Oh, and not to be rude.. but your nick makes mine seem smashin, really- I can't keep from giggling everytime I read "new age poet" since the first thought that pops up in my head is: "whats that? virgin hippies meet MDMA+pantheism?"
No offense intended, just being liberal with my opinion.
Hmmmm. stinky, and I'm annoyed at the waste of the precious posting space (not being blessed with multiple user names - and I'm not saying you are either, and besides, it's perfectly legal).
-5- cuz it's the closest thing to a real haiku anyone has posted here in a while (at least it's about nature).
[from The Banned Diaries Of Sir Arthur Weatherby-Browne]
Alone in the yard, beyond the last of the wilting Azaleas, lies The Outhouse. A place of solitude, and of shame; see how it basks in its filth, taunting me with its soiled bounty. How many loved-ones have fallen there? Swallowed whole by its endless hunger for the browne? I'm wearing pyjamas now. Sieve in hand - the Earth will not claim this treasure! I lower my pants. And lay dung...
Trapped in the sieve! Writhing like a worm on a hook! My darling! I carry the beloved filtrate back to the bedchamber, there to bathe it, and clothe it in silk. But kicking and screaming, ever tethered to an old man's beard - that is no life for a crumbling stool!
Hands clasped in prayer, and weeping, I watch it ride off in its chariot. Black against the setting sun. Wrapped in a veil.
17 comments
blessed with 4.
Oh, and not to be rude.. but your nick makes mine seem smashin, really- I can't keep from giggling everytime I read "new age poet" since the first thought that pops up in my head is: "whats that? virgin hippies meet MDMA+pantheism?"
No offense intended, just being liberal with my opinion.
-5- cuz it's the closest thing to a real haiku anyone has posted here in a while (at least it's about nature).
Alone in the yard, beyond the last of the wilting Azaleas, lies The Outhouse. A place of solitude, and of shame; see how it basks in its filth, taunting me with its soiled bounty. How many loved-ones have fallen there? Swallowed whole by its endless hunger for the browne? I'm wearing pyjamas now. Sieve in hand - the Earth will not claim this treasure! I lower my pants. And lay dung...
Trapped in the sieve! Writhing like a worm on a hook! My darling! I carry the beloved filtrate back to the bedchamber, there to bathe it, and clothe it in silk. But kicking and screaming, ever tethered to an old man's beard - that is no life for a crumbling stool!
Hands clasped in prayer, and weeping, I watch it ride off in its chariot. Black against the setting sun. Wrapped in a veil.
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