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Edit 1. mostly erthona, billy,bena, news, chris
Rain on me as I walk back home
on humped and coggly cobbled streets;
until I breathe a rhythm rare,
a funeral march, a half-step here,
a long step there.
Blow wind, that smells of fat brown trout
from river water risen high;
suffice to drown me where I stand.
I make a voice inside me scream,
“Lord, show me land”
Dark smoke swirls choking from high lums
that spume out sprites like demon’s eyes.
I burst in to a fuming pyre
from just one spark upon my breath
that catches fire.
Who moves there in the midden depths?
I see your shining blade…for me?
Come then, engage me, let us fight!
I warn you I shall suck your eyes
and steal your sight.
And then the dampness enters in
to chill the thoughts that comfort me
until I dream in to my ben
where blood is gold, and whisky ink
to fill my pen.
Tectak
1995
Original
Rain on me while I walk back home
on humped and coggly cobbled streets
until I breathe a rhythm rare,
a funeral march, a half-step here,
a long step there.
Blow wind, that smells of fat brown trout
from river water risen high;
enough to drown me where I stand.
I make the voice inside me scream,
“Lord, show me land”
Dark smoke swirls choking from high lums
that spume out sprites like demon’s eyes.
I burst into a fuming pyre
from just one spark upon my breath
that catches fire.
Who moves there in the midden depths?
I see your shining blade…for me?
Come then, engage me, let us fight!
I warn you I shall suck your eyes
and steal your sight.
And then the dampness enters in
to chill the thoughts that comfort me
until I dream in to my ben
where blood is gold, and whisky ink
to fill my pen.
Tectak
1995
Posts: 1,827
Threads: 305
Joined: Dec 2016
Tom,
What, nothing newer than 20 years to post? I think it is generally written "into".
You turned into a "fuming pyre"? Well I guess that's why your so burnt out.
I'm guessing "until I dream in to my ben" is suppose to be a double entendre and not just there to rhyme with pen?
"until I breathe a rhythm rare,
a funeral march, a half-step here,
a long step there."
Were you playing a fife, walking on bandaged leg and playing Yankee Doodle? Oh no, I guess no, your of the UK, are you not?
Well it must have been some very "high lums" if you're seeing bright anythings in "midden depths".
Whatever it was you consumed, I think I have also. Unfortunately it has the curious aspect of erasing it's consumption from your memory, so as to prevent a defense the next time one encounters it.
Well, here's gold in your eye!
Dale
How long after picking up the brush, the first masterpiece?
The goal is not to obfuscate that which is clear, but make clear that which isn't.
Posts: 2,602
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Joined: Feb 2017
(02-12-2014, 11:29 PM)Erthona Wrote: Tom,
What, nothing newer than 20 years to post? I think it is generally written "into".
You turned into a "fuming pyre"? Well I guess that's why your so burnt out.
I'm guessing "until I dream in to my ben" is suppose to be a double entendre and not just there to rhyme with pen? See end
"until I breathe a rhythm rare,
a funeral march, a half-step here,
a long step there."
Were you playing a fife, walking on bandaged leg and playing Yankee Doodle? Oh no, I guess no, your of the UK, are you not?Pissed on an uneven surface...feeling my steps
Well it must have been some very "high lums" if you're seeing bright anythings in "midden depths". See end
Whatever it was you consumed, I think I have also. Unfortunately it has the curious aspect of erasing it's consumption from your memory, so as to prevent a defense the next time one encounters it.
Well, here's gold in your eye!
Dale
Aha! Got you, you homophobic yank!
Burn's night you see.
"Lums" are chimneys, "bens" are bedrooms, "middens" are garbage stores....is that enough?
No, I guess not. I am warming up again...I think me and the muse are up for seperation...must get a newer model.
Keep bashin' the blues. I will sober up soon. Oh , and its "you're" not "..your so burnt out.."  God, I'm tired.
Best,
tectak
Posts: 1,827
Threads: 305
Joined: Dec 2016
Well maybe in the UK it is a chimney, in the rest of the world it is:
n.
cannabis from Colombia. (The lum is based on the misspelling Columbia.) : Mooshoo preferred lums, but he would take what he could get.
and midden
noun
a dunghill or refuse heap.
I already knew ben
Really I do try and accommodate you, but a person can't be expected to be aware of all your new special definitions for words, I wouldn't do it for Max225 and I won't do it for you.
Burns Night? Oh you mean that Rabbie Burns guy that the Scots think is a poet, well we have no such misguided festivals here. We celebrate Mardi Gras where women show you their breast, and Eyore's birthday, where women show you their breast, and then there is that Irish one, where you drink green beer...and women show you their breast. It's an udder celebration over here, we've na time for brogues.
Thas yer problem laddie, not enough fresh breast to ogle.
Large (fake) breast and rabid consumption of oil...Go USA!
Cheers,
Dale
How long after picking up the brush, the first masterpiece?
The goal is not to obfuscate that which is clear, but make clear that which isn't.
Posts: 294
Threads: 4
Joined: Sep 2013
I liked the poem. There's something rather unfortunate yet familiar about this cycle of drinking for inspiration, then having the product seem like you were drunk when you wrote it.
Not sure what you changed to appease Dale, but I'm sure you had to show him your breasts.
He was probably so high he didn't notice it was you.
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(02-18-2014, 01:26 AM)bena Wrote: I liked the poem. There's something rather unfortunate yet familiar about this cycle of drinking for inspiration, then having the product seem like you were drunk when you wrote it.
Not sure what you changed to appease Dale, but I'm sure you had to show him your breasts.
He was probably so high he didn't notice it was you.
Thanks bena,
Drunkalottathetime...including when wrote...I drink to rid myself of happiness...Dale confirms my correctness of thinking. Breasts? Hmmm. Probably OD'd on mammaries whilst still youthfull enough to think of all the possibilities and to act them out...mammaries/memories...you can't beat what you've got. Knocks the shit outa what you had any day!
I changed into in to in to to please Dale...he's in to that sort of thing.
The muse has not left the building...it's just so damn crowded right now.
Breast...sorry..best,
Tectak
Posts: 5,057
Threads: 1,075
Joined: Dec 2009
not much to say on this one tom. there feels to be a couple of weakish spots but i'm putting that down to the syl count (i'm not sure if people call it accentual something or others) the last stanza was an excellent close
wish i could have been more helpful.
(02-12-2014, 10:44 PM)tectak Wrote: Rain on me while I walk back home
on humped and coggly cobbled streets
until I breathe a rhythm rare,
a funeral march, a half-step here,
a long step there.
Blow wind, that smells of fat brown trout, as an ex fly fisherman, i can honestly say i've never smelled brown trout unless they're cooked. yet it does set up an air of freshness
from river water risen high;
enough to drown me where I stand.
I make the voice inside me scream,
“Lord, show me land”
Dark smoke swirls choking from high lums are they from the lums or below, (presuming lums is lights)
that spume out sprites like demon’s eyes.
I burst into a fuming pyre
from just one spark upon my breath
that catches fire.
Who moves there in the midden depths? i keep wanting to say midden's depth
I see your shining blade…for me? this and the next lines feel to be pretty weak
Come then, engage me, let us fight!
I warn you I shall suck your eyes
and steal your sight.
And then the dampness enters in
to chill the thoughts that comfort me
until I dream in to my ben
where blood is gold, and whisky ink
to fill my pen. i really like the last stanza, there's a calmness to it that only comes from a bottle.
Tectak
1995
Posts: 2,602
Threads: 303
Joined: Feb 2017
(02-20-2014, 01:09 PM)billy Wrote: not much to say on this one tom. there feels to be a couple of weakish spots but i'm putting that down to the syl count (i'm not sure if people call it accentual something or others) the last stanza was an excellent close
wish i could have been more helpful.
(02-12-2014, 10:44 PM)tectak Wrote: Rain on me while I walk back home
on humped and coggly cobbled streets
until I breathe a rhythm rare,
a funeral march, a half-step here,
a long step there.
Blow wind, that smells of fat brown trout, as an ex fly fisherman, i can honestly say i've never smelled brown trout unless they're cooked. yet it does set up an air of freshness
from river water risen high;
enough to drown me where I stand.
I make the voice inside me scream,
“Lord, show me land”
Dark smoke swirls choking from high lums are they from the lums or below, (presuming lums is lights)
that spume out sprites like demon’s eyes.
I burst into a fuming pyre
from just one spark upon my breath
that catches fire.
Who moves there in the midden depths? i keep wanting to say midden's depth
I see your shining blade…for me? this and the next lines feel to be pretty weak
Come then, engage me, let us fight!
I warn you I shall suck your eyes
and steal your sight.
And then the dampness enters in
to chill the thoughts that comfort me
until I dream in to my ben
where blood is gold, and whisky ink
to fill my pen. i really like the last stanza, there's a calmness to it that only comes from a bottle.
Tectak
1995 Thanks for this, billy. I am workshopping this one. You NEVER smelled a just caught trout? Mud,grass,earth,moss....just so damn natural. Try it...sniff a trout TODAY!
See my reply to Dale for scottish words!
Best,
Tom
Posts: 845
Threads: 57
Joined: Aug 2013
I dig this darker piece!
Some possible edits would be: to delete 'coggly', as it sounds awkward. I like, ‘that smells of fat brown trout.’ ‘swirls from choking lums’ may work better. Delete the space between like and demon's. Perhaps, just ‘I see your shining blade for me.' (delete the ellipsis and make it a statement instead of a question. ‘I warn you I shall gouge your eyes out.’ (suck is strange) What about, ‘When the dampness enters in to chill the thoughts that comfort me, I shall dream in to my ben'
This is a fine whiskey apparition Mr. Scrouge! See if any of these suggestions help you with your next edit. Cheers/Chris
My new watercolor: 'Nightmare After Christmas'/Chris
Posts: 2,602
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Joined: Feb 2017
(02-20-2014, 10:44 PM)ChristopherSea Wrote: I dig this darker piece!
Some possible edits would be: to delete 'coggly', as it sounds awkward. I like, ‘that smells of fat brown trout.’ ‘swirls from choking lums’ make work better. Delete the space between like and demon's. Perhaps, just ‘I see your shining blade for me. (delete the ellipsis and make it a statement instead of a question. ‘I warn you I shall gouge your eyes out.’ (suck is strange) What about, ‘When the dampness enters in to chill the thoughts that comfort me, I shall dream in to my ben'
This is a fine whiskey apparition Mr. Scrouge! See if any of these suggestions help you with your next edit. Cheers/Chris
Thanks Chris,
Your perspicacity is showing beneath your reverential garbs!
"Coggly", a real word,is the closest the Scottish get to descriptive onomatopoea, although the language is rich verby percussives. The cobbles WERE awkward!
The " ...swirls from choking lums" I considered, but 'tis the smoke that chokes and the lums that smoke and the smoke that swirls so there is a place for everything and everything is in its place.
Couldn't see the extra space??
I agree about the strangeness of sucking out eyes,but couldn't think of anything more horrifyingly threatening that hadn't been said before. Nonetheless, point taken.
Finally, dreaming in to my ben would be hugely interpreted by those good'ol boys across the pond...or by one, anyway
Work in progress!
Best,
tectak
Posts: 204
Threads: 57
Joined: Jan 2013
(02-12-2014, 10:44 PM)tectak Wrote: Rain on me while I walk back home
on humped and coggly cobbled streets normally I would say you don't need coggly, but it's cute, in an arrrrghh matey kinda way
until I breathe a rhythm rare,
a funeral march, a half-step here, when I was young I used to hum the funeral march all the time until my mother beat me half dead with a ladle
a long step there.
Blow wind, that smells of fat brown trout Fish smells, eugh. I'm not sure if I'm understanding this stanza as well as I should. Because I'm picturing fish and alcohol in the same breadth but I would never want to entertain the thought otherwise.
from river water risen high;
enough to drown me where I stand.
I make the voice inside me scream,
“Lord, show me land”Hey, maybe an exclamation point is in order?
Dark smoke swirls choking from high lums
that spume out sprites like demon’s eyes. I love these tiny alliterations
I burst into a fuming pyre
from just one spark upon my breath
that catches fire.
Who moves there in the midden depths?
I see your shining blade…for me?
Come then, engage me, let us fight!
I warn you I shall suck your eyes
and steal your sight.
And then the dampness enters in
to chill the thoughts that comfort me
until I dream in to my ben
where blood is gold, and whisky ink Something about these last three lines do not flow as well as the rest of the poem. I want to replace "and whisky ink" to "of whisky ink," but it's also not me poem.
to fill my pen.
Tectak
1995
Something about the beginning of this poem prompted me to read it like a Dr. Seuss book. And then it quickly switched over to pirate-speak.
What I like about this poem the most is that it's the first one I stopped to read in a long while, and enjoyed recycling through the lines as opposed to being pained by them. Your metaphors are both subtle and apparent. But mostly I think I just liked reading it with a silly accent.
I'll be there in a minute.
Posts: 2,602
Threads: 303
Joined: Feb 2017
(02-24-2014, 06:45 AM)newsclippings Wrote: (02-12-2014, 10:44 PM)tectak Wrote: Rain on me while I walk back home
on humped and coggly cobbled streets normally I would say you don't need coggly, but it's cute, in an arrrrghh matey kinda way
until I breathe a rhythm rare,
a funeral march, a half-step here, when I was young I used to hum the funeral march all the time until my mother beat me half dead with a ladle
a long step there.
Blow wind, that smells of fat brown trout Fish smells, eugh. I'm not sure if I'm understanding this stanza as well as I should. Because I'm picturing fish and alcohol in the same breadth but I would never want to entertain the thought otherwise.
from river water risen high;
enough to drown me where I stand.
I make the voice inside me scream,
“Lord, show me land”Hey, maybe an exclamation point is in order?
Dark smoke swirls choking from high lums
that spume out sprites like demon’s eyes. I love these tiny alliterations
I burst into a fuming pyre
from just one spark upon my breath
that catches fire.
Who moves there in the midden depths?
I see your shining blade…for me?
Come then, engage me, let us fight!
I warn you I shall suck your eyes
and steal your sight.
And then the dampness enters in
to chill the thoughts that comfort me
until I dream in to my ben
where blood is gold, and whisky ink Something about these last three lines do not flow as well as the rest of the poem. I want to replace "and whisky ink" to "of whisky ink," but it's also not me poem.
to fill my pen.
Tectak
1995
Something about the beginning of this poem prompted me to read it like a Dr. Seuss book. And then it quickly switched over to pirate-speak.
What I like about this poem the most is that it's the first one I stopped to read in a long while, and enjoyed recycling through the lines as opposed to being pained by them. Your metaphors are both subtle and apparent. But mostly I think I just liked reading it with a silly accent.
Hi news,
you always encourage me to write for the reader...and that is refreshing if not always easy
This genre of muddled musing has always fascinated me...writing down marijuana masterpieces only to find that dawn brings dawning used to be frustrating but from it I hope I learned to distill my acetylcholine!
Open mouthed kiss for your comments...what IS that accent!
Best,
tectak
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