So number five's over and that's that.
Hasn't it left you feeling flat?
Who's coming up with the next title?
Something lively, clever and vital....
"Folded Flannel" came to mind
but others might have an axe to grind.
I wait for six with bated breath,
Here's hoping I don't die a death...
once more.
....and now, the weather for the west coast to-day.
Oh! Now look. What a pain
Once more cloudy, once more rain.
Don't you grumble don't complain!
Turn your narrow view to those
Who battle record-breaking snows
and suffer frost-bite of the nose.
Aren't you lucky you have flowers
Even if they're hit by showers?
You're not shovelling for hours.
Don't have snow plough drivers who
reblock your drive and wave at you
knowing you had just got through
Two full hours of piling high
Filthy white stuff from the sky!
there goes, we goes, it goes, some goes potty
"It is not as goes," says a stranger.
A lost and perplexed stranger needing nothing.
The lives go on. The stranger drifts into
the sets for bringing out later.
Scene II,
never write a play late at night in a forum.
it causes one to open.
end of monologe,
all lust is made into those stringed puppets
not kites
what a shame
everybody (or so it seems) wants to be
e.e. cummings, so detached
we study form and flow
so modern and aloof
and are we really saying anything?
like 'Cambridge Ladies' oblivious
to the world that's tumbling down
so detached, we write
aloft on intellectual precipices
that's everybody (or so it seems)
and everybody is strong
that eternal mysterious 'they'
nameless evil, faceless fears
that's everybody (or so it seems) there
even as everybody, we are alone
I am the night
when in the wind
your voice
SHOUTS MY NAME!
Do you fear in the wild
that garden urge to me.
I'd love to sit
and inch by inch
be as if you see.
I my lover:
break of weakness
with marks of flame.
But I my friend:
break of weakness, multitudes of marks.
I had lag
break of weakness, marks in clay.
Trodden with cold silver wire
trodden with cold and from the pale palette
then strong, they live in my mark.
Trodden with me
and pointing to tell thy Maker of me.
Unblushing, my rose tree
and with a tear
unblushing, my rose turned to rise
fresh in the new cloth of day.
Do you grace us
with time-worn talk
or the dread hand of darkness
and future sees
with time-wornnot white hair?
And tune your brain
with what that dead hand brings
and yet you love the wild
And tune my Father's speak!
Oh, do you grace us
with time-worn talk
with time-worn walk
God through an Angel told my soul,
"Pretty, pretty rose turned away from the fold."
You know me, darling, so well.
And you know as well as I do....
I
Hate
feeling
Ridiculous.
And lost.
That too.
And here you are, making me feel both.
Lost and stupid and plain out
fucking
Ridiculous.
So I am pouring out my heart
In no particular fashion,
passion,
And hoping that one day
All will be right.
and I will be
sane
found
anything
but lost!!!
And ridiculous.
Did I say the insane thing
something about a wedding ring?
well, true I hear it in my ears
I hope to make it past my fears
but, honey, there's no living in a song
I think you got my message wrong.
Yes, I did...
Yes, I do, but...
Oh, I'm hopeless....
Pack, I'm fine!
I hope you make it
out in time;
What? aw, please
please don't cry
I can't do it and
you know the why,
I'm just not the marrying
kind of guy!
Did I say the insane thing
something about a wedding ring?
well, true I hear it in my ears
I hope to make it past my fears
but, honey, there's no living in a song
I think you got my message wrong?