Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

after the train came
all the men disappeared
at the kafeneion, where
we'd play tavli to the gurgle
of narghiles and the rhythm of baglamas
gone, even the words seem foreign, strange
we are closed for repairs
there is a new alphabet in town
after the train came
what was once horizontal
has become upright, we talk
from balcony to balcony, leaning
across railings, necks extended
an alley cat chases a piece of string
caught in the jet stream, lost
between the walls of the labyrinth

mad jack rambles

I was wondering so bad what was on that fucking train. IT was a delicisious little poem. I read it a couple of times and it left me with a whole other story of what was on that train.

finally I could not stand the suspense of not knowing what it was on that train I had to Google for a clue coffee shops what was the back story the men disapearing my google search brought me to a small group of Helenized Jews during the 1940's they were living on a small island when the train came in.
So my reluctance to Google, I wanted it to be my poem, maybe not yours. But I am glad I did put the effort in to walk a coule of miles in your poem.

I was going off on a dark path with dread
I got attached to my subjective experience, did not want to know yours. Notso much dread as unease?

All in all a satisfying poem, if you pardon my emoticons

the train came out of the west with industry, peroxide, and styrofoam.

a fine poem
civilization and its discontents
moving out west to new mexico before the end of time

signs of the endtimes been coming hard and heavy fast and furious the past five hundred years ago from Germany. It came out of the west yes, after it came out of the east, but now its going north to south.

don't mind me dino
I am stoned again
been so sweet this staying high
reluctant to give it up, for another paycheck.

like I said I woud rather talk about this than the old neighborhood, but wait aminute we are talking about the old neighborhoods I been heavy into the 16th century, all this talk about us being into another millenium, I been taking the short view, we just turned onto the next 500 years, I refuse to look into any future more distant than that.


Over and out

once you read a poem it becomes yours - that's the beauty of it, i think.

like "a smile on a guru dog"

yes! i was with saw yesterday - he's a good guy.

I don't know if I am a good guy or not, I don't think so but thanks. You are a good poet. You make good lemonade. Thank you for working on that railroad.

I was talking to mingo about lemons and lemonade. My words sound tinny . I don't know how I can compare war to a lemon?
http://studioeight.tv/phpbb/viewtopic.php?f=73&t=24259

deleted this from poetry

you make good lemonade from lemon indignity of life in this best of all worlds around us, it helps maintain the tenuous bubble of sanity that stands between me and death by a thousand cuts.


hardest job there is
is looking for a job
break a leg

deleted this one too

Yes start with the first job last.
It is easy if you remember to always
Think inside the box.

.

might change my name to captain lemoni.

the lemon drop kid
bob hope flick from a lifetime ago comes to mind

random thoughts colllide with random molecules
memories leak from a gone world

I remember Lemoni
The arcangel in the Book of Moroni

He stuck a feather in his hat and called it
macaroni and velveeta
mellow yellow
everything surreal
Billy Pilgrim unstuck in time
On the western front
in november of 1917
wounded warriors abound

i remember that film. pieces of memory coagulate into poetry it seems.

poetry a blood sport
can be sometimes it seems
Sylvia Plath was a bleeder
I wish she could have coagulated

it's debilitating - you have the door half open and you get shit from the inner depths.