By Wizardlokutus-prime. Sunday, December 7, 2008 11:54:06 AM
tobacco, rhyme, smoke, rhyming
...
In Purgatory
Dante said there is a line
stretching for ever
beyond Space & Time.
And every soul there
tried to joke
that in Purgatory
there is no smoke.
In Purgatory
Dante thought they
were describing Lucifer
at rest one day,
But Dante never knew
a smoke with filter tip
and missed the joke.
In Purgatory
Dante said there is a line
stretching for ever
beyond Space & Time.
But he has never
seen our Ed
Smokeless - shivering
under the bed
and quivering with
his smokeless head
covered in anti-nico tabs,
the things that crusaders
make in labs.
In Purgatory
Dante said there is a line
stretching for ever
beyond Space & Time.
Ed knows his Dante
and will agree
that the circles
of imaginary smoke rings
go on endlessly.
Poem (c) Prime Purgator
Original illustration (c) Gustave Dore
By Wizardlokutus-prime. Sunday, December 7, 2008 11:52:03 AM
brooke, thought fox, tennyson, LEIGH HUNT
...
Out of the book I opened today
came wonderful things
that swept me away
to different places,
where worlds and times
are held in forever,
created in rhymes.
Dickinson, Keats,
Eliot, Hughes
rose out of the pages
as if from a Muse.
Auden stood up,
I heard him say
"Stop all the clocks,
I am saddened today"
but I turned the page
and he turned away.
I heard Alfred Tennyson's
words from afar
as he murmured to me
"I have crossed the bar".
I read on
and others arose
from this book of
gold pages,
treasury of prose.
Abou Ben Adhem,
may his soul be blest,
arose from the pen
of Leigh Hunt at his best.
Blake's Tyger Tyger
burnt so bright
in an immortal
forest's night.
Then Invictus leapt
and set me free
out of the page
of W E Henley,
while in a midnight
forest of Ted Hughes
the Thought Fox gave
expression in his muse.
La Belle Dame Sans Merci
called out to knight-at-arms;
John Keats let me see
the glory of his poem
and its majesty.
The Donkey brought a rider
into town, while jeers
were thrown by all
the waiting throng
and Father looked
from high upon his Son,
described by G K Chesterton.
I read
of Rupert Brook,
wishing for Cambridgeshire
and Granchester's nook,
musing in some corner
of a foreign field,
'The Soldier' writing
in his journal now;
"I will be found
where England rests,
beneath a field turned up
by foreign plough".
Out of the book I opened today
came wonderful things
that swept me away
to different places,
where worlds and times
are held in forever,
created in rhymes.
Poem (c) Lokutus Prime
Images (c) Best Loved Poems
By Wizardlokutus-prime. Sunday, December 7, 2008 12:02:53 AM
mind, flower, Poet, rhyme
...
When looking at
that flower
you call the mind
whose petals are
a cover, are a blind,
take care -
for introspection
and the like
changes the petal's hue
and leads you
on a path you never saw,
far different than the one
you walked before. (c)lokutus
ZEN prime[/B]
By Wizardlokutus-prime. Saturday, December 6, 2008 11:57:56 PM
artwork, humor, bed, humour
...
under the bed, under the bed...mp3
A Painter was musing,
she'd run out of space
and her artwork was mounting
around her workplace.
She needed more room
but the laws of expansion
meant soon she would have
to move into a mansion.
Under the bed,under the bed?
she looked and she looked,
and then she just said
"I must put all my paintings
under the bed.
But I need a big bag
or something to keep
the paintings undusty
'neath the place where I sleep"
She'd heard of a Painter
who'd had an idea,
it seemed like a good one
a solution quite clear.
VanGogh stuffed his artwork,
so it was said,
higgledy piggedly under his bed,
and he slept near the edge
with his head on the right,
where his ear used to be,
an unlobe-ly sight,
but his other kept listening
throughout the long night.
Nobody knew
if his paintings all growed
in hilly-fication
where he had them,
bed-stowed.
all that is known,
from what has been said,
is the monoeared master
stacked them under his bed.
The Painter I mentioned,
the one in a muse,
shrugged her slim shoulders,
she had nothing to lose,
and she muttered aloud
"If it's good for Van Go'
then it's good for me
and I'll make that my stow".
but the law of expansion
it hungers for space,
her bed was pushed higher
and soon her sweet face
was touching the ceiling
quite out of place.
she fell off the bed,
one early spring day,
and climbed to her feet
as she started to say
"I must look for more room,
and must not be aloof
to the idea of putting
my stuff on the roof"
I saw her last week
she was digging a hole
in the back of her yard
and she said "it's my goal
to bury that overflow
up on the slate
that covers my house
for I fear I can't wait.
The paintings are growing
'cuz i'm painting faster
than the guy with one ear,
that old dutch van master!"
I turned and I left,
but as far as i know
her deep mine of paintings
continues to grow.
In Madagascar they're nervous
and pleading "no, no!".[/SIZE][/FONT][/COLOR]
under the bed, under the bed...mp3poem & audio (c)lokutus prime
(inspired by something I read over at Pam's page on
http://my.opera.com/PainterWoman/blog/the-three-peppers)
By Wizardlokutus-prime. Saturday, December 6, 2008 9:04:24 AM
enterprise, Poet, well-run scheme, frantic
...
To: Whom It May Concern
----- IF -------
If all you ever showed were lists
that hint The Winner is on there
but then allowed a fog to fill
the pages where so many care,
If every name you placed right now
is there because of lobbyied votes
or loud "hoozahhhhs!" or 'silly' notes,
If you have never had a place
for poets, or never knew a rhyming-plan,
then I must say it's rather odd
you missed out me, The Rhyming Man,
If you declaim that black is white
and then allow that day is night
but print more lists to prove You're bright,
and then sit back while we must think
the whole ship leaks and may well sink,
Then you have earned a nom-de-plume
that tells the world you're out of tune
with what "best" means in widest measure
when used by you, as some mock-treasure,
And If you ever try again,
sparing us all from hurt-pride-pain,
then may it fall to you to know
that many viewed your several lists with woe
and in the weaving to-and-fro
you dealt a many fingered blow
to aspirants and all who dreamed
of votes counted in a well-run scheme,
but then found lists drawn and re-drawn
and saw their chosen 'fail' in one bleak morn.
If you can learn from all this and admit
you fumbled with the ball but then dropped it,
then I believe that you might organise
a future competition with a better enterprise,
(not based on bollywood or frantic lists
whose veracity is undone)
and, what is more, you'll be an organizer, my son.
(c) L Prime
By Wizardlokutus-prime. Saturday, January 5, 2008 10:05:25 AM
supreme, Poet, centre, avenue
...
Tranquility in La Almudena,
cathedral near Palacio Real,
and there I sat and thought a while
merging with history in the air.
I saw an avenue of columns,
wide they were above the place,
sheltering a bowl of simple flowers
in the center of this space.
And then I saw the beams of color
spreading out along the floor,
motes of Him the Supreme Painter
filled me with a profound awe.
Tranquility in La Almudena,
cathedral near Palacio Real,
and there I sat and thought a while
merging with history in the air.[/COLOR]
(c)lokutus_prime
By Wizardlokutus-prime. Wednesday, January 2, 2008 10:33:25 AM
mountain, shroud, Poet, eternal
...
I cannot hold up the sky
nor carry mountains on my back,
or build the strongest longest wall
to hold the flooding river's track.
I cannot stop the darkest clouds
covering all in clinging shrouds.
Should I give up and bow my head?,saying
'Nightfall has come for ever - God is dead!'
Not so! The deepest nightfall
will give way to dawn
and the Lamp of Light
heralding the morn.
Rise up my Soul! Rise up!
and face Despair.
Reach out and hold
a brilliant banner there
whose words read 'Hope is here!'
and in the doing tell the World
'See! Hope's light burns brightly,
it's flag is still unfurled!'
I can do this against Diversity.
I can do this and know
that others join with me.
I will hold up the sky
and carry mountains on my back.
I will build the longest strongest wall
to hold the flooding river's track.
I will stop the darkest clouds
enveloping things in clinging shrouds.
I will not give up, nor bow my head.
Hope is eternal - God is not dead.
I cannot hold up the sky... .mp3(c)lokutus_prime
By Wizardlokutus-prime. Monday, December 31, 2007 9:47:54 AM
black cat, aristocracy, she, he
...
She was a cat
a very black cat
and we met
by the harbour
and I wore a hat.
She was a cat
with a haughty eye
disdaining my hand
as I passed by
and nothing I said
brought her to me,
for she was a cat
of the aristocracy.
He was a cat
and he was black
with a coat
of midnight
and he sat back
under a table
close to me
hoping for something
left over
from tea
and he came
at my bidding,
came over to me,
for he wasn't a member
of the aristocracy.She was a cat a very black cat...mp3(c)lokutus_prime
My Opera
