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Poets of the American South
Centennial Readings
How to Clean a House With Homemade Remedies
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DarkPoetry Poem of the Day: ...'ware the rocks!
with memories not their own
as those who never knew
tell the stories they've heard
of darkness and danger
from a past, your past, they never lived.
Adoration and trust
poured into you, silent guardian,
tall and pristine as you rise against ebony horizons,
by the masses who see what they want;
man.u.f(r)actured comprehension
blooming between their ears.
If only they knew you like I...
Hollow core and echoes
down in the depths of your soul,
with empty stairs anyone can tread.
How distraught were they that thought
they wrought you for their purpose,
yet I know what your one eye sees.
Not warning, but mourning
as you wish to follow the gentle glide,
and answer the forlorn cry
of the free solitary spirits
that slide and glide without currents or tide
far above tiny white capped peaks.
You know every shifting valley
as if they were your own;
you've seen each one a thousand times.
Sometimes, when the winds blow strong,
I can hear your broken moans
as the very elements themselves strive to set you free;
I often cry with you.
I too, have seen your beauty
when the light inside shines through,
but I know that it's born of temporary hopes
rather than strength of will.
Not warning, but wanting,
not safety, but searching...
Bright eyes seeking the morning,
wishing to leap from your roots
and follow the paths of Kehaar
into lands untold,
yet shackled by the expectations
of a hundred generations.
Feet dangling o'er rocky shores,
I never feel safer than when you hold me
high above the pains of this world.
...wish I could set you (me) free.
Stoic, dependable, pinnacle of peace,
we're not so different, you and I.
Not standing, but steeping;
feet long entrenched,
my hollow heart cries for freedom as well.
http://www.darkpoetry.com/node/work/108231
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FUNNY THOUGHT OF THE WEEK:
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"A good listener is usually thinking
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FUNNY OF THE WEEK:
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An optimist may see a light where there is none,
but why must the pessimist always run to blow
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D Michel De Saint-Pierre
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FUNNY POEM OF THE WEEK
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THE BARBER FROM HELL
Copyright Neil McArthur
From his book: Tragic Tales From The Thong Factory
When I walked into the Barber Shop, the Barber was a different gent
I saw the sign on the wall which read "Under New Management"
Well, this Barber was built like an out-house, he looked rough and he looked hard
He had arms like a bloody Wharfie, and a head like Brute Bernard
"You don't look like a Barber," I said, "You sure you know how to cut hair?"
He said, "I'm a qualified Shearer mate, now get in that bloody chair!"
So who was I to argue with a six-foot monster like him
Thus I sat myself in his Barber's chair and said, "Just give me a trim."
But he hurled me out of the chair and roared, "I only do one sort of cut!"
Then he trapped me into a headlock, and took the shears to my nut!
Me head was shorn like a bloody sheep, then he started on me chest
Under me arms and up me back, then he started on the rest.
He made some nasty flesh wounds, which were certain to leave their scar
But he dug into a bucket and slapped on a handful of tar!
I was screaming blue-bloody murder! I roared, "Let me go, you scum!"
But he threw me onto my stomach, and shaved all the hairs off my bum
Then he took ten bucks from my wallet, and then took a few bob more
Picked me up by the scruff of me neck and hurled me out the back door!
I lay there bald and freezing, then glanced around to see
Ten more totally shaven blokes all lying there next to me
"He's a rough as guts bloody Barber!" I said, understating the fact
"I've got a good mind to march back in and ask for me ten quid back!"
But the others all lay there fearful, saying "The worst is yet to come.
He's coming back shortly to crutch us, and to clip all the dags from our bum!!!
Copyright Neil McArthur
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