(i)
one day, when i was about 4 years old, a man came to the creche. he wanted me to smile for the birdie in the lens. what nonsense is this, i wondered. who would want a picture of me? although "my mother" would have been the logical answer and they took pictures of all the other kids too, for some reason i panicked. all i knew was that it felt uncomfortable and i didn't want to be there. so i ran outside and i tried to hide on a wooden horse swing in the playground. i thought for sure he wouldn't find me there (or he would give up). but of course he did (& he didn't).
i still run. everyday. camouflage the chiLd behind the girl riding a wooden horse hoMe. purple flowers grow in my garden. i think if i could curl into a ball and hide underneath the fragile petals, i probably would. wHy so coward? those pants don't fit me anymore. i've grown since then. gremlins use to live inside my skin. and churches were buildings inside my guilt. so many, so big for a fairy girl's souL. water my roots. shed my skin so i can grOw. make space for wings. time is the teacher that adds rings. but it's up to me to fertilize and bE. here
it doesN't make sense to run & hide anymore. at some point, i have to face the bird, and smiLe
a bird is a horse
(ii)
what is this i see? two birdhouses nesting. twin mickey mice walking uP the wall. imagiNe the conversation. it cracks me up. add a pig with a ring in his mouth. no, make that an apple, why nOt? paint it gold. red pig, gold apple. stuck on a birdhouse. stuck on you. stuCk here. uNglue my shoes from this fantasy pLease. it's just...the days are so boring. why not add spice, make it nice? the only problem with spice, is that it's addictive & 2too fast. i never could catch a bird before without burning my fingers. that's wHy i stare @ birdhouses. climb inside. hide. [note to self: get ouT] why this sudden fascination with biRds? birds that fly. bird nests. birdhouses...WHAT?
don't you have a LIFE?
...why don't you go ride a horse instead?
what is this i see? two birdhouses nesting. twin mickey mice walking uP the wall. imagiNe the conversation. it cracks me up. add a pig with a ring in his mouth. no, make that an apple, why nOt? paint it gold. red pig, gold apple. stuck on a birdhouse. stuck on you. stuCk here. uNglue my shoes from this fantasy pLease. it's just...the days are so boring. why not add spice, make it nice? the only problem with spice, is that it's addictive & 2too fast. i never could catch a bird before without burning my fingers. that's wHy i stare @ birdhouses. climb inside. hide. [note to self: get ouT] why this sudden fascination with biRds? birds that fly. bird nests. birdhouses...WHAT?
don't you have a LIFE?
...why don't you go ride a horse instead?
(iii)
a horSe is just another biRd, she said. dOn'T you get it? a horse is a bird is a drug as long as you hide inside your head. geT ouT!
***
complimenting art @ http://smilegrl.blogspot.com/
ps. i'm outing myself
... this is me dealing with the addiction that keeps me stuck in never never land and missing out on who knows what...
a horSe is just another biRd, she said. dOn'T you get it? a horse is a bird is a drug as long as you hide inside your head. geT ouT!
***
complimenting art @ http://smilegrl.blogspot.com/
ps. i'm outing myself
... this is me dealing with the addiction that keeps me stuck in never never land and missing out on who knows what...-
justwalt
- Posts: 895
- Joined: January 28th, 2009, 4:18 pm
- Location: location infers reality... reality is still a theory
before the hour winds around,
near that shady spot under the
purple flowers, on the ground
from which you came, is buried
that egg of gold, that very one
that lost the nest, its test...to you
nears not late, but do not shy
or hesitate as time does not tick...
or flow or pass or fly, it just is, but
won't wait...go to the garden, alice
near that shady spot under the
purple flowers, on the ground
from which you came, is buried
that egg of gold, that very one
that lost the nest, its test...to you
nears not late, but do not shy
or hesitate as time does not tick...
or flow or pass or fly, it just is, but
won't wait...go to the garden, alice
hugs-
revolutionrabbit
- Posts: 729
- Joined: March 29th, 2009, 8:55 pm
- Contact:
by the way, a bird is a horse
is a great title, and when the horse is winged
it's still not a bird
there are great horse stories, about great horses
and maybe that's why Bukowski really liked the horse
races, well he liked them for all the reasons, but
something about watching horses
now bird watchers are a different breed, i saw a bird today
it caught the corner of my eye, i didn't look back, but my
mind did.
i only rode on horses once as a little kid.But since reading
Nietzsche, i always think about his horse experience.
a horse of a different color, and i read recently that
they realized that women painted spotted horses in caves
in france and spain 28 thousand years ago.
is a great title, and when the horse is winged
it's still not a bird
there are great horse stories, about great horses
and maybe that's why Bukowski really liked the horse
races, well he liked them for all the reasons, but
something about watching horses
now bird watchers are a different breed, i saw a bird today
it caught the corner of my eye, i didn't look back, but my
mind did.
i only rode on horses once as a little kid.But since reading
Nietzsche, i always think about his horse experience.
a horse of a different color, and i read recently that
they realized that women painted spotted horses in caves
in france and spain 28 thousand years ago.
-
stilltrucking
- Posts: 20646
- Joined: October 24th, 2004, 12:29 pm
- Location: Oz or somepLace like Kansas
the only bird is a horse I can think of is
Pegasus, born from a drop of blood that fell to earth from Medusa's severed head.
It is very unboring to read your poetry.
Thank you.
On a personal note:
It Must be one of the blessings of longevity that I don't get bored as long as I have the internet. I lost electricity for a couple hours and I did not know what to do with myself.
The internet is my number one addiction these days and it is an insidious addiction for someone with a bad back.
Oh well.
Pegasus, born from a drop of blood that fell to earth from Medusa's severed head.
It is very unboring to read your poetry.
Thank you.
On a personal note:
It Must be one of the blessings of longevity that I don't get bored as long as I have the internet. I lost electricity for a couple hours and I did not know what to do with myself.
The internet is my number one addiction these days and it is an insidious addiction for someone with a bad back.
Oh well.
Ok, I give up. I've tried not to but the opportunity is more than I can bear! Even if I've fallen & can't get up I must go on ! So here is the thing. Here it comes ... (honestly I shy away from this kind of thing but I'm not gonna make it this time, Mj, because you have undone me ...)
1-2-3-4 ...
"What's the matter, Alice, no guts?"
Quoted from A Confederate General in Big Sur by Richard Brautigan.
1-2-3-4 ...
"What's the matter, Alice, no guts?"
Quoted from A Confederate General in Big Sur by Richard Brautigan.
Doll, you may have found a place of rest but I'm still on the trail.
walt...exactly & yes
maree...i hear ya. hugz.xx
RR...
i like the part about women painting spotted horses in caves. thanks for sharing all that.
jack...your replies are very "unboring" too
& thank you for being real with me.
mingo...oh, i'd say it takes guts to face an addiction and even more so to share it in public. i get what you're saying, but mr.mingo, ouch!
thank you kindly for all your replies.
maree...i hear ya. hugz.xx
RR...
i like the part about women painting spotted horses in caves. thanks for sharing all that.jack...your replies are very "unboring" too
& thank you for being real with me.mingo...oh, i'd say it takes guts to face an addiction and even more so to share it in public. i get what you're saying, but mr.mingo, ouch!
thank you kindly for all your replies.
-
revolutionrabbit
- Posts: 729
- Joined: March 29th, 2009, 8:55 pm
- Contact:
the last person(poet) Richard Brautigan talked to was Bobby Kaufman,
i talked to Bobby once, or rather i listened to him talk his walk, i bought him
a drink in Vesuvio cafe, that night was magical, i always wondered
what Bobby and Richard talked about.
and then Richard drove home and checked out.
a horse is a horse, but a rose is not a rose.
i was hitchhiking in Big Sur once, and i felt that timeless quality
i saw this guy that i had seen on the street of Santa Cruz days before
hitchhiking, he was from Guatemala and he had some poetic writing
on a little green and white card he was handing to people on the street.
The card was written on in a kind of circle had some kind of message to tell, it was very interesting and trippy, and also urgent, i had talked to
the guy when he handed me the card, he spoke ok English.When i got a ride i passed the guy from Guatemala and i remembered our conversation, and in that Big Sur timeless quality, i felt the meaning of his words sink in.
i was hitchhiking with a guy that was a buddhist, that had been a drug dealer surfer from L.A. and met a buddhist and changed his dealer ways.i had met him in Big Sur when i got on a fire fighting crew and we shared a tent together.The buddhist dude, told me a story of how him and this other dealer killed some dude in a deal gone wrong once.I talked to him about poetry and he talked about his year in a buddhist monastery in Thailand and Buddhism.Some years later the Buddhist guy was writing poetry.I guess i got to him.
i talked to Bobby once, or rather i listened to him talk his walk, i bought him
a drink in Vesuvio cafe, that night was magical, i always wondered
what Bobby and Richard talked about.
and then Richard drove home and checked out.
a horse is a horse, but a rose is not a rose.
i was hitchhiking in Big Sur once, and i felt that timeless quality
i saw this guy that i had seen on the street of Santa Cruz days before
hitchhiking, he was from Guatemala and he had some poetic writing
on a little green and white card he was handing to people on the street.
The card was written on in a kind of circle had some kind of message to tell, it was very interesting and trippy, and also urgent, i had talked to
the guy when he handed me the card, he spoke ok English.When i got a ride i passed the guy from Guatemala and i remembered our conversation, and in that Big Sur timeless quality, i felt the meaning of his words sink in.
i was hitchhiking with a guy that was a buddhist, that had been a drug dealer surfer from L.A. and met a buddhist and changed his dealer ways.i had met him in Big Sur when i got on a fire fighting crew and we shared a tent together.The buddhist dude, told me a story of how him and this other dealer killed some dude in a deal gone wrong once.I talked to him about poetry and he talked about his year in a buddhist monastery in Thailand and Buddhism.Some years later the Buddhist guy was writing poetry.I guess i got to him.
)
thanks rr (ya made me look the guy up on the net. sad life story.), gary (i thought i killed them all, but apparently they layed eggs. heh), miss arcadia (:D thanks for the grin) & lucy (cool reply. thanks).
i have learned in my life that when you shine a spotlife on the things that seems to ride you, they tend to lose their power over you. that is if it's a spotlight and not just a birthday candle. so. time will tell but i can feel the shift happening.
mr. mingo...no worries. i appreciate the sentiment and the caring.
have a great weekend friends & fellow poets
i have learned in my life that when you shine a spotlife on the things that seems to ride you, they tend to lose their power over you. that is if it's a spotlight and not just a birthday candle.
so. time will tell but i can feel the shift happening.mr. mingo...no worries. i appreciate the sentiment and the caring.
have a great weekend friends & fellow poets
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