Poetry #too. - Progressive Rock Music Forum

Geck0 wrote:

I see no photo, David...

Bugger. Ah well, you can see it in my dA gallery. "A Society Function for Snakes and Marmosets". It's pretty recent.

Any meaning you apply to that poem is entirely your own work.

Not about as such... but yeah, I really like that piece A LOT. I can't wait to get back to college and try to organise a performance of it.

A two-part simultaneous poem I wrote recently. Excuse the slightly shoddy picture editing. I noticed too late and then couldn't be arsed to change it. So, yeah... *coughs* Poem:

For anyone who missed it the first time around, here is a prog-related poem by me:

In Absentia (Fly/Tea - not Aspic)

There sat my mug of freshly made tea;
on the coffee table; cooling down.
I was relaxing with King Crimson,
settling down into the sofa; bliss!
"The Talking Drum".
It required more volume;
more intensity.
Remote control; volume up.
I settle back down again.

It was getting more intense,
I was in my own world here.

Some Frippian whines;
David Cross violin and
wonderful Bruford drumming.
Wetton's bass setting the pace,
Muir's percussion just intense.

It was like a dream sequence.
A higher state of consciousness.

The climax; the ending.
I'm ready for Larks' Tongues... part 2.

I quickly remember my tea;
it's getting cold, it needs drinking.

I sip a bit..., good, not too hot.

A few sips later...

A coughing fit.
Eyes watering; body shaking.

I finally stop, spitting something out.

A fly.
It had got into my tea.
Still alive after its ordeal.

Larks' Tongues In Aspic.
Why not a fly in aspic?

Now it was just a Musca domestica;
In Absentia.

Geck0 - 18 July 2005.

Edited by Geck0 - July 22 2006 at 13:55

Excellent work Rust!

Maybe I should resurrect my brain into poetry mode and start writing again soon... I'll keep you tintacked.

Here's another,

Where's the Clear Sky, when you need it the most?

I'll tell you he's enjoying a plate of steamed roast.

Where's check at the end of the week?

I'll tell you it's waiting for the creek to squeek.

Where's the time when you're busy the most?

I'll tell you he's enjoying a plate of the Clear Sky's roast.

When's the next crisis gonna hit home?

You'll know if you tap the phone.

Who's the manager of Clear Sky and Time?

He's a colourless clown and a mournfull mime.

We got to pump the stuff to make us tough
from the heart
Its astart
What we need is awareness we cant get careless
Mental self defensive fitness
Make everybody see in order to fight the powers that be

Interesting...

Got some new poetry today,

Here's my stuff, and yes, the prog illusions are intentional.

Wish I did

Heartless No way!

Helpless? Obey!

Mindless? I'd pray!

Live life TODAY!

Say you say what you make.

Christ's sake's is brown cake.

Take your cape, fictitously fake.

Brave the cave of impossible.

Say it's impossible, bottle the hospital.

Tangerine tropical, factory that's rottible.

Corpse on the lawn eat corn on the cob.

Fish was a master bass in Khatru.

Mabey we'd do if we say it was true.

Shallow the lake, broken the plastic rake.

Leafs take what was hate,

Fall on the cake with chocolate paste.

Childhood is to far to spell,

To bad you don't say what you tell.

Hell, I've been to Hell.

I fear the lakes within cavern shells.

It discribes dinomite inside hotels.

Bomb shells.

Dead smell.

Carcus fell.

Smells like trainwrecks wearing rearanged rooms like carpetacks

Holdover blue Rover,

Sweaty, leather gun holster

Silver shot infests closer,

Seaweed that's reapolstered.

Bolshevik shot in a toaster.

Toast for the Boaster.

Within a pattern is an answere

Wisper disaster or porcelien plaster.

Yell for the Master,

Heaven's cured cancer.

Shine on, you black wurm hole dancer.

Pawns are useless.

Hearts are fragile.

Love is truthless.

Sex is agile.

Edited by Rust - February 05 2007 at 23:54

We got to pump the stuff to make us tough
from the heart
Its astart
What we need is awareness we cant get careless
Mental self defensive fitness
Make everybody see in order to fight the powers that be