Re: Some WalkaboutsVerse, E.G.
Will Dockery
> walkaboutsverse wrote:
> > Poem 32 of 230: THE POLYNESIAN CULTURAL CENTRE
>
> > North, on the warm island of Oahu
> > There’s a really good place to see:
> > The Polynesian Cultural Centre -
> > A centre linked by Christianity;
> > It’s run by a broad-minded Christian group,
> > Championing cultures while they preach.
> > I talked to a few of the kind members,
> > And here’s an abstract of their speech:
>
> > The employees are all uni. students,
> > Labouring for their study and board;
> > They come from many Pacific islands,
> > And are all believers in their Lord;
> > They are studying for varied degrees,
> > And working at a number of jobs;
> > Some work as cultural entertainers,
> > While others serve the tourist mobs.
>
> > I walked around for more than half a day,
> > Then went to a skilled stage-show at night.
> > By day, the different island nations
> > Do shows at their own cultural site;
> > There’s good Tahitian cooking to be tried,
> > Tamure dancing and hula, too.
> > Plus, at night, dramatic fire-walking,
> > Drums and song, to name you but a few.
>
> > Fromhttp://walkaboutsverse.sitegoz.com(e-scroll)
> > Orhttp://blogs.myspace.com/walkaboutsverse(e-book)
> > (C) David Franks 2003
>
> Just great - a promotional Christian pamphlet
That you want to borrow and sign your name to as your own poem? No
surprise.
--
"She Sleeps Tight", vocals by Will Dockery & Sandy Madaris, guitars by
Brian Mallard. Paintings by George Sulzbach.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9uGY157cpiU
walkaboutsverse
http://myspace.com/walkaboutsverse or http://www.writeoutloud.net/poets/davidfrankswalkaboutsverse
walkaboutsverse
(TUNE:
D F# F# F#
G F# E E
D E E E
F# E D D)
I like Acers
But rent a flat,
So mimic one
In a small pot:
As for starters,
I made a plat
Of ivy run
Out from one spot;
To this basis,
All round the mat,
In a trunk-bun,
Dirt - soaked a lot;
Without traces
(Not got down pat),
A moss-lawn spun
And short-ferns shot;
And, like Acers,
Branches have sat -
Wirework done -
Toward the pot;
Trimmed with scissors,
This foliage-hat
Thrives in the sun
Of my sill-plot.
From http://walkaboutsverse.sitegoz.com (e-scroll)
Or http://blogs.myspace.com/walkaboutsverse (e-book)
(C) David Franks 2003
On May 17, 5:57 pm, walkaboutsverse <david1fra...@yahoo.com> wrote:
> Some like at least some of my work, Will - check, e.g., Comments athttp://myspace.com/walkaboutsverseorhttp://www.writeoutloud.net/poets/davidfrankswalkaboutsverse
> > Brian Mallard. Paintings by George Sulzbach.http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9uGY157cpiU- Hide quoted text -
>
> - Show quoted text -
msifg
> Orhttp://blogs.myspace.com/walkaboutsverse(e-book)
> (C) David Franks 2003
>
>
> > - Show quoted text -- Hide quoted text -
>
> - Show quoted text -
so, i went to your site's and didn't notice any actual music.
do you play any instruments? or, are you just a lyricist?
(i notice you wrote out the chord structure, but without hearing the
beat
or the melody, it's hard to know what your intentions are.)
Will Dockery
>
> Some like at least some of my work, Will - check, e.g., Comments athttp://myspace.com/walkaboutsverseorhttp://www.writeoutloud.net/poets/davidfrankswalkaboutsverse
Well, Dale's very likely taking your poem, rearranging the words and
"generating" his own poem from it as we speak... if so, don't worry,
since he'll inform you that his method is perfectly legal, and he so
wants to have a new poem with his name on it.
Without having to bother with the troublesome work of having to come
up with original ideas of his own, of course.
> > That you want to borrow and sign your name to as your own poem, Dale? No
> > surprise.
--
New song "She Sleeps Tight", by Will Dockery with Brian Mallard &
Sandy Madaris at
http://www.myspace.com/shadowvilleallstars
walkaboutsverse
Will. And, to msifg, I have explained on my sites that, with my simple
letter-notation system, folks would have to hear me live or recorded
to get the rhythm; and, as well as singing in the E. trad.
unaccompanied manner, I have used English flute/tenor recorder and
keys on some of my myspace playlist - please use link below.)
Poem 24 of 230: THROUGH SOUTH-EAST ASIA
A highlight of South-East Asia -
As with other tropical lands -
Is the abundance of fresh fruits:
At cutting which some have deft hands.
And, from these fruits, I’d often choose -
To cool down from tropical heat -
A freshly prepared coconut:
Chopped to drink; lining scooped to eat.
From
http://walkaboutsverse.sitegoz.com (e-scroll)
Or http://blogs.myspace.com/walkaboutsverse (e-book)
(C) David Franks 2003
On May 19, 1:23 am, Will Dockery <will.dock...@gmail.com> wrote:
> On May 17, 12:57 pm, walkaboutsverse wrote:
>
>
>
> > Some like at least some of my work, Will - check, e.g., Comments athttp://myspace.com/walkaboutsverseorhttp://www.writeoutloud.net/poets...
Will Dockery
> (I'm no legal expert, but I do know there's no copyright on IDEAS, Will.
No, just the way they're presented.
And, to msifg, I have explained on my sites that, with my simple
> letter-notation system, folks would have to hear me live or recorded
> to get the rhythm; and, as well as singing in the E. trad.
> unaccompanied manner, I have used English flute/tenor recorder and
> keys on some of my myspace playlist - please use link below.)
>
> Poem 24 of 230: THROUGH SOUTH-EAST ASIA
>
> A highlight of South-East Asia -
> As with other tropical lands -
> Is the abundance of fresh fruits:
> At cutting which some have deft hands.
> And, from these fruits, I’d often choose -
> To cool down from tropical heat -
> A freshly prepared coconut:
> Chopped to drink; lining scooped to eat.
>
m.s.i.f.g.
news:05a50609-a032-447b...@21g2000vbk.googlegroups.com...
> > > > > The Polynesian Cultural Centre -
> > > > > A centre linked by Christianity;
> > > > > Championing cultures while they preach.
> > > > > I talked to a few of the kind members,
>
> > > > > The employees are all uni. students,
> > > > > Labouring for their study and board;
> > > > > They come from many Pacific islands,
> > > > > And are all believers in their Lord;
> > > > > They are studying for varied degrees,
> > > > > And working at a number of jobs;
> > > > > Some work as cultural entertainers,
> > > > > While others serve the tourist mobs.
>
> > > > > I walked around for more than half a day,
> > > > > Then went to a skilled stage-show at night.
> > > > > By day, the different island nations
> > > > > Do shows at their own cultural site;
> > > > > Tamure dancing and hula, too.
> > > > > Plus, at night, dramatic fire-walking,
> > > > > Drums and song, to name you but a few.
>
> > > > > Fromhttp://walkaboutsverse.sitegoz.com(e-scroll)
> > > > > Orhttp://blogs.myspace.com/walkaboutsverse(e-book)
> > > > > (C) David Franks 2003
>
> > > > Just great - a promotional Christian pamphlet
>
> > > That you want to borrow and sign your name to as your own poem? No
> > > surprise.
>
> > > --
> > > "She Sleeps Tight", vocals by Will Dockery & Sandy Madaris, guitars by
> > > Brian Mallard. Paintings by George
> > > Sulzbach.http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9uGY157cpiU-Hide quoted text -
>
> > - Show quoted text -- Hide quoted text -
>
> - Show quoted text -
so, i went to your site's and didn't notice any actual music.
do you play any instruments? or, are you just a lyricist?
(i notice you wrote out the chord structure, but without hearing the
beat
or the melody, it's hard to know what your intentions are.)
*that's an interesting question, msifg.
and thanks for taking an interest.
i do or don't play an instrument, it's up to you.
i do or don't sing melodies, that's up to you too.
you see, this is your world even when i'm in it.
so, imagine what you would do if you were me, and you've
got it. it's as muggy as an English rain, but it
does the trick.
walkaboutsverse
is, I think, what folk music is manly about: telling/playing for
dancing via the repitition of a relatively simple TUNE.)
Having said that, here's my effort regarding another genre...
Poem 130 of 230: ENTRÉE/AT BOLTON’S ALBERT HALL: OPERA SONG - WINTER
2000/1
(TUNE:
G A B C' B
C' D' C' B
B C' B D' D'
G E D C
C' E' F' E' E'
E' E' D' C'
C' E' F' G' G'
G E D C)
From novel, and play,
To opera,
La Traviata
Was my entrée
To a media
I find is a
Fine way to relay
Human drama.
From http://walkaboutsverse.sitegoz.com (e-scroll)
Or http://blogs.myspace.com/walkaboutsverse (e-book)
(C) David Franks 2003
On 19 May, 12:36, "m.s.i.f.g." <gime...@cox.net> wrote:
> "msifg" <qoph...@gmail.com> wrote in message
> > > > > > There’s a really good place to see:
> > > > > > The Polynesian Cultural Centre -
> > > > > > A centre linked by Christianity;
> > > > > > It’s run by a broad-minded Christian group,
> > > > > > Championing cultures while they preach.
> > > > > > I talked to a few of the kind members,
> > > > > > And here’s an abstract of their speech:
>
> > > > > > The employees are all uni. students,
> > > > > > Labouring for their study and board;
> > > > > > They come from many Pacific islands,
> > > > > > And are all believers in their Lord;
> > > > > > They are studying for varied degrees,
> > > > > > And working at a number of jobs;
> > > > > > Some work as cultural entertainers,
> > > > > > While others serve the tourist mobs.
>
> > > > > > I walked around for more than half a day,
> > > > > > Then went to a skilled stage-show at night.
> > > > > > By day, the different island nations
> > > > > > Do shows at their own cultural site;
> > > > > > There’s good Tahitian cooking to be tried,
> > > > > > Tamure dancing and hula, too.
> > > > > > Plus, at night, dramatic fire-walking,
> > > > > > Drums and song, to name you but a few.
>
> > > > > > Fromhttp://walkaboutsverse.sitegoz.com(e-scroll)
> > > > > > Orhttp://blogs.myspace.com/walkaboutsverse(e-book)
> > > > > > (C) David Franks 2003
>
> > > > > Just great - a promotional Christian pamphlet
>
> > > > That you want to borrow and sign your name to as your own poem? No
> > > > surprise.
>
> > > > --
> > > > "She Sleeps Tight", vocals by Will Dockery & Sandy Madaris, guitars by
> > > > Brian Mallard. Paintings by George
> > > > Sulzbach.http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9uGY157cpiU-Hidequoted text -
>
> > > - Show quoted text -- Hide quoted text -
>
> > - Show quoted text -
>
> so, i went to your site's and didn't notice any actual music.
>
> do you play any instruments? or, are you just a lyricist?
>
> (i notice you wrote out the chord structure, but without hearing the
> beat
> or the melody, it's hard to know what your intentions are.)
>
> *that's an interesting question, msifg.
>
> and thanks for taking an interest.
>
> i do or don't play an instrument, it's up to you.
>
> i do or don't sing melodies, that's up to you too.
>
> you see, this is your world even when i'm in it.
>
> so, imagine what you would do if you were me, and you've
> got it. it's as muggy as an English rain, but it
> does the trick.- Hide quoted text -
m.s.i.f.g.
news:1a5416a2-2e99-4eba...@s31g2000vbp.googlegroups.com...
(No "chord structure", msifg, I've just worked out the tunes - which
is, I think, what folk music is manly about: telling/playing for
dancing via the repitition of a relatively simple TUNE.)
Having said that, here's my effort regarding another genre...
Poem 130 of 230: ENTR�E/AT BOLTON�S ALBERT HALL: OPERA SONG - WINTER
2000/1
(TUNE:
G A B C' B
C' D' C' B
B C' B D' D'
G E D C
C' E' F' E' E'
E' E' D' C'
C' E' F' G' G'
G E D C)
From novel, and play,
To opera,
La Traviata
Was my entr�e
To a media
I find is a
Fine way to relay
Human drama.
From http://walkaboutsverse.sitegoz.com (e-scroll)
Or http://blogs.myspace.com/walkaboutsverse (e-book)
(C) David Franks 2003
*thanks for sharing.
i need to "crawl" through your site's again and
search harder for the music you say you've recorded.
i must say, you do have a prodigious amount of work.
if it comes to it, i'll hum the melodies myself
whith your lyrics. maybe that would be an
interesting "experiment."
walkaboutsverse
I listened and looked and read, then wrote,
Within the remarks book, this brief note:
“Aborigines - first there/worst off”...
And received a Rule Britannia cough.
From http://walkaboutsverse.sitegoz.com (e-scroll)
Or http://blogs.myspace.com/walkaboutsverse (e-book)
(C) David Franks 2003
On May 20, 12:56 pm, "m.s.i.f.g." <gime...@cox.net> wrote:
> "walkaboutsverse" <david1fra...@yahoo.com> wrote in message
>
> news:1a5416a2-2e99-4eba...@s31g2000vbp.googlegroups.com...
> (No "chord structure", msifg, I've just worked out the tunes - which
> is, I think, what folk music is manly about: telling/playing for
> dancing via the repitition of a relatively simple TUNE.)
>
> Having said that, here's my effort regarding another genre...
>
> Poem 130 of 230: ENTRÉE/AT BOLTON’S ALBERT HALL: OPERA SONG - WINTER
> 2000/1
>
> (TUNE:
>
> G A B C' B
> C' D' C' B
> B C' B D' D'
> G E D C
> C' E' F' E' E'
> E' E' D' C'
> C' E' F' G' G'
> G E D C)
>
> From novel, and play,
> To opera,
> La Traviata
> Was my entrée
walkaboutsverse
> Poem 161 of 230: AT THE CAPTAIN COOK BIRTHPLACE MUSEUM - SUMMER 2001
>
> I listened and looked and read, then wrote,
> Within the remarks book, this brief note:
> “Aborigines - first there/worst off”...
> And received a Rule Britannia cough.
>
walkaboutsverse
(TUNE:
E F# F# E D E F# F#
F# G G A B A G G
D G A A B B A A
F# G A B B A A-G G
D D F# F# F#-G F# E E
E E E E F# E D D)
Where traditions are not so rare;
Sea, country and works scent the air;
A multitude of monuments,
Planted tubs and patterned pavements.
The longish pedestrian malls;
The remnants of defensive walls;
"Broken-roofed buildings" are a gauge
Of the respect for heritage.
Wheat, rape and pines in the fields;
Estuaries guarded by shields;
Long sandy beaches and wide scenes;
Romantic-ruin go-betweens.
Rivers in parts licked by trees,
Or fringed by boat clubs, wharfs, gantries,
And crossed by practical delights -
Varied spans, forming pleasing sights.
Fine churches headed at Durham;
Football kits ad infinitum;
Kept castles - one for study;
Masonry behind masonry.
And, with moulding-works out that way,
It’s somewhere for a longer stay..?
From http://walkaboutsverse.sitegoz.com (e-scroll)
Or http://blogs.myspace.com/walkaboutsverse (e-book)
(C) David Franks 2003
> > > interesting "experiment."- Hide quoted text -
Dale Houstman
JESUS, JUST HANGING AROUND
You are that rare traditional sea scent
sequestered in miasmas of bottomless tubs
where the pale pedestrian lungs are employed
to rhyme "gauge" with "heritage"
as if discreetly pining for the romance
of linguistic rapine. Ah Golden Age!
Are your parts licked by the freeze-dried rivers,
or practically formed and harmless like a boat?
Oh! Church-besotted footballer of verse,
studying corsets and mesons and votive cheese.
dmh
walkaboutsverse
Awaiting a train in Bombay,
I was shocked into dismay;
For a well-dressed man, built strongly,
Was walking, his hands set free,
Ahead of a bony porter -
Heavy case on head, no quarter.
Shortly later, I watched again
As out from the rich-man’s train
Came the scrawny struggling porter -
His thin back now much tauter;
For he writhed as he stretched his loins -
After a quick count of few coins.
From http://walkaboutsverse.sitegoz.com (e-scroll)
Or http://blogs.myspace.com/walkaboutsverse (e-book)
(C) David Franks 2003
walkaboutsverse
“Hills meeting sea”
Proclaims to me
“Good scenery.”
And it’s views of North Wales,
Both sides of the train-rails,
Whereupon this thought hails.
From http://walkaboutsverse.sitegoz.com (e-scroll)
Or http://blogs.myspace.com/walkaboutsverse (e-book)
(C) David Franks 2003
> > dmh- Hide quoted text -
walkaboutsverse
One Premier world-eleven v.
Another such company,
Or wage-caps and say half each-club's squad
From the local-junior pod?
And, perhaps, heed the cricket-fan's call
To convert to county-football..?
From http://walkaboutsverse.sitegoz.com (e-scroll)
Or http://blogs.myspace.com/walkaboutsverse (e-book)
(C) David Franks 2003
On May 24, 11:23 am, walkaboutsverse <david1fra...@yahoo.com> wrote:
> Poem 65 of 230: NORTH WALES
>
> “Hills meeting sea”
> Proclaims to me
> “Good scenery.”
>
> And it’s views of North Wales,
> Both sides of the train-rails,
> Whereupon this thought hails.
>
> > - Show quoted text -- Hide quoted text -
walkaboutsverse
As barter
Tends to cause
Some anger,
Seeing price
Tends to cause
Moods more nice.
From http://walkaboutsverse.sitegoz.com (e-scroll)
Or http://blogs.myspace.com/walkaboutsverse (e-book)
(C) David Franks 2003
On 25 May, 10:28, walkaboutsverse <david1fra...@yahoo.com> wrote:
> Poem 98 of 230: REREGULATE
>
> One Premier world-eleven v.
> Another such company,
> Or wage-caps and say half each-club's squad
> From the local-junior pod?
> And, perhaps, heed the cricket-fan's call
> To convert to county-football..?
>
walkaboutsverse
Poem 215 of 230: MOODS MORE NICE
As haggling
Tends to cause
Some wrangling,
Seeing price
Tends to cause
Moods more nice.
From http://walkaboutsverse.sitegoz.com (e-scroll)
Or http://blogs.myspace.com/walkaboutsverse (e-book)
(C) David Franks 2003
On May 26, 10:10 am, walkaboutsverse <david1fra...@yahoo.com> wrote:
> Poem 215 of 230: MOODS MORE NICE
>
> As barter
> Tends to cause
> Some anger,
> Seeing price
> Tends to cause
> Moods more nice.
>
walkaboutsverse
Near glassy-classical new Law Courts,
From the snazzy Millennium Footbridge,
Reflecting fine bridges of other sorts -
A glassy Tyne’s snazzy sunset image.
From http://walkaboutsverse.sitegoz.com (e-scroll)
Or http://blogs.myspace.com/walkaboutsverse (e-book)
(C) David Franks 2003
On 26 May, 20:14, walkaboutsverse <david1fra...@yahoo.com> wrote:
> CORRECTION - this is what I meant...
>
> Poem 215 of 230: MOODS MORE NICE
>
> As haggling
> Tends to cause
> Some wrangling,
> Seeing price
> Tends to cause
> Moods more nice.
>
walkaboutsverse
After hearing the ways
Of the old silk-weaving trade,
While being served some tea,
Within the Mulberry Tree,
Memories came back to me
Of - during my infant days -
Feeding ‘worms till sheaths were made.
From http://walkaboutsverse.sitegoz.com (e-scroll)
Or http://blogs.myspace.com/walkaboutsverse (e-book)
(C) David Franks 2003
On 27 May, 15:32, walkaboutsverse <david1fra...@yahoo.com> wrote:
> Poem 179 of 230: A GLASSY TYNE - AUTUMN 2001
>
> Near glassy-classical new Law Courts,
> From the snazzy Millennium Footbridge,
> Reflecting fine bridges of other sorts -
> A glassy Tyne’s snazzy sunset image.
>
walkaboutsverse
Most of the leaves
Of poplar trees
Had fallen free
When to the sea,
By bus then train,
In stop/start rain,
I headed-down
From Radcliffe Town.
After Wigan,
The train began
To pass across
What to me was
A coastal plain
To see again -
With varied crops,
And grazing op’s.
From the station,
Reconstruction
Soon came to eye
As I walked, by
The gallery,
Toward the sea,
And thereby thought:
“Spacious Southport.”
From http://walkaboutsverse.sitegoz.com (e-scroll)
Or http://blogs.myspace.com/walkaboutsverse (e-book)
(C) David Franks 2003
On May 28, 9:10 am, walkaboutsverse <david1fra...@yahoo.com> wrote:
> Poem of 160 of 230: MACCLESFIELD - SUMMER 2001
>
> After hearing the ways
> Of the old silk-weaving trade,
> While being served some tea,
> Within the Mulberry Tree,
> Memories came back to me
> Of - during my infant days -
> Feeding ‘worms till sheaths were made.
>
walkaboutsverse
I’m thinking of Sting’s song “Russians,”
Which notes the ways wars can be fought;
He highlights nuclear weapons,
And there’s another crazy sort:
Landmines kill and maim innocents,
Long after their targets have fled;
To them should go layers’ repents,
And mine production should be dead.
From http://walkaboutsverse.sitegoz.com (e-scroll)
Or http://blogs.myspace.com/walkaboutsverse (e-book)
(C) David Franks 2003
walkaboutsverse
After a wall-view
Of the neat city;
Off a square in squares,
From a bronze statue,
Falling on a pool,
Rippling out towards
Lilies, ferns and reeds:
Water - sounding cool.
From http://walkaboutsverse.sitegoz.com (e-scroll)
Or http://blogs.myspace.com/walkaboutsverse (e-book)
(C) David Franks 2003
On May 30, 8:51 am, walkaboutsverse <david1fra...@yahoo.com> wrote:
> Poem 85 of 230: LANDMINES
>
> I’m thinking of Sting’s song “Russians,”
> Which notes the ways wars can be fought;
> He highlights nuclear weapons,
> And there’s another crazy sort:
>
> Landmines kill and maim innocents,
> Long after their targets have fled;
> To them should go layers’ repents,
> And mine production should be dead.
>
walkaboutsverse
(TUNE:
D A Bb A
D A Bb A G F F
D A Bb A
D A Bb A G F F)
Lancashire:
Cut by rivers, met by sea;
Patched by farmland,
Mills and other industry.
Lancashire:
With your links-lands by the sea;
Rough left wild,
Greens and fairways clipped neatly.
Lancashire:
With your Pennine boundary;
Steeped in history,
Through your buildings, there to see.
Lancashire:
Where, through Graces, moorlands be;
Wooded parklands,
Flowered gardens - kept neatly.
Lancashire:
Red Rose County, God’s blessed thee.
From http://walkaboutsverse.sitegoz.com (e-scroll)
Or http://walkaboutsverse.sitegoz.com (e-book)
(C) David Franks 2003
On 31 May, 09:37, walkaboutsverse <david1fra...@yahoo.com> wrote:
> Poem 167 of 230: WITHIN CHESTER CATHEDRAL’S CLOISTERS - SUMMER 2001
>
> After a wall-view
> Of the neat city;
> Off a square in squares,
> From a bronze statue,
> Falling on a pool,
> Rippling out towards
> Lilies, ferns and reeds:
> Water - sounding cool.
>
walkaboutsverse
Arrived in London,
At Heathrow Airport,
With sixty kilos
Of luggage I'd brought.
Found a paper, Loot,
And called an agent;
Stored two heavy bags,
Then to him I went.
For one week of rent,
He'd ensure a bed
Within Bayswater -
A bed-sit, he said.
It was eighty pounds
Per week, nothing more,
With a lift arranged
To the building's door.
Knackered and sleepless,
I took the deal;
Checked-in quickly,
Had a rushed meal.
Collected my bags
(Tube there, shared-van back),
Then carried them up
To my top-floor shack.
A penthouse - no need,
It did me just fine;
A cook-top and fridge,
A table to dine.
Seated, I could watch
The clouds roll by -
Often from the west -
Or jets cut the sky.
There were large plane-trees,
A squirrel or two;
And pigeons dropped by -
Foregrounding the view.
Plus, at dawn, the sun
Shined in from the east -
Filling the small room
As on egg I’d feast.
And, contemplating,
It occurs to me -
If all lived that well,
How great it would be.
But a lot do sleep
Outdoors many nights -
On sheets of cardboard,
Without basic rights.
From http://walkaboutsverse.sitegoz.com (e-scroll)
Or http://blogs.myspace.com./walkaboutsverse (e-book)
(C) David Franks 2003
walkaboutsverse
On the road from Inverness to Glasgow
(A very scenic road it is),
I hitched with a pair - Italiano;
The left-hand-drive Fiat was his.
I think they had taken turns at driving -
I’m not sure from where or how far;
But, when they picked me up from my hiking,
The lady was driving the car.
I recall how warm their greet did feel,
And what a thrilling trip it was;
For, as their hands fought over the wheel,
Our lives came near to loss:
I was sitting tight on the back-right side -
My ears off their argument;
But my eyes surely knew how close beside
The oncoming vehicles went!
We arrived without a scratch at Glasgow,
But it begs this point, I feel -
Why did our forebears decide to go
Either side for the new wheel?
From http://walkaboutsverse.sitegoz.com (e-scroll)
Or http://bolgs.myspace.com/walkaboutsverse (e-book)
(C) David Franks 2003
> ...
>
> read more »- Hide quoted text -
walkaboutsverse
Poem 20 of 230: CHINA AND INDIA
China and India:
Dense populations both;
But China is, by far,
Much more humane - my oath;
For through both I took trains,
And saw the gap in pains.
China and India:
Great cuisines they have both;
But China is, by far,
Much more humane - my oath;
For not once in packed China
Was I begged by a minor.
China and India:
Lasting cultures in both;
But china is, by far,
Much more humane - my oath;
For India does need
Left-policies - indeed!
(China and India:
Many creatures in both;
But, in this case, China
Is less kindly - my oath;
For, on pain, they fret less
In keeping their food fresh.)
From http://walkaboutsverse.sitegoz.com (e-scroll)
Or http://blogs.myspace.com/walkaboutsverse (e-book)
(C) David Franks 2003
walkaboutsverse
Awaiting a train in Bombay,
I was shocked into dismay;
For a well-dressed man, built strongly,
Was walking, his hands set free,
Ahead of a bony porter -
Heavy case on head, no quarter.
Shortly later, I watched again
As out from the rich-man's train
Came the scrawny struggling porter -
His thin back now much tauter;
For he writhed as he stretched his loins -
After a quick count of few coins.
From http://walkaboutsverse.sitegoz.com (e-scroll)
Or http://blogs.myspace.com/walkaboutsverse (e-book)
(C) David Franks 203
walkaboutsverse
Back when we became defenders
(We have plainly been attackers),
Defenders' blood, sweat and years
Were paid to keep a good home-way -
A way yet to be part stealth-blown,
As mass immigration gained-sway
And as we slipped as maintainers.
From http://walkaboutsverse.sitegoz.com (e-scroll)
Or http://blogs.myspace.com/walkaboutsverse (e-book)
(C) David Franks 2003
walkaboutsverse
Some thirteen years from my first visit
(Then, dropped from hitching, just near;
This time, by train and a downhill walk),
I arrived at Windermere:
On the ferry Miss Cumbria Three,
A chill-out trip to Ambleside -
Viewing the trees, the farms, the fells,
And the more sporty ways to ride.
Once there, an uphill walk through the shops
Led to a leaf, rock and root track,
With a stalactite-like mossy falls,
And a bridge - starting the way back.
Track-side, gripping the ghyll, ancient woods
Shaded what was a sunny day,
And the falling stream gave sound strongly -
Calming the soul a further way.
Then home - again charmed by the thin-stone
Minimum-mortar kept buildings,
The surrounds of England’s largest lake,
And movie train-window viewings.
From http://walkaboutsverse.sitegoz.com (e-scroll)
Or http://blogs.myspace.com/walkaboutsverse (e-book)
(C) David Franks 2003
On Jun 6, 10:12 am, walkaboutsverse <david1fra...@yahoo.com> wrote:
> Poem 212 of 230: REMEMBER THEM?
>
> Back when we became defenders
> (We have plainly been attackers),
> Defenders' blood, sweat and years
> Were paid to keep a good home-way -
> A way yet to be part stealth-blown,
> As mass immigration gained-sway
> And as we slipped as maintainers.
>
walkaboutsverse
No income-scale would be unjust -
It's a matter of degree;
And, to have less inequality,
Regulations are a must.
For, in Millennium's status quo,
The pay-gaps for human work,
And what's gotten simply as a perk,
Are wrong - inhumanely so.
From http://walkaboutsverse.sitegoz.com (e-srcoll)
Or http://blogs.myspace.com/walkaboutsverse (e-book)
(C) David Franks 2003
On Jun 7, 9:42 am, walkaboutsverse <david1fra...@yahoo.com> wrote:
> Poem 159 of 230: WINDERMERE - SUMMER 2001
>
> Some thirteen years from my first visit
> (Then, dropped from hitching, just near;
> This time, by train and a downhill walk),
> I arrived at Windermere:
>
> On the ferry Miss Cumbria Three,
> A chill-out trip to Ambleside -
> Viewing the trees, the farms, the fells,
> And the more sporty ways to ride.
>
> Once there, an uphill walk through the shops
> Led to a leaf, rock and root track,
> With a stalactite-like mossy falls,
> And a bridge - starting the way back.
>
> Track-side, gripping the ghyll, ancient woods
> Shaded what was a sunny day,
> And the falling stream gave sound strongly -
> Calming the soul a further way.
>
> Then home - again charmed by the thin-stone
> Minimum-mortar kept buildings,
> The surrounds of England’s largest lake,
> And movie train-window viewings.
>
> ...
>
> read more »- Hide quoted text -
Dale Houstman
> Poem 105 of 230: GLOBAL REGULATIONISM
>
> No income-scale would be unjust -
> It's a matter of degree;
> And, to have less inequality,
> Regulations are a must.
>
> For, in Millennium's status quo,
> The pay-gaps for human work,
> And what's gotten simply as a perk,
> Are wrong - inhumanely so.
>
This stuff is unusually consistent in its wretchedness: from flat
transcriptions of Christian resort pamphlets into harping praise loads,
all the way to tiny didactic humbugs like this one, which offer us below
average "thoughts" trussed into the strait jacket you appear to think
turns gruel into poetry. It doesn't.
Anyone can buy a book of poetic forms and use them as templates to
squeeze denatured ideas into, hoping they will set into something worth
reading. This isn't really very difficult to do, and you don't bring
anything of value to the process.
And the preaching is sounding more and more like nagging...
dmh
walkaboutsverse
Dale...hope you prefer this one..?
Poem 64 of 230: LIVERPOOL
Caught a train, along a long-used line,
From Manchester to Liverpool.
On that day the weather was fine:
Sunny - just a little bit cool.
There, I purchased a Walkabout Guide,
Marked some sights, and headed outside.
As usual when first at such a place,
I walked to the main art-gallery,
The central mall, and the garden space;
Then headed down to the wide Mersey.
There, from ferry, I viewed the skyline -
A good sturdy cityscape, for mine.
From http://walkaboutsverse.sitegoz.com (e-scroll)
Or http://blogs.myspace.com/walkaboutsverse (e-book)
(C) David Franks 2003
Will Dockery
> walkaboutsverse wrote:
>
> Poem 105 of 230: GLOBAL REGULATIONISM
>
> > No income-scale would be unjust -
> > It's a matter of degree;
> > And, to have less inequality,
> > Regulations are a must.
>
> > For, in Millennium's status quo,
> > The pay-gaps for human work,
> > And what's gotten simply as a perk,
> > Are wrong - inhumanely so.
>
Yes, puts me in mind of Dennis M. Hammes' work in that way...
Walkabout nails his form pretty well, to this untrained eye.
--
"She Sleeps Tight", vocals by Will Dockery & Sandy Madaris, guitars by
Brian Mallard. Paintings by George Sulzbach.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9uGY157cpiU
walkaboutsverse
There’s a place called Sovereign Hill,
Nigh the city of Ballarat,
With dated representations -
And they’re authentic ones at that.
You can pan for gold at the creek,
Write some lines with inkwell and quill,
See bread baked the colonial way
Or a blacksmith at his anvil.
There’s a, pre-plastics, bowling lane -
With everything made in wood;
A painted-photo studio,
And a saloon built as they stood.
Ride in a draft-horse drawn carriage,
See the front gardens of the day,
Read-up on mining history,
Or watch costumed-revellers play.
And, just beside the “old” village,
Should you decide to see some more,
There’s homely accommodation;
But heed - Kooris came long before.
From http://walkaboutsverse.sitegoz.com (e-scroll)
Or http://blogs.myspace.com/walkaboutsverse (e-book)
(C) David Franks 2003
> Brian Mallard. Paintings by George Sulzbach.http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9uGY157cpiU- Hide quoted text -
Will Dockery
On a second reading I see this is some really good work. Thanks for
posting.
Dale Houstman
>
> On a second reading I see this is some really good work. Thanks for
> posting.
It isn't "really good work" - and I've explained why it isn't at length
- but even if it were, your words (such as they are) would be the
laziest and most worthless critique possible, barring "uh good." Can you
delineate precisely why you think it is "really good work" (just to
educate the rest of us and maybe actually lend aid to the writer, rather
than just plop out another brown bookmark for your existence), and also
convince me that you actually worked up the energy to read anything
twice? your comment suggests to me that - in truth - you haven't really
even read it once.
dmh
Will Dockery
> Will Dockery wrote:
>
> > On a second reading I see this is some really good work. Thanks for
> > posting.
>
> It isn't "really good work" -
Sure, it is. Any number of these would make great folk ballad type
works, maybe in the style of Oscar Brand or Tom Paxton, or even
myself, if I had the time.
Since you've snipped the man's entire poem for some reason (let's
guess why?) we can get back to this later, I suppose.
walkaboutsverse
songs, when he's appeared on the BBC.
Poem/Song/Chant 111 of 230: THE MERSEY AT DIDSBURY - SPRING 2000
(TUNE:
Eb F G Ab G
D F G Ab G
D F G Ab G
D G Ab Bb Ab
D G Ab Bb Ab
D F G Ab G)
Took bus one-four-three,
From Piccadilly,
Along Oxford Road;
Passed the old uni’s,
Those shops with saris,
And my first abode.
At Didsbury Village,
The Old Parsonage
Looked neat, and gave sound,
As I walked the way,
At about midday,
To a Mersey mound.
From atop this bank,
No longer a blank
Was the strong river,
Nor the wide fairways -
Where I’d filled two days,
Twelve years earlier.
I then headed back,
On Stenner Woods’ track
(Hearing more birdsong,
And seeing mossed stumps
Plus well-layered clumps),
To a human throng.
This throng was viewing -
Justly pursuing -
The smart Rock Gardens,
Sloped on Fletcher Moss,
Which I, too, did cross,
Before homeward wends.
From http://walkaboutsverse.sitegoz.com (e-scroll)
Or http://blogs.myspace.com/walkaboutsverse (e-book)
(C) David Franks 2003
Will Dockery
> (Hadn't heard of Oscar Brand, but I've enjoyed some of Tom Paxton's
> songs, when he's appeared on the BBC.
Well, one of the "rules" of the newsgroups is that we shouldn't just
comment "this reminds me of...", but it does, in a good way. Damned
good poetry, man.
walkaboutsverse
But for the ghostly lighthouse on Saint Mary’s,
The, matching, moonlit-wash of broken waves,
The distant bulbs of liners sailing the seas,
The Down Under’s lights, from human-made caves,
And the inland blooms of Friday’s zeal,
Their night’s beach fishing was all by feel.
From http://walkaboutsverse.sitegoz.com (e-scroll)
Or http://blogs.myspace.com/walkaboutsverse (e-book)
(C) David Franks 2003
msifg
> Poem 180 of 230: WHITLEY BAY FISHERMEN - AUTUMN 2001
>
> But for the ghostly lighthouse on Saint Mary’s,
> The, matching, moonlit-wash of broken waves,
> The distant bulbs of liners sailing the seas,
> The Down Under’s lights, from human-made caves,
> And the inland blooms of Friday’s zeal,
> Their night’s beach fishing was all by feel.
>
>
> > - Show quoted text -- Hide quoted text -
>
> - Show quoted text -
you're saying they had limited fishing light
and you're using the opportunity to
give a visual night tour guide of Saint Mary's.
the syllable count reaching eleven on
line three not only throws the beat off,
the point was already made more adequately
in the ten count in line two, especially since
that's where the waves were broken.
"the distant bulbs of liners sailing THE seas,"
feels very uncomfortable, and it shouldn't.
that's where the rhythm should return.
the next line is where the syllable count
might go back to eleven, or even nine:
"the downunder's lights, from human-made caves,"
unless those lights offer more night vision than
the liners, in which case it would work.
the next two lines are nine's, which tells me
you're very concerned about the count and
rhythm. i can only take your word for it, since
i've not been to Saint Mary's during the day
or night. thanks for sharing and keeping
it poetry.
Will Dockery
> Poem 180 of 230: WHITLEY BAY FISHERMEN - AUTUMN 2001
>
> But for the ghostly lighthouse on Saint Mary’s,
> The, matching, moonlit-wash of broken waves,
> The distant bulbs of liners sailing the seas,
> The Down Under’s lights, from human-made caves,
> And the inland blooms of Friday’s zeal,
> Their night’s beach fishing was all by feel.
>
> Orhttp://blogs.myspace.com/walkaboutsverse(e-book)
> (C) David Franks 2003
Really fine work here, David... I hope to get back here soon for a
more detailed commentary.
--
"Rick Howe, singer, songwriter, comix artist, poet... friend. May he
find peace in the Great Unknown." -Will Dockery
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=p83vPKQuKzU
> > > > Brian Mallard. Paintings by George Sulzbach.http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9uGY157cpiU-Hide quoted text -
>
> > - Show quoted text -- Hide quoted text -
walkaboutsverse
Poem 113 of 230: FOLLOWING THE SUN - SPRING 2000
Having moved, by buses, up the hill from Salford to Bury
(To be within walk of new work, again),
These stimuli surround between my abode and the factory
As I follow the sun - its wax, its wane:
Walking toward work and the rising sun, a morning chorus
Rides the crisp breezy air of hill-farmland,
While gravel, of road and path, beneath my plonked feet crunches,
And P.V.C. flaps loose of its hay-stand.
Bumble bees, tree sparrows and robins bob along the hedgerows,
Squirrels and hares hop ahead on my route;
And on a weather-wrapped reservoir - glassy, or dulled by blows -
Glide mute- and whooper-swans, ducks, geese and coot;
Horses, goats, sheep and cattle laze and graze on fields of green -
Fields they, in turn, feed, helping make hay;
And, above, swifts and herons sometimes grace the aerial scene -
A scene framed by a moorland chain of grey.
Slugs - some rusty, others pitch-black - slither on a clayey path,
That slopes sharply beside the reservoir;
And a whitegood on green-grass - a horse trough, once a human bath -
Amuses me as I view from afar;
As does Peel Monument, atop a distant Holecombe mount -
By which an uncle and I once took lunch;
Disturbed nettles - brushed in such distraction - make their bulwarks
count,
And a shed-side arbour demands a hunch.
One time, three sheep-dogs determined me lost, and rounded me up;
Oftentimes, the Metro. tram rattles by;
And, sometimes, a horse will urge me make handy a grassy cup,
Or nudge for a scratch down its back and thigh;
On cooler mornings, the dew on grasses soaks my joggers through,
But beautifies clumps of whimsy grass-heads;
And, already proceeding on his routine of chores to do,
A farmer strong-hoses out the cowsheds.
Caravan-people leave their grouping to walk the well-worn track,
And milk- and mail-vans squeeze tightly by;
Antique farm-machines rust away in a grassed ramshackle-stack,
And pigeons startle from their grassy
lie;
In sun, fishing-people and bathers dot the reservoir’s shore,
And, in shade, ferns the sides of path and stream;
Near gates, manure fills the air and makes stepping a chore,
But elsewhere the views are a poet’s dream.
Magpies, near horses, bop around - perhaps for aroused worms;
Laburnums sprung yellow, and hawthorns white,
Pleasingly, in nature, border the fields of farming-firms,
And help enclose this Radcliffe rural site;
Plus, as I meander home from a day’s factory toil,
The sun, when it sets in a clear sky,
Forms a large amber ball, behind a converted cotton-mill -
Signalling another day almost by.
From http://walkaboutsverse.sitegoz.com (e-scroll)
Or http://blogs.myspace.com/walkaboutsverse (e-book)
(C) David Franks 2003
On Jun 16, 12:52 am, Will Dockery <will.dock...@gmail.com> wrote:
> On Jun 12, 4:41 am, walkaboutsverse <david1fra...@yahoo.com> wrote:
>
> > Poem 180 of 230: WHITLEY BAY FISHERMEN - AUTUMN 2001
>
> > But for the ghostly lighthouse on Saint Mary’s,
> > The, matching, moonlit-wash of broken waves,
> > The distant bulbs of liners sailing the seas,
> > The Down Under’s lights, from human-made caves,
> > And the inland blooms of Friday’s zeal,
> > Their night’s beach fishing was all by feel.
>
> > Fromhttp://walkaboutsverse.sitegoz.com(e-scroll)
> > Orhttp://blogs.myspace.com/walkaboutsverse(e-book)
> > (C) David Franks 2003
>
> Really fine work here, David... I hope to get back here soon for a
> more detailed commentary.
>
> --
> "Rick Howe, singer, songwriter, comix artist, poet... friend. May he
> find peace in the Great Unknown." -Will Dockeryhttp://www.youtube.com/watch?v=p83vPKQuKzU
> > > > > Brian Mallard. Paintings by George Sulzbach.http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9uGY157cpiU-Hidequoted text -
walkaboutsverse
that, via gambling on a lottery, one individual now has 100s of times
more wealth than his neighbours - REVOLTING!)
Poem 138 of 230: AN OPIUM
National Lottery passes -
Slight chances to be richer,
With lots more than thy neighbour,
Gained without any labour -
Keep the system in favour:
An opium of the masses.
From http://walkaboutsverse.sitegoz.com (e-scroll)
Or http://blogs.myspace.com/walkaboutsverse (e-book)
(C) David Franks 2003
> > > > > > Brian Mallard. Paintings by George Sulzbach.http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9uGY157cpiU-Hidequotedtext -
Will Dockery
>
> > > - Show quoted text -- Hide quoted text -
>
> > - Show quoted text -
>
> you're saying they had limited fishing light
> and you're using the opportunity to
> give a visual night tour guide of Saint Mary's.
> the syllable count reaching eleven on
> line three not only throws the beat off,
> the point was already made more adequately
> in the ten count in line two, especially since
> that's where the waves were broken.
> "the distant bulbs of liners sailing THE seas,"
> feels very uncomfortable, and it shouldn't.
> that's where the rhythm should return.
> the next line is where the syllable count
> might go back to eleven, or even nine:
> "the downunder's lights, from human-made caves,"
> unless those lights offer more night vision than
> the liners, in which case it would work.
> the next two lines are nine's, which tells me
> you're very concerned about the count and
> rhythm. i can only take your word for it, since
> i've not been to Saint Mary's during the day
> or night. thanks for sharing and keeping
> it poetry.
All in all, WAV puts out some good work, and plenty of it, eh?
--
Twilight Girl, written by Will Dockery & Henry Conley, from the CD
Shadowville Speedway. © 2009
Vocals: Will Dockery, Guitar: Henry Conley, Bass: Doug Conley, Flute:
Gene Woolfolk, Jr. Drums: John Phillips.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BYETTK16jQI
walkaboutsverse
No income-scale would be unjust -
It’s a matter of degree;
And, to have less inequality,
Regulations are a must.
For, in Millennium’s status quo,
The pay-gaps for human work,
And what’s gotten simply as a perk,
Are wrong - inhumanely so.
From http://walkaboutsverse.sitegoz.com (e-scroll)
Or http://blogs.myspace.com/walkaboutsverse (e-book)
(C) David Franks 2003
> > > > > > Brian Mallard. Paintings by George Sulzbach.http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9uGY157cpiU-Hidequotedtext -
> Gene Woolfolk, Jr. Drums: John Phillips.http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BYETTK16jQI- Hide quoted text -
walkaboutsverse
Some thirteen years from my first visit
(Then, dropped from hitching, just near;
This time, by train and a downhill walk),
I arrived at Windermere:
On the ferry Miss Cumbria Three,
A chill-out trip to Ambleside -
Viewing the trees, the farms, the fells,
And the more sporty ways to ride.
Once there, an uphill walk through the shops
Led to a leaf, rock and root track,
With a stalactite-like mossy falls,
And a bridge - starting the way back.
Track-side, gripping the ghyll, ancient woods
Shaded what was a sunny day,
And the falling stream gave sound strongly -
Calming the soul a further way.
Then home - again charmed by the thin-stone
Minimum-mortar kept buildings,
The surrounds of England’s largest lake,
And movie train-window viewings.
From http://walkaboutsverse.sitegoz.com (e-scroll)
Or http://blogs.myspace.com/walkaboutsverse (e-book)
(C) David Franks 2003
On Jun 18, 9:25 am, walkaboutsverse <david1fra...@yahoo.com> wrote:
> Poem 105 of 230: GLOBAL REGULATIONISM
>
> No income-scale would be unjust -
> It’s a matter of degree;
> And, to have less inequality,
> Regulations are a must.
>
> For, in Millennium’s status quo,
> The pay-gaps for human work,
> And what’s gotten simply as a perk,
> Are wrong - inhumanely so.
>
> > Gene Woolfolk, Jr. Drums: John Phillips.http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BYETTK16jQI-Hide quoted text -
Will Dockery
>
> William Everson (Brother Antonius):
>
> "O Poets! Shamans of the word! When will you recover the trance-like
> rhythms, the subliminal imagery, the haunting sense of possession, the
> powerful inflection and enunciation to effect the vision? Throw off
> this malaise, this evasion, this attitudinizing and sickliness of
> urbanity. Penetrate to the discord in yourself, the rootlessness, and
> induce the trance that will heal the rift within. Shamanize!
> Shamanize! The American destiny is in your hands." -William Everson
> (Brother Antoninus, O.P.)
>
> His poems might shock some Christians - he explores passions of the
> flesh right along side passions of the spirit, at times, the two
> indistinguishable.
http://doriancope.blogspot.com/2009/05/15th-may-1871-rimbaud-writes-his-letter.html
"...The Poet makes himself a seer by a long, gigantic and rational
derangement of all the senses. All forms of love, suffering, and
madness. He searches himself. He exhausts all poisons in himself and
keeps only their quintessences. Unspeakable torture where he needs all
his faith, all his super-human strength, where he becomes among all
men the great patient, the great criminal, the one accursed--and the
supreme Scholar!--Because he reaches the unknown! Since he cultivated
his soul, rich already, more than any man! He reaches the unknown, and
when, bewildered, he ends by losing the intelligence of his visions,
he has seen them. Let him die as he leaps through unheard of and
unnamable things: other horrible workers will come; they will begin
from the horizons where the other collapsed! (to be continued in six
minutes...)” - Arthur Rimbaud, letter to Paul Demeny
"...I wish to be a poet, and I am working to make myself into a seer:
you will not understand at all, and I would not nearly know how to
explain it to you. It's a question of coming to the unknown through
the disordering of all the senses. The suffering is enormous, but one
must be strong, be born a poet, and I have come to terms with my
destiny as a poet. It's not at all my fault. It's wrong to say "I
think"; one ought to say "I am being thought" - Forgive the play on
words - I is somebody else.” - Arthur Rimbaud, letter to Georges
Izambard
--
Dockery, Conley, Madaris & Woolfolk: The Pack Rat Show
http://waydownincolumbusgeorgiablog.ning.com/xn/detail/3004227:Event:10132
The songs and poetry of Will Dockery, Henry Conley, Sandy Madaris and
Gene Woolfolk Jr. and interpretations of standards from various music
genres. Our "collective conciousness" = "pack rat".
msifg
> Karla wrote:
>
> > William Everson (Brother Antonius):
>
> > "O Poets! Shamans of the word! When will you recover the trance-like
> > rhythms, the subliminal imagery, the haunting sense of possession, the
> > powerful inflection and enunciation to effect the vision? Throw off
> > this malaise, this evasion, this attitudinizing and sickliness of
> > urbanity. Penetrate to the discord in yourself, the rootlessness, and
> > induce the trance that will heal the rift within. Shamanize!
> > Shamanize! The American destiny is in your hands." -William Everson
> > (Brother Antoninus, O.P.)
>
> > His poems might shock some Christians - he explores passions of the
> > flesh right along side passions of the spirit, at times, the two
> > indistinguishable.
>
>
> "...The Poet makes himself a seer by a long, gigantic and rational
> derangement of all the senses. All forms of love, suffering, and
> madness. He searches himself. He exhausts all poisons in himself and
> keeps only their quintessences. Unspeakable torture where he needs all
> his faith, all his super-human strength, where he becomes among all
> men the great patient, the great criminal, the one accursed--and the
> supreme Scholar!--Because he reaches the unknown! Since he cultivated
> his soul, rich already, more than any man! He reaches the unknown, and
> when, bewildered, he ends by losing the intelligence of his visions,
> he has seen them. Let him die as he leaps through unheard of and
> unnamable things: other horrible workers will come; they will begin
> from the horizons where the other collapsed! (to be continued in six
> minutes...)” - Arthur Rimbaud, letter to Paul Demeny
>
> "...I wish to be a poet, and I am working to make myself into a seer:
> you will not understand at all, and I would not nearly know how to
> explain it to you. It's a question of coming to the unknown through
> the disordering of all the senses. The suffering is enormous, but one
> must be strong, be born a poet, and I have come to terms with my
> destiny as a poet. It's not at all my fault. It's wrong to say "I
> think"; one ought to say "I am being thought" - Forgive the play on
> words - I is somebody else.” - Arthur Rimbaud, letter to Georges
> Izambard
>
> --
>
> The songs and poetry of Will Dockery, Henry Conley, Sandy Madaris and
> Gene Woolfolk Jr. and interpretations of standards from various music
>
> - Show quoted text -
is there a tour guide?
i really apologize for not being able to keep up...
i'm confident the "whore" makes it through the simulated
lack of grasp upon the situation at hand...
(please explain...please...)
this is the hand out at the edge of a cliff
thing here...
(the dots are supposed to reveal that.)
then, the parenthesis help keep the thing
in perspective.
(did i finally leave them out..?)
nope...
hope has all lot to do with this indecision made pubic...
i mean, public...but, i said pubic, so...(and the dots
reappear..) it looked like "public" anyway..from this
"distance" of literary grasp..syntactic simulation
disseminating upon the throng of hapless spectators..
(you do know about "hapless spectators," don't you?
they're the ones left behind as you mount your
pale horse and make off into the place you're describing
as your home..?)
back to what we were talking about...
(puff puff)
distractions
simulations
manipulations
gyrations
(or, is that girating "graps" of forgetfulness,)
details without boundaries
(what with these parenthesis..?like some kind
of thesis in need of "pare"medics...)
two dots tow the line when the "w"
precedes the "t..." where it leaves
it's mark...with the apostrophe coloring
it's tip...where the "p" hit my "i"
and left a mark where matt made
an attempt to "be" simultaneously...
anyway...who gives a "shit..?"
but, me...
yo
matt
Will Dockery
Yes... I think...
--
Dockery, Conley, Madaris & Woolfolk: The Pack Rat Show
http://waydownincolumbusgeorgiablog.ning.com/xn/detail/3004227:Event:10132
The songs and poetry of Will Dockery, Henry Conley, Sandy Madaris and
Will Dockery
>
> We don't see as many ~heart-n-soul~ poets on Usenet as we used to a
> few years ago, and if I've contributed to driving them away, I'm not
> ashamed.
Ah, a rare bit of honesty.
> You may have contributed to driving them away too
Not so simple as the old days, though, I'll wager you're noticing.
--
"She Sleeps Tight", vocals by Will Dockery & Sandy Madaris, guitars by
Brian Mallard. Paintings by George Sulzbach
walkaboutsverse
A contract ended/a new one begun,
And a move from Bolton back to Bury -
A top-floor council-flat, within Radcliffe,
Where streets are named from names in poetry,
And homes are framed by scenes I’m happy with.
My thirteenth home needed some touching-up,
And I chose, in the main, to D.I.Y.;
So a nailed off-cut-and-rug make-do
Covers the small floor where shelved books now lie -
My first study, painted in Oxford Blue.
From http://walkaboutsverse.sitegoz.com (e-scroll)
Or http://blogs.myspace.com/walkaboutsverse (e-book)
(C) David Franks 2003
Will Dockery
> Will Dockery wrote:
> >Cythera wrote:
> >>walkaboutsverse wrote:
>
> >> .> Lines 1 and 8!, Cythera!...read any blank-verse and it won't be long
> >> > before you find two last words that rhyme, accidentally...
>
> >> Accidental rhyme?
>
> > Sure, it happens with poets all the time,
>
> *chortle*
Wipe your face, Peter... you're drooling ~heart-n-soul~ down your
chin.
--
"She Sleeps Tight" by Will Dockery & Brian Mallard:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9uGY157cpiU
> > "...Rhymes come out naturally to poetic people... I find myself
> > rhyming
> > when I'm speaking in normal conversation, and you'll find interior
> > rhymes dotting out all within my texts, when you look at them, or
> > have
> > someone read it to you.. Walkabout is obviously one of those natural
> > poets, and like it or not, the guy can write."
walkaboutsverse
e.g., and, if you read on, it won't be too far down before you find
another line with the same accidental rhyme-ending (maybe 10 lines
apart/maybe 25..?). On the other hand, here's a sonnet...
Poem 146 of 230: HORSES FOR COURSES?
To some, in income-anticipation,
Horse-baulking at gates is a small debase;
To me, it seems a memory/fear case
Over the coming whip-castigation.
To some, the winning jockey’s elation
Is the highlight of an ended horserace;
To me, the horse’s bulged veins and scared face
Undermine the winners’ celebration.
I can’t condone a punter’s desire
To gamble rather than earn a living,
But can acknowledge a jockey’s courage;
I can’t see and think as a raced sire,
Nor feel the scrapes hedges are giving,
But find horses choiceless in their bondage.
From http://walkaboutsverse.sitegoz.com (e-scroll)
Or http://blogs.myspace.com/walkaboutsverse (e-book)
(C)_David Franks 2003
Will Dockery
>
> I love writers, even the stone cold bastards like Norman Mailer and
> Rimbaud. I even like most non-writers. Hell, I'm a hippie - we love
> {almost) everyone.
>
> dmh
<group hug>
You're a good man, Dale Houstman. You have a lot of ~heart-n-soul~.
--
"She Came From Overseas" and other song-poems by Will Dockery:
http://www.reverbnation.com/willdockery
Will Dockery
"walkaboutsverse" <david1...@yahoo.com> wrote:
...Poem 24 of 230: THROUGH SOUTH-EAST ASIA
A highlight of South-East Asia -
As with other tropical lands -
Is the abundance of fresh fruits:
At cutting which some have deft hands.
And, from these fruits, I�d often choose -
To cool down from tropical heat -
A freshly prepared coconut:
Chopped to drink; lining scooped to eat.
From http://walkaboutsverse.sitegoz.com (e-scroll)
Or http://blogs.myspace.com/walkaboutsverse (e-book)
(C) David Franks 2003
walkaboutsverse <david1fra...@yahoo.com> wrote:
>
> I, too, enjoy reading poetry where
> folks have been far more introspective than me - but writing that way
> is just not my cup-of-tea; and I don't want folks scratching their
> heads over what I'm saying. However, if you use either of the above
> links, you'll soon find a longish blank-verse poem, "0-19," which, by
> way of introduction, is more about me.
> David
A poetry method Jack Kerouac called "sketching"... Mexico City Blues has a
lot of this. He'd sit down with a notepad, and "sketch" the scene with
words. Good stuff, and lets the reader fill in visuals, as old-time radio
similarly did, or the grace notes of Miles Davis and other great jazzmen.
--
"She Came From Overseas" and other song-poems by Will Dockery:
http://www.reverbnation.com/willdockery
> > > on my blurb you'll find "The style is mostly direct; and
> > > the substance informative, humorous and didactic"; and, on my myspace
> > > profile, "minimalist".
>
> > One of my favorite humorous poems and it's about traveling:
> > http://www.nonsenselit.org/Lear/ns/jumblies.html
>
> > > Poem 14 of 230: NIGHT OR DAY?!
>
> > > In the far north of Sweden,
> > > A "Land of the Midnight Sun,�
> > > A strange thing chanced upon me -
> > > And I�ll tell you, just for fun.
>
> > > Got off a train late-morning
> > > (Had to catch same one next day)
> > > And trudged far to the Youth Hostel -
> > > Paying for a one-night stay.
>
> > > I spent the afternoon sightseeing,
> > > Then, after a latish dinner,
> > > Returned to my own small bedroom -
> > > The comfy bed proving a winner.
>
> > > For I soon dozed into dreamy sleep -
> > > Waking what was just two hours hence;
> > > But my watch was an analogue,
> > > And night or day I couldn�t sense!
>
> > > I quickly packed all my things
> > > (My train an hour or thirteen on)
> > > And hurried out the bedroom -
> > > The bright sky a sneaky con.
>
> > > I wandered down the track a bit
> > > (The Hostel office empty),
> > > Before a smiling helpful local
> > > Did kindly enlighten me.
>
> > > Fromhttp://walkaboutsverse.sitegoz.com(e-scroll)
> > > Orhttp://blogs.myspace.com/walkaboutsverse(e-book)
> > > (C) David Franks 2003
>
> > > > > "What to me was / A coastal plain / To see again"
>
> > > > > > > Most of the leaves
> > > > > > > Of poplar trees
> > > > > > > Had fallen free
> > > > > > > When to the sea,
> > > > > > > By bus then train,
> > > > > > > In stop/start rain,
>
> > > > > > "stop/start rain" is good. Your poems are so lacking in
> > > > > > sensuality and
> > > > > > detail. This was a nice surprise.
>
> > > > > > > I headed-down
> > > > > > > From Radcliffe Town.
>
> > > > > > > After Wigan,
> > > > > > > The train began
> > > > > > > To pass across
> > > > > > > What to me was
> > > > > > > A coastal plain
>
> > > > > > "What to me was / A coastal plain": Was it a coastal plain only
> > > > > > to
> > > > > > you?
>
> > > > > > > To see again -
> > > > > > > With varied crops,
> > > > > > > And grazing op�s.
>
> > > > > > > From the station,
> > > > > > > Reconstruction
> > > > > > > Soon came to eye
> > > > > > > As I walked, by
> > > > > > > The gallery,
> > > > > > > Toward the sea,
> > > > > > > And thereby thought:
> > > > > > > �Spacious Southport.�
>
> > > > > > > Fromhttp://walkaboutsverse.sitegoz.com(e-scroll)
> > > > > > > Orhttp://blogs.myspace.com/walkaboutsverse(e-book)
> > > > > > > (C) David Franks 2003
>
> > > > > > > > Poem of 160 of 230: MACCLESFIELD - SUMMER 2001
>
> > > > > > > > After hearing the ways
> > > > > > > > Of the old silk-weaving trade,
> > > > > > > > While being served some tea,
> > > > > > > > Within the Mulberry Tree,
> > > > > > > > Memories came back to me
>
> > > > > > as opposed to someone who wasn't you? "Memories came back," but
> > > > > > that's
> > > > > > not much of an improvement.
>
> > > > > > > > Of - during my infant days -
> > > > > > > > Feeding �worms till sheaths were made.
>
> > > > > > Feeding �worms till sheaths were made: I wish you had written
> > > > > > about
> > > > > > this.
>
> > > > > > You step on John Milton to elevate yourself.
>
> > > > > Cythera (deliberately?) misinterprets Walkabout to elevate
> > > > > herself...
> > > > > either that or she has a reading comprehension problem?
>
> > > > > > > > > Milton, I'm sure, like me, would have made sure there were
> > > > > > > > > no rhymes
> > > > > > > > > within say every half-dozen lines - but would NOT have
> > > > > > > > > checked to see
> > > > > > > > > if lines say 10 or 20 apart happened to rhyme
>
> > > > > > > > He would have and he did.
>
> > > > > How could you possibly know if this statement is true? You can't.
>
> > > > > Oh right, you're not only a mind reader but also one of those past
> > > > > lives time travellers, as well?
>
> > > > > --
> > > > > "Truck Stop Woman" by Dockery & Conley on internet
> > > > > radio:http://www.wqik.com/new2/artists/i/237770?psid=303942
>
> > > > she's not trying to READ this mans mind;
> > > > she's trying to fuck it.
>
> > > Heh... you /are/ a real M*A*S*H fan. That's something Gould might say
> > > to Sutherland (or the third Swampman, Duke, who vanished by the time
> > > the series came along), but for obvious (television) and due to the
> > > drastic changes in the characters (one of the reasons Richard Hooker
> > > didn't like the show) Rogers would never say to Alda.
>
> > > Yeah, you got me on another M*A*S*H kick... I might pull out the first
> > > novel and give it another read. By the way, if you find yourself in
> > > any used bookstores and run across a copy of that, or the sequel,
> > > M*A*S*H Goes To Maine, grab 'em quick. The first one is still (and
> > > hopefully always) in print, but the second, and the dozen or so others
> > > (not as good as the first two by a long shot, but still wrth having,
> > > imo) haven't been reprinted since they appeared in the 1970s, and are
> > > cool reads... the direction the /creator/ took the M*A*S*H characters,
> > > after the war, and into the decades after.
>
> > > "This isn't a newsgroup! It's an insane asylum!" -Hotlips
>
> > > --
> > > "She Sleeps Tight" by Will Dockery & Brian
> > > Mallard:http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3D9uGY157cpiU-Hidequoted text -
>
> > > - Show quoted text -
>
> > maybe houstman is more like maj. charles emerson winchester III,
> > as he shows such disgust for other writers and
> > what they call poetry. however, i still think his rants,
> > if toned up a bit, could rival hawkeye pierce...esp
> > if he fine tuned his sense of humor. that is, show
> > a little more humanness as he rants.
>
> Good point... in the novel, there are a few more folks for Hawkeye,
> Trapper and Duke to deal with, a couple of Brits unnamed, iirc, and
> others. Maybe I'd be Painless Pole, and who, I wonder, would make a
> good Father Dago Red (as he's called in the novel and film)...
>
> > i haven't read the book and i need to.
>
> The first M*A*S*H, as I wrote, is easily available at the bookstores,
> and M*A*S*H Goes to Maine, which is Hooker's idea of AfterM*A*SH, what
> happened after the war, good stuff.
>
> > right now i'm trudging through hertzog
> > by saul bellows. it's more of a piece
> > of art than a quick read novel. it's sort
> > of hard to explain exactly what the novel
> > is about. it's multi-layered...complicated.
> > i'm going to re-read norman mahler's american
> > dream when i'm done with hertzog.
> > (i'll be re-reading hertzog for the rest
> > of my life...same goes for joyce.)
>
> > matt
>
> Jeeze... after all that you could probably stand a dose of lowball
> humor, Hooker writes smooth and brings the familar faces to life in
> their rude raw original glory:
>
> http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/M*A*S*H_Goes_to_Maine
>
> M*A*S*H Goes to Maine is a novel written by Richard Hooker and
> originally published in 1972. A sequel to 1968's M*A*S*H: A Novel
> About Three Army Doctors, it features several of that novel's
> characters in rural Maine. An attempt to adapt M*A*S*H Goes to Maine
> as a feature film was unsuccessful.
>
> Hawkeye Pierce returns to live in Crabapple Cove, Maine near the town
> of Spruce Harbor. Having left the Army, Hawkeye is established to be
> working for the Veterans Administration. In May 1954 he is laid off.
> At this point, Hawkeye doesn�t have much money in the bank, is 31
> years old, and has three children: Billy, Stephen and Karen.
>
> The day he�s released, Trapper John McIntyre comes to visit and sets
> Hawkeye�s future in motion. Trapper John, a Lieutenant in the medical
> organization of Maxie Neville in New York City, arranges for further
> thoracic training for Hawkeye, first in the East Orange VA Hospital in
> New Jersey, then at St Lombard�s in Manhattan from July 1954. After
> two years Hawkeye breezes through the Thoracic Boards. At the end of
> his training in June 1956, two Spruce Harbor locals, Jocko Allcock
> (the man who was responsible for Hawkeye being fired by the VA) and
> �Wooden Leg� Willcox (the local fish magnate) come to visit Hawkeye to
> set him up in practice�by betting favorably on the outcome of his
> operations.
>
> The first operation with Trapper John�s assistance (upon Pasquale
> Merlino) is a success, and thanks to his superior training Hawkeye
> becomes the local surgeon. As time goes by, Hawkeye is given more
> patients by the local general practitioner of note, �Doggy� Moore;
> goes into private practice with ex-Spitfire pilot Tony Holcombe and
> plots the eventual reuniting of the Swamp Gang. By 1959 Hawkeye has
> lured Trapper John, Duke Forrest, and Spearchucker Jones into his net,
> and thanks to the proceeds of the �Allcock-Willcox� syndicate, a new
> �Finestkind Fishmarket and Clinic� is set up along with the new Spruce
> Harbor General Hospital.
>
> Duke returns to Georgia from Korea, and takes a course in urology.
> Hawkeye Pierce then invites him up to Spruce Harbor, Maine to join him
> and a new friend, Tony Holcombe in private practice. Duke immediately
> turns up in Maine with his bloodhound, Little Eva, and joins Hawkeye
> in persuading Spearchucker to become the local neurosurgeon. Duke and
> his family move into Crabapple Cove next to Hawkeye and Mary Pierce.
matt
yeah-
he's a very gracious and compassionate soul;
and has a courageous and gracious heart...
why, just the other day he told me that
my song had the "wisp of inept thievery."
i was immediately swept away by the love
and tenderness of those wonderful words.
excuse me...i think i'm going to...
(barf)
matt
Will Dockery
Heh... maybe he'll go have a dip in the deep end with PJR and Barbie.
Will Dockery
> matt wrote:
>
> > would you consider constructing in a poem
> > some of your favorite poets that you study
> > in between writing poems? a brief tour guide
> > through some of your influences is what i'm
> > asking for.
>
> Go ahead and ask then. No concern of mine.
>
> Why would I "[construct] in a poem" a list of my favorite poets,
> whatever that means?
It almost certainly means that he's asking which poets you prefer to
borrow the words from to construct your derivitive "poems".
> Andre Breton
> Benjamin Peret
> Elizabeth Bishop
> Guillaume Apollinaire
> Pierre Reverdy
> Wallace Stevens
> William Carlos Williams
> John Ashbery
> Francis Ponge
> e.e. cummings
> Emily Dickinson
> William Blake
> Arthur Rimbaud
> Paul Verlaine
> any number of haiku artists
> Catullus
> Sappho (and her delicious fragments)
> and on
> and on
> and on
Nice list... you borrow your poetry from some pretty good folks, how
about a list of the obscure unknowns you borrow poetry from, such as
Alacrity Stone?
--
Will Dockery poetry,music et cetera:
http://www.myspace.com/willdockery
walkaboutsverse
a few poems in my collection are introspective!
Poem 19 of 230: JET
With time-based rail passes,
As many youths still do,
I caught the trains through Europe -
A good time it was, too.
But, late one night that summer,
I ran full-on in vain,
Through quiet streets in Paris,
To catch the London train.
And, at that Paris station,
They closed the doors throughout,
For cleaning through the morning,
Insisting - stragglers out.
So it was that a few of us
Spent the night on the street,
And, I do declare to you,
It left young me dead beat.
Yet there are many stragglers,
Within the human domain,
Spending all their nights as such -
While others own a plane!
From http://blogs.myspace.com/walkaboutsverse (e-book)
Or http://walkaboutsverse.sitegoz.com (e-scroll)
(C) David Franks 2003
Dale Houstman
> Matt, before you and women go "crazy", I should quickly add that only
> a few poems in my collection are introspective!
>
> Poem 19 of 230: JET
>
> With time-based rail passes,
> As many youths still do,
> I caught the trains through Europe -
> A good time it was, too.
"A good time it was, too."
This is another filler line: it adds nothing to the piece except to
complete the rhyme. In other words, it is lazy. Also, the forced phrase
inversion of "With time-based rail passes / As many youths still do, / I
caught..." makes you look illiterate.
>
> But, late one night that summer,
> I ran full-on in vain,
> Through quiet streets in Paris,
> To catch the London train.
>
> And, at that Paris station,
> They closed the doors throughout,
> For cleaning through the morning,
> Insisting - stragglers out.
>
> So it was that a few of us
> Spent the night on the street,
> And, I do declare to you,
> It left young me dead beat.
"It left young me dead beat."
Horrible line, again forced to labor under the misapprehension it is
neatly completing a rhyme, and only limping pathetically into place.
>
> Yet there are many stragglers,
> Within the human domain,
> Spending all their nights as such -
> While others own a plane!
>
Ooh! A message. But - besides the fact that its didactic presence is
irksome and not so very clever, the fact that you here - after an entire
poem about trains - introduce a plane is - frankly - ridiculous. And for
on reason at all this time, since "train" also completes the rhyme!
A dull (and bumpy) trip to an elementary school lesson.
dmh
Will Dockery
> On Jul 31, 12:46 pm, Dale Houstman <d...@skypoint.com> wrote:
> > matt wrote:
>
> > > would you consider constructing in a poem
> > > some of your favorite poets that you study
> > > in between writing poems? a brief tour guide
> > > through some of your influences is what i'm
> > > asking for.
>
No, he "borrows" them.
> > As for "poets I study" - I don't study poets, I read them.
Otherwise, Dale wouldn't have any original thoughts to generate a poem
from... as he's admitted often.
The ones I
> > have paid particular attention to (among many others)?
>
> > Andre Breton
> > Benjamin Peret
> > Elizabeth Bishop
> > Guillaume Apollinaire
> > Pierre Reverdy
> > Wallace Stevens
> > William Carlos Williams
> > John Ashbery
> > Francis Ponge
> > e.e. cummings
> > Emily Dickinson
> > William Blake
> > Arthur Rimbaud
> > Paul Verlaine
> > any number of haiku artists
> > Catullus
> > Sappho (and her delicious fragments)
> > and on
> > and on
> > and on
>
> > Now - how does that help you precisely?
>
> > dmh
>
> so, who is on and on..?
>
> never heard of 'em...
>
> har har har
>
> matt
That's apparently the obscure poets on Usenet and elsewhere, such as
Alacrity Stone, where he "borrows" poetry to generate something he can
put his name on and call a "Dale Houstman poem".
--
"Corning Town" by Will Dockery & Brian Mallard (video):
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Njes_L9ZDgQ
walkaboutsverse
alternative forms of transport; and, yes, they even rhyme, to-boot!
Poem 115 of 230: SUNDAY CRICKET AND BERRIES - SUMMER 2000
From a bus (ninety-eight -
Bury to Manchester),
I got off at the gate
Of Hamilton Road Park,
Where in situ I ate
Several blackberries
(The taste too good to wait),
Before making my way
To a further park-gate,
From where briefly I watched
How Stand’s cricketers rate.
From http://blogs.myspace.com/walkaboutsverse (e-book)
Or http://walkaboutsverse.sitegoz.com (e-scroll)
(C) David Franks 2003
matt
>
> - Show quoted text -
i have a suggestion for your book title:
to live, eat, drink, walk, ride, write and die in bloody england.
matt
Will Dockery
>
> > - Show quoted text -
>
> i have a suggestion for your book title:
>
> to live, eat, drink, walk, ride, write and die in bloody england.
>
> matt
A Brit Kerouac, and an appropriate summation of David's "On The Road"
poetic observations.
--
"Corning Town": Words & Vocal by Will Dockery Music & Guitar by Brian
Mallard ©2009
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Njes_L9ZDgQ
walkaboutsverse
Poem 58 of 230: THE OLD BULL
Walked along Fog Lane,
Looked at the park,
Stopped in the Old Bull
And had a hark,
While eating lunch,
On how at dark,
Many years before,
My father’s lark,
There, was games of darts -
I’d filled an arc.
From http://blogs.myspace.com/walkaboutsverse (e-book)
Or http://walkaboutsverse.sitegoz.com (e-scroll)
(C) David Franks 2003
> > > > "Corning Town" by Will Dockery & Brian Mallard (video):http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Njes_L9ZDgQ-Hidequoted text -
matt
> Poem 58 of 230: THE OLD BULL
>
> Walked along Fog Lane,
> Looked at the park,
> Stopped in the Old Bull
> And had a hark,
> While eating lunch,
> On how at dark,
> Many years before,
> My father’s lark,
> There, was games of darts -
> I’d filled an arc.
>
>
> > > > - Show quoted text -
>
> > > i have a suggestion for your book title:
>
> > > to live, eat, drink, walk, ride, write and die in bloody england.
>
> > > matt
>
> > A Brit Kerouac, and an appropriate summation of David's "On The Road"
> > poetic observations.
>
> > --
> > "Corning Town": Words & Vocal by Will Dockery Music & Guitar by Brian
>
> - Show quoted text -
though, shakespeare i am not
it didn't stop
me from dropping
the ball on the spot
where noah left his damn ark
and the peace officer commanded me
to pick up the animal crackers
or risk being shot.
we haven't even come to the best part:
a hospital orderly who turned out to
be a nazi spy
ordered me a salad and a cellphone
in mid july
as the english sun peaked through the dark
clouds lighting up her beautiful
blond and blue face.
i thought the nazis were defeated...
no, when you murder a certain number
of people you can't go away.
instead, you disappear into a safe place
where god protects and serves his own.
you're a sick fuck, but i need your phone.
isn't that the way it usually works..?
you always need something from the people you hate.
matt
walkaboutsverse
All hay was made,
And the sun stayed,
The autumn day
I made my way,
Via Heddon,
To old Hexham,
Where I did see:
The fine abbey,
The ex-gaol
By the moot-hall,
Plus, holding sports
Of varied sorts,
The Tynedale
And the Seal.
From http://blogs.myspace.com/walkaboutsverse (e-book)
Or http://walkaboutsverse.sitegoz.com (e-scroll)
(C) David Franks 2003
> > > Mallard ©2009http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Njes_L9ZDgQ-Hide quoted text -
Will Dockery
>
> Anybody who thinks Dockery is a poet
They can think what they like, PJR, they can't change the facts that
I've written more poetry than most people on these newsgroups, and can
certainly outwrite (and outthink) you.
> > as I wrote earlier:
>
> > "...Rhymes come out naturally to poetic people... I find myself
> > rhyming
> > when I'm speaking in normal conversation, and you'll find interior
> > rhymes dotting out all within my texts, when you look at them, or
> > have
> > someone read it to you.. Walkabout is obviously one of those natural
> > poets, and like it or not, the guy can write."
"What he /sEd/." -Dennis M. Hammes
--
"Truck Stop Woman" by Dockery & Conley on 100.7 KOLT FM Cheyenne's
Wide Open Country!
http://www.kmus.com/new2/artists/i/237770?psid=303942
matt
> Poem 197 of 230: HISTORIC HEXHAM – AUTUMN 2002
>
> All hay was made,
> And the sun stayed,
> The autumn day
> I made my way,
> Via Heddon,
> To old Hexham,
> Where I did see:
> The fine abbey,
> The ex-gaol
> By the moot-hall,
> Plus, holding sports
> Of varied sorts,
> The Tynedale
> And the Seal.
>
and they splashed at my zeal...
my contempt for lords and bishops
exchanging suggestive winks across
the board. hitler lit my cigar
over a game of checkers...then
we turned the board over and
started in with chess...he's quite
a son of a bitch... but, when you
get him drunk with winning, he
starts to slip and slam his rage
of defeat down into the still pond
representing quiet reflection upon
a country that had no place to
go but down because nobody
cared about how deep the bullshit
could get anymore.
they drove mobile gas vans through
the german town in those days...replete
with a couple family's of jews crammed
in the back...and as they sped down the
streets, the exhaust pipes were inverted
inward killing all stuffed inside. as
they approached there destination, they
remembered the whole ordeal and sped
off to a vacant field to bury the evidence
then quickly get back to their lunch
appointment. one more thing...
any survivors were shot on the spot.
now, let me tell you what i did today...
matt
Will Dockery
> On Jul 31, 3:46 pm, Dale Houstman wrote:
>> matt wrote:
>
> > > would you consider constructing in a poem
> > > some of your favorite poets that you study
> > > in between writing poems? a brief tour guide
> > > through some of your influences is what i'm
> > > asking for.
>
>
> > likes and dislikes. I leave such bits of flat pamphleteering to others...
>
> Which is probably why he didn't ask you.
Plus, Dale's too busy with his "Will Dockery" studies to get much else
done, these days.
--
"Corning Town": Words & Vocal by Will Dockery Music & Guitar by Brian
walkaboutsverse
Groats...
Poem 11 of 230: OTHER SIDE
On the road from Inverness to Glasgow
(A very scenic road it is),
I hitched with a pair - Italiano;
The left-hand-drive Fiat was his.
I think they had taken turns at driving -
I’m not sure from where or how far;
But, when they picked me up from my hiking,
The lady was driving the car.
I recall how warm their greet did feel,
And what a thrilling trip it was;
For, as their hands fought over the wheel,
Our lives came near to loss:
I was sitting tight on the back-right side -
My ears off their argument;
But my eyes surely knew how close beside
The oncoming vehicles went!
We arrived without a scratch at Glasgow,
But it begs this point, I feel -
Why did our forebears decide to go
Either side for the new wheel?
From http://blogs.myspace.com/walkaboutsverse (e-book)
Or http://walkaboutsverse.sitegoz.com (e-scroll)
(C) David Franks 2003
walkaboutsverse
I’m a fan of the Spanish way -
I like their houses and their food;
But there is one thing I must say -
Their bullfights do upset my mood.
The matadors may be brave folk,
And the tradition an old one;
But what must also be spoke
Is - the bulls’ pain before they’re done.
From http://blogs.myspace.com/walkaboutsverse (e-book)
Or http://walkaboutsverse.sitegoz.com (e-scroll)
(C) David Franks 2003
matt
> Poem 15 of 230: TOREO
>
> I’m a fan of the Spanish way -
> I like their houses and their food;
> But there is one thing I must say -
> Their bullfights do upset my mood.
>
> The matadors may be brave folk,
> And the tradition an old one;
> But what must also be spoke
> Is - the bulls’ pain before they’re done.
>
>
> - Show quoted text -
but that doesn't stop one from
partaking in the delights:
those quiet nights spent under a
starry manchester sky...where
me and my love interest go from
cheese to fine wine...red as
the blood shed from the matador's
failed fight.
matt
walkaboutsverse
Poem 152 of 230: HISTORY IS A FOREIGN COUNTRY?
History is a foreign country?
Reading Chaucer’s ‘Tales one can see -
In brilliant witty prosody -
A definite continuity
In the matters of humanity.
So how, then, could one fail to be
Without respect for one’s history?
As we can learn from other cultures,
So, too, from our own through its years.
From http://blogs.myspace.com/walkaboutsverse (e-book)
Or http://walkaboutsverse.sitegoz.com (e-scroll)
(C) David Franks 2003
> > > > Mallard:http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Njes_L9ZDgQ-Hide quoted text -
walkaboutsverse
Leightons, and other great art;
Plumes of fireworks at night;
The vivid reds of sunrise -
Repeated at day's last light.
The beats through us of a drum;
Winter's sun felt through closed glass;
Handing in the last exam;
Awakenings – alarmless!
The ball, off thee, whacks their net;
When, to palms, leather has stuck;
Orange juice during half-time;
A warm bath to wash the muck.
Viewing set-over cricket;
A golf ball, for once, well struck;
Viewing velodrome cycling;
From net-chord, levelling luck!
Sticks, chants, didgeridoo,
Haunting harps, and all bagpipes;
Clog, flamenco, tamure,
Hula, and other dance types.
Out, by a cast, being told;
In - taking tea and T.V.;
Highland views that command rest;
The buildings of Italy.
Thrifty plant-propagation;
By a wave one's body hit;
Upstream of camp - with paddle;
By a fire - strongly lit.
Forest spent-leaves under foot;
Tasting a host-nation's fare;
Alcedo atthis at work;
Just-bills being brought to bear.
Allegros when feeling low;
An andante to wind down;
Spoken French and chorused song;
The quiet when out of town.
A stroll through a kept garden,
Before Sunday's roast dinner;
A pub game, drink and meal;
One's team a comeback winner.
From WalkaboutsVerse (please see my profile)
(C) David Franks 2003
On Aug 7, 10:29 am, walkaboutsverse <david1fra...@yahoo.com> wrote:
> ....or Eccles cakes and Lindisfarne mead, maybe, Matt..?
>
> Poem 152 of 230: HISTORY IS A FOREIGN COUNTRY?
>
> History is a foreign country?
> Reading Chaucer’s ‘Tales one can see -
> In brilliant witty prosody -
> A definite continuity
> In the matters of humanity.
> So how, then, could one fail to be
> Without respect for one’s history?
>
> As we can learn from other cultures,
> So, too, from our own through its years.
>
> > > > > Mallard:http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Njes_L9ZDgQ-Hidequoted text -
walkaboutsverse
If a couple, with plans to wed,
Asked me, off the top of my head,
For somewhere I thought well in-tune
As a place for a honeymoon,
It would have - flashing back - to be
Beautifully-honed Italy.
From http://blogs.myspace.com/walkaboutsverse (e-book)
Or http://walkaboutsverse.sitegoz.com (e-scroll)
(C) David Franks 2003
> > > > > > Mallard:http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Njes_L9ZDgQ-Hidequotedtext -
walkaboutsverse
There is Tai Chi AND there is tennis,
Line is fine BUT so is Morris,
There is curry AND there is the roast,
AND, when England is playing host,
It is the rest-of-the-world's good wish
To sense culture that is English.
From http://blogs.myspace.com/walkaboutsverse
(C) David Franks 2003
On Aug 9, 10:50 am, walkaboutsverse <david1fra...@yahoo.com> wrote:
> Poem 16 of 230: A BEAUTIFUL STAGE
>
> If a couple, with plans to wed,
> Asked me, off the top of my head,
> For somewhere I thought well in-tune
> As a place for a honeymoon,
> It would have - flashing back - to be
> Beautifully-honed Italy.
>
walkaboutsverse
In work and study,
I spent four years -
Good years really -
At Adelaide.
A flat by the sea -
Work nearby;
Then full-time uni. -
At Adelaide.
A planned C.B.D.,
With parks all round,
And much more to see -
At Adelaide.
Glenelg; Rundle Mall;
And the markets,
With many a stall -
At Adelaide.
From http://walkaboutsverse.741.com (e-scroll)
Or http://blogs.myspace.com/walkaboutsverse (e-book)
(C) David Franks 2003
On Aug 10, 10:18 am, walkaboutsverse <david1fra...@yahoo.com> wrote:
> Poem 213 of 230: MORE AMOR PATRIAE
>
> There is Tai Chi AND there is tennis,
> Line is fine BUT so is Morris,
> There is curry AND there is the roast,
> AND, when England is playing host,
> It is the rest-of-the-world's good wish
> To sense culture that is English.
>
> Fromhttp://blogs.myspace.com/walkaboutsverse
Barbara's Cat
> Peter J Ross wrote:
>
> > Goober Dockery quacked:
> >
> > > Cythera wrote:
> > >
> > > > walkaboutsverse wrote:
> > > >
> > > > > Cythera!...read any blank-verse and it won't be long before
> > > > > you find two last words that rhyme, accidentally...
> > > >
> > > >
> > > > Accidental rhyme?
> > >
> > >
> > > Sure, it happens with poets all the time,
> >
> >
> > *chortle*
> >
> > Anybody who thinks Dreckery is a poet, or has a fair chance of one day
> > becoming a poet, has only to read those words to be disillusioned.
>
>
> I've written more poetry than most people on these newsgroups,
You've yet to have written any.
> and can certainly outwrite (and outthink) you.
Riiiiiiight, as certainly as
the Tooth Fairy leaves money
and Usenet is Google Groups.
--
Cm~
"I win."
- Goober Dockery
getting nowhere,
gaining nothing,
again.
walkaboutsverse
your tongue!), but I won't put it back to "etc" for now.)
Poem 26 of 230: UP ULURU?
Came in a coach from Alice -
Slept nearby overnight;
An early call awoke us -
Just before the morning light.
We were bussed to Uluru
As the dawn began to break:
Stopping to take in the view -
A proud sight that rock does make.
Began the steep early-climb,
Which, as marked, has claimed some life;
For youths it was just good time,
But heavy aged-breaths were rife.
An hour or two later,
After gazing from the top,
We returned to the charter -
Kata Tjuta one last stop.
(P.S: in hindsight, I’m sure
That from a distance to view
Is more kind, and more pleasure,
Than climbing up Uluru.)
From http://walkaboutsverse.741.com (e-scroll)
Or http://blogs.myspace.com/walkaboutsverse (e-book)
(C) David Franks 2003
Barbara's Cat
> Barbara's Cat (one hasn't got your tongue!)
And you believe you should get
a shiny five-quart trophy for
"Most Original Quip Ever!", eh?
--
Cm~
"It is better to fail in originality
than to succeed in imitation."
- Herman Melville
Dale Houstman
"A proud sight that rock does make."
Any one who finds this an acceptable sentence is illiterate and/or insane.
dmh
walkaboutsverse
Seated within the Greenery,
Looking up, from a plate of toast
(Reddened with beans and tomatoes),
Along Chapel Street’s three-storey
Flats in white with red or yellow,
Or white with a brown or a blue
(White with almost every hue),
I thought: “Colourful Llandudno.”
From http://walkaboutsverse.741.com (e-scroll)
Or http://blogs.myspace.com/walkaboutsverse (e-book)
(C) David Franks 2003
walkaboutsverse
Arrived in London,
At Heathrow Airport,
With sixty kilos
Of luggage I'd brought.
Found a paper, Loot,
And called an agent;
Stored two heavy bags,
Then to him I went.
For one week of rent,
He'd ensure a bed
Within Bayswater -
A bed-sit, he said.
It was eighty pounds
Per week, nothing more,
With a lift arranged
To the building's door.
Knackered and sleepless,
I took the deal;
Checked-in quickly,
Had a rushed meal.
Collected my bags
(Tube there, shared-van back),
Then carried them up
To my top-floor shack.
A penthouse - no need,
It did me just fine;
A cook-top and fridge,
A table to dine.
Seated, I could watch
The clouds roll by -
Often from the west -
Or jets cut the sky.
There were large plane-trees,
A squirrel or two;
And pigeons dropped by -
Foregrounding the view.
Plus, at dawn, the sun
Shined in from the east -
Filling the small room
As on egg I'd feast.
And, contemplating,
It occurs to me -
If all lived that well,
How great it would be.
But a lot do sleep
Outdoors many nights -
On sheets of cardboard,
Without basic rights.
From http://walkaboutsverse.sitegoz.com (e-scroll)
Or http://blogs.myspace.com/walkaboutsverse (e-book)
(C) David Franks 2003
Dale Houstman
"Then to him I went."
"As on egg I'd feast."
Channeling Yoda once more?
The usual: a combination of mind-numbing nothingness and awkward
last-minute "spritzes" of ethical concern coated with a layer of
pretension and tawdry pride.
You never get worse, but you never get better.
dmh
walkaboutsverse
“Hills meeting sea”
Proclaims to me
“Good scenery.”
And it’s views of North Wales,
Both sides of the train-rails,
Whereupon this thought hails.
From http://walkaboutsverse.sitegoz.com (e-scroll)
Or http://blogs.myspace.com/walkaboutsverse (e-book)
(C) David Franks 2003
walkaboutsverse
Caught a train, along a long-used line,
From Manchester to Liverpool.
On that day the weather was fine:
Sunny - just a little bit cool.
There, I purchased a Walkabout Guide,
Marked some sights, and headed outside.
As usual when first at such a place,
I walked to the main art-gallery,
The central mall, and the garden space;
Then headed down to the wide Mersey.
There, from ferry, I viewed the skyline -
A good sturdy cityscape, for mine.
From http://walkaboutsverse.sitegoz.com (e-scroll)
Or http://blogs.myspace.com/walkaboutsverse (e-book)
(C) David Franks 2003
walkaboutsverse
Once housed in London,
I began searching
For new employment -
The task was trying.
Asked newsagents:
"Manufacturing -
Which paper's the best?"
They disliked browsing.
About five of them
Said they did not know,
Then eventually:
Jobsearch is the go.
Employment agents -
Public and private;
Letters; door knocking;
Then work - just pre-debt.
From http://walkaboutsverse.sitegoz.com (e-scroll)
Or http://blogs.myspace.com/walkaboutsverse (e-book)
(C) David Franks 2003
On Aug 17, 10:31 am, walkaboutsverse <david1fra...@yahoo.com> wrote:
> Poem 64 of 230: LIVERPOOL
>
> Caught a train, along a long-used line,
> From Manchester to Liverpool.
> On that day the weather was fine:
> Sunny - just a little bit cool.
> There, I purchased a Walkabout Guide,
> Marked some sights, and headed outside.
>
> As usual when first at such a place,
> I walked to the main art-gallery,
> The central mall, and the garden space;
> Then headed down to the wide Mersey.
> There, from ferry, I viewed the skyline -
> A good sturdy cityscape, for mine.
>
walkaboutsverse
After questing forever,
I bought an old blade-putter
On Portobello Road -
By my London abode.
'Twas the Saturday market,
And I was pleased with my get
From Portobello Road -
W10's the code.
Also saw the festival,
And many another stall,
At Portobello Road -
A good arts and crafts node.
From http://blogs.myspace.com/walkaboutsverse (e-book)
Or http://walkaboutsverse.sitegoz.com (e-scroll)
(C) David Franks 2003
On Aug 18, 11:20 am, walkaboutsverse <david1fra...@yahoo.com> wrote:
> Poem 44 of 230: JOB SEARCHING
>
> Once housed in London,
> I began searching
> For new employment -
> The task was trying.
>
> Asked newsagents:
> "Manufacturing -
> Which paper's the best?"
> They disliked browsing.
>
> About five of them
> Said they did not know,
> Then eventually:
> Jobsearch is the go.
>
> Employment agents -
> Public and private;
> Letters; door knocking;
> Then work - just pre-debt.
>
walkaboutsverse
(TUNE:
Eb F G Ab G
D F G Ab G
D F G Ab G
D G Ab Bb Ab
D G Ab Bb Ab
D F G Ab G)
Took bus one-four-three,
From Piccadilly,
Along Oxford Road;
Passed the old uni’s,
Those shops with saris,
And my first abode.
At Didsbury Village,
The Old Parsonage
Looked neat, and gave sound,
As I walked the way,
At about midday,
To a Mersey mound.
From atop this bank,
No longer a blank
Was the strong river,
Nor the wide fairways -
Where I’d filled two days,
Twelve years earlier.
I then headed back,
On Stenner Woods’ track
(Hearing more birdsong,
And seeing mossed stumps
Plus well-layered clumps),
To a human throng.
This throng was viewing -
Justly pursuing -
The smart Rock Gardens,
Sloped on Fletcher Moss,
Which I, too, did cross,
Before homeward wends.
From http://blogs.myspace.com/walkaboutsverse (e-book)
Or http://walkaboutsverse.sitegoz.com (e-scroll)
(C) David Franks 2003
walkaboutsverse
Cramlington:
Before an
Interview
At a new
Factory,
I did see,
By a steam
In-between
Farm and home,
On a roam,
Stopping there,
A brown hare.
From http://blogs.myspace.com/walkaboutsverse (e-book)
Or http://walkaboutsverse.sitegoz.com (e-scroll)
(C) David Franks 2003
Dale Houstman
> Poem 183 of 230: A BROWN HARE - AUTUMN 2001
>
> Cramlington:
> Before an
> Interview
> At a new
> Factory,
> I did see,
> By a steam
> In-between
> Farm and home,
> On a roam,
> Stopping there,
> A brown hare.
>
This sort of thing makes me wonder: is it possible for a person to write
worse than this? Everything about it is inferior, dull, or broken. First
off - it's "narrative" or vignette: it's pure nothingness, but not
redeemed by any zen sensibility (or what Japanese writers referred to as
"aware" [ah-wah-ray]: that sense of poignancy visible in the interplay
of the natural world). Here it's just you seeing a rabbit between
mundane activities, and there's no "magic" to the sighting either.
The form is atrocious, with half-baked leaps at forced rhyme, and line
breaks that give the reader hiccups and a migraine.
I suspect you meant "By a stream"? "A steam in-between" strikes me as
too original and interesting for you to have pulled off on purpose.
"Farm and home, / On a roam" - gad! That's awful. You really couldn't
think of a better way to express the fact you were between two places
and moving? This ia another good example (and this poem is full of them)
of the damage you do to language by forcing all your thoughts into
pre-arranged slots, and breaking human discourse's legs so it will fit.
This is strictly backwards.
Actually, although (thankfully) short, as it is this poem is too long
for its content: it begs to be a couplet or a mere epigram. There's not
enough "there" to justify going on even this short a walk.
Between the farm and factory,
I cam upon a middling stream
And saw a shadow stopping there
Resolving into a brown hare.
OR
Often when I wander I come upon a brown hare.
OR
Brown hare stopping at a stream,
While I was busy in others' dreams.
OR
There - a brown hare!
OR
The factory, the farm
How could it do me harm
To stop by stream and linger there
unprofessional as a brown hare?
OR
Brown hare, brown hare,
Why do you loiter there,
Between the factory and farm,
While I must toil in Cramlington?
OR
On the path to manufacture
New ideas defying nature,
Armaments or simply playthings
Music box in place of birds sing
Melodies mechanique
There's a brown hare
Tres tragique!
OR
There is a brown hare nibbling by a stream,
But I must be gone...
OR
Almost anything but what you wrote...
dmh
automattick
> Poem 183 of 230: A BROWN HARE - AUTUMN 2001
>
> Cramlington:
> Before an
> Interview
> At a new
> Factory,
> I did see,
> By a steam
> In-between
> Farm and home,
> On a roam,
> Stopping there,
> A brown hare.
>
and dare i say...
o what a hare it was!
back at earlickstrum i sat for tea
with an old friend under
the boardwalk bridge...
the footsteps of the shop
gazers forced our parly into
a rather loud yip yap...
o, what difference a tap does make...
not to abuse the old cliche...
but, really now...does anybody
really know what time it is...
does anybody really care...
har har har har har
har har har har har har...
matt
Will Dockery
>
> > I've written more poetry than most people on these newsgroups,
>
> You've yet to have written any.
Speaking of writing poetry, did you ever finish that sestina you
promised last year, Barbie?
--
"Under the Radar" by Will Dockery & Sam Singer:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KEQDFMNcgLA
walkaboutsverse
didn't seem to like my go at 3 syllable metre much), RVW eat your hear
out!...and here's one with a bit more political umph...
Poem 76 of 230: LAND RIGHTS
If there is a good thing,
From the Second World War,
It’s that most peoples learnt
To conquer lands no more.
In Africa, Asia,
And the Pacific, too:
Post-war independence -
Steps only bigots rue.
But for some indigenes,
Outnumbered much-too-much,
It has all come too late
For liberty, as such.
So ‘tis in Australia,
And America’s sites,
Where the best now, I think,
Is to respect land rights.
From http://blogs.myspace.com/walkaboutsverse (e-book)
Or http://walkaboutsverse.sitegoz.com (e-scroll)
(C) David Franks 2003
automattick
> Thanks for your variations on the Hare piece folks (although you
> didn't seem to like my go at 3 syllable metre much), RVW eat your hear
> out!...and here's one with a bit more political umph...
Rilliam Vutler Weats?
> > "Under the Radar" by Will Dockery & Sam Singer:http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KEQDFMNcgLA- Hide quoted text -
Karla
>walkaboutsverse wrote:
>> Poem 183 of 230: A BROWN HARE - AUTUMN 2001
>>
>> Cramlington:
>> Before an
>> Interview
>> At a new
>> Factory,
>> I did see,
>> By a steam
>> In-between
>> Farm and home,
>> On a roam,
>> Stopping there,
>> A brown hare.
>>
>
>
>This sort of thing makes me wonder: is it possible for a person to write
>worse than this? Everything about it is inferior, dull, or broken. First
>off - it's "narrative" or vignette: it's pure nothingness, but not
>redeemed by any zen sensibility (or what Japanese writers referred to as
>"aware" [ah-wah-ray]: that sense of poignancy visible in the interplay
>of the natural world). Here it's just you seeing a rabbit between
>mundane activities, and there's no "magic" to the sighting either.
It's hard to know what he is trying to achieve with shortened lines. What I mean
is, I read Gwendolyn Brooks' "The Pool Players. Seven at the Golden Shovel" and
come up with a few ideas about the short lines used:
"We real cool. We
Left school. We
Lurk late. We
Strike straight. We
Sing sin. We
Thin gin. We
Jazz June. We
Die soon."
Brooks talks about it here:
http://www.english.illinois.edu/maps/poets/a_f/brooks/werealcool.htm
and, wow, this is an awesome find, Brooks comments on it, and reads it for us
here:
http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/15433
But the lines in WalkaboutsVerse are affected for no reason revealed in the
text.
>The form is atrocious, with half-baked leaps at forced rhyme, and line
>breaks that give the reader hiccups and a migraine.
>
>I suspect you meant "By a stream"? "A steam in-between" strikes me as
>too original and interesting for you to have pulled off on purpose.
>
>"Farm and home, / On a roam" - gad! That's awful. You really couldn't
>think of a better way to express the fact you were between two places
>and moving? This ia another good example (and this poem is full of them)
>of the damage you do to language by forcing all your thoughts into
>pre-arranged slots, and breaking human discourse's legs so it will fit.
>This is strictly backwards.
>
>Actually, although (thankfully) short, as it is this poem is too long
>for its content: it begs to be a couplet or a mere epigram. There's not
>enough "there" to justify going on even this short a walk.
>
>
>Between the farm and factory,
>I cam upon a middling stream
>And saw a shadow stopping there
>Resolving into a brown hare.
Almost Browning, but you were to quick to jot that down. Maybe switch factory
and farm for our ear to hear an almost rhyme?
Between the factory and farm
I came upon a middling stream
"resolving into" is too modern for Browning, I think.
>OR
>
>Often when I wander I come upon a brown hare.
Wordsworth? wait, that would be
I wander dreamy as a brown hare
>OR
>
>Brown hare stopping at a stream,
>While I was busy in others' dreams.
Frost?
>OR
>
>There - a brown hare!
OR (and you got me to it)
The quick brown hare jumps over the lazy poet.
>OR
>
>The factory, the farm
>How could it do me harm
>To stop by stream and linger there
>unprofessional as a brown hare?
Grrrr, this is someone... but it's not coming to me yet...
>OR
>
>Brown hare, brown hare,
>Why do you loiter there,
>Between the factory and farm,
>While I must toil in Cramlington?
Blake.
>OR
>
>On the path to manufacture
>New ideas defying nature,
>Armaments or simply playthings
>Music box in place of birds sing
>Melodies mechanique
>There's a brown hare
>Tres tragique!
haha love the last three lines.
Poe, right?
>OR
>
>There is a brown hare nibbling by a stream,
>But I must be gone...
Grrr, another that's on the tip of my tongue...
>OR
>
>Almost anything but what you wrote...
>
>dmh
Well, Dale, I almost dismissed the whole thing out of hand but your dallying
with it made me notice the following.
>> Cramlington:
>> Before an
>> Interview
>> At a new
>> Factory,
>> I did see,
>> By a steam
>> In-between
>> Farm and home,
>> On a roam,
>> Stopping there,
>> A brown hare.
Whether intentional or not, the placement of the line "I did see" stretches both
ways, though inconsequentially, so we might conclude he sees the factory, farm
and home, as well as the concluding hare. Also, any of the nouns might be found
in between something, again not consequential, but if consciously worked on
could be interesting if it had a purpose.
Karla