skylark913: (Default)
Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of disappointed shells that dropped behind.

GAS! Gas! Quick, boys!-- An ecstasy of fumbling,
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
And floundering like a man in fire or lime.--
Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.

In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.

If in some smothering dreams you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,--
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.
skylark913: (Default)
The fresh breeze quickening my breath. 
The patter of sprinkles
Turns into the splats of heavy drops on my skin.
A cleansing I despretly need.
Rustling of the leaves,
Rippling of the grass,
Rolling of the thunder.
A heat mist rising from the ground;
How thirsty we are.
Splashing droplets and Striking lightning.
Sun peeking through, but not stealing the Thunder of the Rain.
Splish, Splash.
Drip, Drop.

MTI folks

Jul. 27th, 2006 12:45 am
skylark913: (Default)
Alright Gang, I'm not entirely sure if this is what we had in mind, but as I was trying to go to bed and convince my muses to be kind enough to let me sleep, I stumbled upon a strange inspiration from King Curtis.  And thus, I write:


"How to Make a Jam Orchestra:"

Start by preheatin' that oven.
Not too hot now, not yet.  Just 275.
What goes in the mix?
Well, gimme me about 2 pints a slap-back bass on that tuba.
Combine 1 oz. acro cello with a dash of pizzocato.
Now half a cup a some fiddlin' violin.
Double...Stop that!
Double the woodwinds with flute and clarinet,
just a pinch of trills and arpeggios, please.
Now add just a dash of brass for some extra class,
And fill it out with a few black and white keys.
Add about 3 tablesppoons a boiling vocals,
And 3 cups a tribal drums.
Now Beat. Well.
The oven's hot and re'rin' to go.
Pour out the mix, spread out the dough.
What's that? Not enough spice?
Alright, how 'bout a dash of folk?
and just a pinch of classical.
Now a touch a jazz and a coupla rocks.

It is meant to be read aloud.  Ah, lovely beat poetry. 


skylark913: (Default)

July 2011

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