the river, most buoyant and free
no fear of snakes or harm, but no reason why
carefree attitude is a free-will choice, embracing life
the wasting of now is most productive in its joy and meaningless
affirmation of breath, skin – mildly cold and defensive – eyes, nose, and ears gathering without judgment, only drinking in
the lavish hues and scents: spectrum of greens and browns; mud, earth, bacterial decay, crisp-sky air, my own breath
arms swaying and waving in the cool water, correcting path
feet pointed downstream, guide for eyes, sight on each gentle apex
a light rain begins and I weep thinking of this return, the cycle of
water
my tears mixing with rain and river
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