love on the brain - meow poems

[randall fairbrook]

SPEAK, YOU HAVE THREE MINUTES



Back from a walk
where i picked a little flower so my fingers might briefly hold you,
and i drank a bottle of beaulolais so i might go down in the well
where a bear of a moon was dancing,
in the golden shadow of a lamp i hang up my fur
and know that i'm stuck here alone
in the world's most populous city.

You'll excuse this hysterical balance, between a runaway rat and
a morphine moan,
keeping in mind that it's cold, it's raining into my coffee,
and in every croissant the moisture is burnishing its spongy little paws.

Especially knowing
i think of you relentlessly, like a blind machine,
like the perpetual pounding of fever's gong,
or the lunatic clutching a pigeon, stroking it hour after hour
until his fingers and its feathers fuse into a single crumb of tenderness.

I guess you must suspect what's going on,
as i sense you in your faraway city,
coming back from a walk where perhaps you picked
the same little flower, some for saving,
some for here,
for our need
not to be so alone, to give one another
a petal, even if it's just a bit of grass, of fuzz.


julio cortazar

[sumtinsumtin]

third stanza is awesome! feelin quite that way now

[randall fairbrook]

Song

Allen Ginsberg


The weight of the world
is love.
Under the burden
of solitude,
under the burden
of dissatisfaction

the weight,
the weight we carry
is love.

Who can deny?
In dreams
it touches
the body,
in thought
constructs
a miracle,
in imagination
anguishes
till born
in human--
looks out of the heart
burning with purity--
for the burden of life
is love,

but we carry the weight
wearily,
and so must rest
in the arms of love
at last,
must rest in the arms
of love.

No rest
without love,
no sleep
without dreams
of love--
be mad or chill
obsessed with angels
or machines,
the final wish
is love
--cannot be bitter,
cannot deny,
cannot withhold
if denied:

the weight is too heavy

--must give
for no return
as thought
is given
in solitude
in all the excellence
of its excess.

The warm bodies
shine together
in the darkness,
the hand moves
to the center
of the flesh,
the skin trembles
in happiness
and the soul comes
joyful to the eye--

yes, yes,
that's what
I wanted,
I always wanted,
I always wanted,
to return
to the body
where I was born.

San Jose, 1954

[Robocon^^]

oooh! good thread randall, dear. are we allowed to put in our own lovely lyrical meows?

From Aureole, Sappho Sings the World Ecstatic by Carole Maso...

[bold is Maya Deren....note where I got my inspiration for "white queen and runs"]

Pearl to pearl to pulsing pearl she drags her tongue and teeth a little, throbbing ripe and slower, shudder. She sucks the rosy pearl ecstatic. Girly girl. She sees the sea and shoulder, slower, shells. And yellow flowers grew there gentle. She licks her salty lips and sucks eternal. -The little girls all in a row-Sappho's singing makes it so.

Suddenly, she is no longer holding the stones but is standing there watching two girls sifting over a chess board playing. They seem gay about it, talking to each other as they do so. Then she is standing in back of them, because they are suddenly both on one side of the board and she begins stroking their hair. They love it and lean their heads back like cats and begin to laugh with delight and she, stroking their hair laughs too. The chess game goes on although they do not seem to play very seriously. Nevertheless the white queen is about to be taken and as the black-haired one moves a figure to knock off the white queen, the girl suddenly stops stroking their hair, grabs the queen, and begins to run.

She grabs the queen. She pets the cat. She pets the queen. She goes unleashed. She holds the key. A rosy haloed line of girls in white begin to sing. And that of course is everything. She rolls and sucks and rosy pearl. She holds the key, the word, the world, and sings ecstatic.

http://www.webdelsol.com/LITARTS/maso/cm-au.htm

[randall fairbrook]

oops, sorry about the weiners, but you are wrong, they are very meow, you need to learn to embrace the weiner, in particular - mine....



and yes..please contribute...carole maso is quite meow....

more and more there is this animal

looking out through my eyes

seeing that animals only take from this world

what they need to survive

but she is prowling through all the religions of men

seeing that time and time and time again

their gods have made them

special and above

nature's law

and the respect thereof

[randall fairbrook]

heehee, keep up the goodstuff....

also, how do i change the thread title to include nws or something

[lakebottom]

The Knowing

by Sharon Olds


Afterwards, when we have slept, paradise-
comaed and woken, we lie a long time
looking at each other.

I do not know what he sees, but I see
eyes of surpassing tenderness
and calm, a calm like the dignity
of matter. I love the open ocean
blue-grey-green of his iris, I love
the curve of it against the white,
that curve the sight of what has caused me
to come, when he's quite still, deep
inside me. I have never seen a curve
like that, except the earth from outer
space. I don't know where he got
his kindness without self-regard,
almost without self, and yet
he chose one woman, instead of the others.

By knowing him, I get to know
the purity of the animal
which mates for life. Sometimes he is slightly
smiling, but mostly he just gazes at me gazing,
his entire face lit. I love
to see it change if I cry--there is no worry,
no pity, no graver radiance. If we
are on our backs, side by side,
with our faces turned fully to face each other,
I can hear a tear from my lower eye
hit the sheet, as if it is an early day on earth,
and then the upper eye's tears
braid and sluice down through the lower eyebrow
like the invention of farmimg, irrigation, a non-nomadic people.

I am so lucky that I can know him.
This is the only way to know him.
I am the only one who knows him.

When I wake again, he is still looking at me,
as if he is eternal. For an hour
we wake and doze, and slowly I know
that though we are sated, though we are hardly
touching, this is the coming the other
coming brought us to the edge of--we are entering,
deeper and deeper, gaze by gaze,
this place beyond the other places,
beyond the body itself, we are making
love.

[randall fairbrook]

sharon olds makes me want to cry sometimes.....

[lakebottom]

Originally posted by randall fairbrook
heehee, keep up the goodstuff....

also, how do i change the thread title to include nws or something

too late to change it. people have to look at the dicks, even at work.

[randall fairbrook]

Your feet

When I can not look at your face
I look at your feet.

Your feet of arched bone,
your hard little feet.

I know that they support you,
and that your gentle weight
rises upon them.

Your waist and your breasts,
the doubled purple
of your nipples,
the sockets of your eyes
that have just flown away,
your wide fruit mouth,
your red tresses,
my little tower.

But I love your feet
only because they walked
upon the earth and upon
the wind and upon the waters,
until they found me.

Pablo Neruda

[randall fairbrook]

Originally posted by lakebottom


too late to change it. people have to look at the dicks, even at work.

the only dick they have to look at work is YuO!

[lakebottom]

130

My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red than her lips' red;
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.
I have seen roses damask'd, red and white,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks,
And in some perfumes is there more delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
I love to hear her speak, yet well I know
That music hath a far more pleasing sound;
I grant I never saw a goddess go,
My mistress when she walks treads on the ground.
And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare
As any she belied with false compare.

[cabbagechild]

canto XXXII

Greeting card manufacturers
and children mascots
in giant racoon costumes
are no more against
raping deaf girls
than we are.