butter's stuff: the good, the ugly, and the incomplete

[HarryHill]

jim morrisson - you started this one with that Doors link yesterday

of course, i don't know what he died of, only the rumours... and went straight for white lines when they might not have played any part. poetic license - or laziness.

Wizzed right by my head, dhould have picked it up from your bolds
I believe he died of excess in all of its forms city of heights?

 

[butters]

Wizzed right by my head, should have picked it up from your bolds
I believe he died of excess in all of its forms city of heights?

since they weren't in bold till i pointed them out for you, you couldn't have,lol

looking at the stuff on him, there was no autopsy when he died in Paris - there was talk of him believing he was taking cocaine that was, instead, heroin, but no proof.

i'm wondering if people will get the thinking of 'too late to lock to door (the Doors) once the horse (in this case, morrison) has bolted (so ok, stable/barn door), along with the references to the music and white lines. dunno. and the title. hmmn. pfft.




ah, i think, maybe i have the solution

“Drugs are a bet with your mind.”
― Jim Morrison

 

[butters]

one rider less

“Drugs are a bet with your mind.”
― Jim Morrison


there's a circlin' storm
trees toss thin boughs
steel-shod nervous horse
eyes roll 'n' nostrils flare
whip-strike white lines
here comes the rain
slantwise on the barn door
jim

 

[Magnetron]

Harry mentioned elsewheres you were in need of feedback on this. I commented on this one before reading about it here, which I suppose is a good thing. Otherwise the reading would have been tainted. My apologies if I went overboard in butchering your poem.

Minus 'jim' at the end, it is a great descriptive poem that stands on its own four legs. If it wasn't for the quote, the symbology woud go right over my head. Even with the quote, most of it still does.

 

[butters]

Harry mentioned elsewheres you were in need of feedback on this. I commented on this one before reading about it here, which I suppose is a good thing. Otherwise the reading would have been tainted. My apologies if I went overboard in butchering your poem.

Minus 'jim' at the end, it is a great descriptive poem that stands on its own four legs. If it wasn't for the quote, the symbology woud go right over my head. Even with the quote, most of it still does.

never apologise for honest feedback, magnetron. it's always valuable. I need to look at this one from outside in - i'm not especially connected with it as a piece and so it's quite painless when people carve away the extraneous or a drag red marker around parts not working for them.

if the quote and opening line and the pointed 'white-lines' don't signpost this clearly enough perhaps it needs tomtom....

it surprised me, though, that some thought i was attempting to mirror the beat of the song 'riders on the storm'. i wasn't - and maybe i should have used 'circling' instead of 'circlin' (used for accent ) to make that a longer (and more circle-ing) sound.

still, it's giving me pause for thought, this looking through others eyes. *nods*

thanks

 

[butters]

tried posting this in comments under the piece, but it's not logging me in, just

spinning and spinning....

thanks mag and gm for giving me some of your time with this one:

mag - no, i wasn't trying to emulate the pacing or tying in to riders on the storm lyrics. but it helps me see that more than one person has made a comment along those lines.

to use the quote as a head or footnote - i want to keep it, but where to place it for best effect? at the end in order to maybe tie things together, or at the start as an obvious signpost? questions questions....

gm: i used barn since i'd gone with the horse imagery (to link with riders on the storm)... it felt right at the time, but since both you and 12 have an issue with it, then it's well worth my time giving it some consideration. thankyou

 

[Magnetron]

For me personally, the title and quote combo is what launches associations to the song lyrics, then it is solidified when the very first line ends with 'storm'. Your words don't quite match up to the lyrics, but it is very damn close. With a little tweaking, it could. I think it is an opportunity to reinforce the entire write.

I say, put the quote at the end. Let the readers experience one layer that is just the horse and the storm ( possibly two if the title alone helps them pick up on the lyrical similarities to Riders On The Storm ). After reading the quote, it should sink in that there was more and it should be read again.

The quote at the beginning sets the stage for the reader to anticipate it being relevant to Morrison and drug use and if the reader doesn't grasp how in the first take, then there is that What was the quote for? reaction.

 

[butters]

For me personally, the title and quote combo is what launches associations to the song lyrics, then it is solidified when the very first line ends with 'storm'. Your words don't quite match up to the lyrics, but it is very damn close. With a little tweaking, it could. I think it is an opportunity to reinforce the entire write.

I say, put the quote at the end. Let the readers experience one layer that is just the horse and the storm ( possibly two if the title alone helps them pick up on the lyrical similarities to Riders On The Storm ). After reading the quote, it should sink in that there was more and it should be read again.

The quote at the beginning sets the stage for the reader to anticipate it being relevant to Morrison and drug use and if the reader doesn't grasp how in the first take, then there is that What was the quote for? reaction.

*takes this all on board, thinking*
thanks!

i should really go look at the lyrics, shouldn't i? i'm really only familiar with that line 'riders on the storm'... and maybe go read some of his material, his poetry.

there's a docu on right now about the making of LA Woman... the line 'your hair's on fire' stands out for me.

 

[Magnetron]

Hard as I try, I can only recall snippets of the lyrics. Which is understandable - only heard it here and there on the radio, never really paid much attention to the words. But the music and his voice is immediately conjured up in my mind. Same with the song Break On Through.

 

[twelveoone]

“Drugs are a bet with your mind.”
― Jim Morrison


there's a circlin' storm
trees toss thin boughs
steel-shod nervous horse
eyes roll 'n' nostrils flare
whip-strike white lines
here comes the rain
slantwise on the barn door
jim

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bOE47Ym5bPo
girl you gotta love your man
even if he's Idi Amin

 

[twelveoone]

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-hsahbAEZpc
i've seen things I've never seen before

 

[HarryHill]

Open up the window, let some air into this room ps. What a long strange trip it's been.....

 

[butters]

can't remember if i catalogued these but putting them in till i check

do not fear the falling of silence
words cannot take its measure

hear
the melody of silence
there
in the eye of a bird
rain on skin
a curling of toes
reflections in a glass of wine
the breath of flame
ink
drying on the page
in your lips
within your hands
driven ever onwards
in your heart





popcorn and a can of beer
carbs and water
sweet salt and sparkle
the stuff of life




enigma
in the heart of the rose
one tries to keep one's balance
on the beam





sometimes
when the flesh is heavy
reluctant to fight the weight of inertia
the mind dances free
smiling




that sounds so
dirty
in a semi-savant kind of way
intercollectual
textacollectual
like a sneer
like a soucop of disdain
a hot-house, not-house, not-got-of-this-house house
a knot of forgetmenots got basted and boasted
a shabby soufflé with a price to make your eyes water
served up in thimbles
with a 20% tip slapped on top

and yet to fall between the cracks
to slide into the new
for that brief and shining moment -
we'd most of us give our eye teeth for

but let's not fancy it up so
ponce about with labels designed more to exclude
than embrace
face to the pavement
we're all peering through
hoping to catch that small glimpse
of something we're unable to name




(are we all silhouettes against the sun? i've written this as a singular, and it wasn't even about a poet to begin with, but it begs the question is this how we all are as poets?is this how artists are in all genres?)


up there
in the blue
your dark shape hurts my eyes
silhouette against the sun

looking down
you're entranced
your own shadow races
wavering over the dunes

and truly
it's far more interesting




one day i looked up at you
saw that i
were the dunes
you relied on my ripples
to make you appear
fascinating




ah, circe,
herb-wise and generous
with her cheese and honeyed meal
so sweet to serve up magic on a plate
how apt - pigs to pigs
ah - not so fair, those words
sailors ways are not the most refined, but pigs?
perhaps it was a porkie of a tail -
no mind

just as well the one kept wits
about his precious hide and
made off to warn Odysseus

and Herme smiled
bestowed a gift
to change the pace
to change the outcome of the tail
and Batman gleaned his Robin's cry of
Holy Moly!
something new i learned.



Pasiphaë, Pasiphaë,
they really did a job on you;
where was Max Clifford when you needed a publicist?



so monday morning nice and early
get to spread and have my girly
bits examined, probed and swabbed

thanks goodness i don't do their job




i went to write a poem
but somehow we
got
lost



each key stroked resonates
small dark-bright notes
punctuate the white expanse
sounds
in shapes
2D music
symbols of noise

can i make writing
music to your ears?



dis as soc i ation
yet again
mind divorced from body
without pain
thoughts forget they're meant to stay
within this flesh
within this brain
the physi
cali
tee
remains
for now
a measure i don't need
to feel
again



sometimes i ponder

about the human state-of-being
size is relative, true
but
the inside
the insides of us
bear no relation

we are vast
oceans
deserts
skies
timelines

we are enormous
and complex
simple as an atom
convoluted as theory
restless and calm and hazy allatthesametime

no answers
observations

how do we fit into skins?

 

[butters]

bit by the limerick bug
it's not giving cause to feel smug
it's awfully tenacious
and direly rapacious
and feeds on itself like a drug



summit

when a mountain floats
when you've eaten too much ice
when you're snowblind
and breathing air too rare
when your bones know
they tether muscles as they quiver -
thin strings in drawn-out notes -
still your heart swells
as the falling sun paints purple thoughts
and roseate desire



perhaps

when the sun scoops low to the wave
when the sauce
bubbles slowly in the pan
when words fall
or fail
depending on the quickbreath in my ear
when something screams a chill right up your spine
i'll look and find the hammer's in my hand
and how the last nail glimmers
rightly mine



i opened up my mind
as far and as wide as was possible, you see,
then my brains fell out
into my hands
and i feel all hollow
and i feel all free
but typing this
is really hard



she said she was from aus
that great dry bitch of a continent
she loved with all her heart
roots deeper than a jarrah
humour mocking as a kookaburra's call
unable to cry
when firestorms have passed
and all lies blackened
but into dark silences
will silently weep
will silently weep



night tides

on rain's endless narrative
slip-stream
into semi-consciousness

lullabyed, the thought-process,
beyond the liquid stir of flesh

a river of skies
wet coins on eyes
reflect the night



of all the possibilities
this page affords

i still don't know if i can bring
my schtick to sing
of such deep broads and rising tides
that swell to rush and suck back down
a whirpool of i
dears

when really all's set off by you
your underwater gruff and bloom
that shudders, shivers, shatters high glass rooms
until, exposed, my core shines silver
wet but pulsing yet with scarlet
flame that's free to ..

free to ...

testing testing this be-coming word
free

free
dom's still too new for me
to know quite what to do or be

so back to possibilities
i cannot voice
i cannot vice
i cannot thrice and twice and throw the dice
and roll a pair of deuces like a
maestro
no

that's music not
a metaphor to sloppy-drop
to gamble with a score or move like props upon the dim-lit stage
thank god this bastard thing can be
erased

quick
cover me
snuff me
dry me
stop me

re
think
the brink

and stumble back from
sounding like a freak peer
ing through the muddy chink and looking for the light to ride
away

so gonna regret this

 

[butters]

first draft

Cooled

for so many seasons
thick blood inched through a quiet net of veins
nudged by submarine tick deep below the ice
not breaking the silence of survival-mode
shut down but for tremors on a geiger-counter
safe
beyond reach
oxygen-depleted

The world turned and turned
light and darkness mere words to call forth no response
the seas drained to shallows

Lifted on the hunched back of a sand-whale
she felt the heat of a distant star

Unaccustomed to warmth
rivets rusted by exposure
armour's shed
plate by rigid plate
emerged soft-shelled into the light
heart finds a new rhythm
blood thins
driven and rich with the nitrous gas of life

She crawls then scrabbles above the waterline
claws a pathway up the slopes
leaves ever-firmer footprints in this world
strides through wooded foothills
blood running hot and free
seeking horizon

Stood on the edge of the world
she hesitates
understands the danger of sharp rocks
of bleeding out at altitude

On an intake of breath
she steps out
incandescent
evolved

 

[todski28]

Very interesting tieing mechanical and biological things together, it is a good draft, if I have time I'll try gather some more detailed thoughts for you.

 

[butters]

Very interesting tieing mechanical and biological things together, it is a good draft, if I have time I'll try gather some more detailed thoughts for you.

you need to sleep when you can - this can wait IF you find you have time, your thoughts are always welcome; just stick this right down at the bottom of your list of things to do

 

[butters]

Originally Posted by HarryHill View Post
I went to bed last night
with a bad case of I miss my baby
sleep wouldn't soothe my plight
tossed and tossed and turned
sand man come save me

I tried to sleep last night
but no dreams would come
laid down and closed my eyes
turned out out the light
oh Jan come save me

Awake in the endless miles
that yawn between us
writing down these lonely words
oh baby, baby, baby,
send sleep to save me

I went to bed last night
with a bad case of I miss my baby

my baby sings in blues
but the world's a cool globe
so small a distance between us two
blueman pours a glass
of water sweet to soothe
and yellow plays a lullaby of wish-full notes
he's missing you, too,
broadcasts across the aether
hang on in there, harry

and i'll hold you, mister, close and calm
i'll love love rock my baby





my love is the slow root
deep underground
holding us fast
all unseen

my love is the green
that sprouts fresh and new
eager to revel in unaccustomed space
reaching for the light

my love is the crumpled petal
damply unfurled
dewy and bright
face to the sun

my love is the seed that sets
the fruit that blooms
the parachuting dandy-fluff
broadcasting regeneration

my love is the shrivel and wither
the ochres and rust reds
the husk and the scrape
that return to their root to sleep a dream of white
__________________

 

[butters]

man maketh the man
not the colour of the threads he wears
nor the cut and artful stitchery of others
for when clothes are discarded
in a heap on the floor
the skin you are in
means more
it contains the who of you
your history told on its surface
just another layer to be stripped
a mind has no need of clothes
it's dressed, instead, in light




i hope i never go blind
i want to read you till i die
but
if i do
will you read your words to me
will you

so i may take them
turn them, in my mind, 3-D
touch them, taste their texture
as you voice-paint a world for me
grow once more un-blind to beauty
to all your loving heart can make me see




the silence of a cat's ear
as it twitches
focuses
centres
is a silence stretched to the point of hearing
just as butter licked from a paw
is a taste to quivering whiskertips




so much to write
to say
but silence wears my lips




i looked up
into the blue
hoping to catch a glimpse of your trail
westward-bound
everything was pale
you were too far for these eyes
and i was only cryin' inside




the dawn deer and rabbits
may tell the month
but he's lost amongst the daisies
when it comes to counting days

a calendar of petals
lets him know the leaves will soon turn brown
but moondays and highdays
keep his feet from touching ground




i hope i never go blind
i want to read you till i die
but
if i do
will you read your words to me
will you

so i may take them
turn them, in my mind, 3-D
touch them, taste their texture
as you voice-paint a world for me
grow once more un-blind to beauty
to all your loving heart can make me see




fed well on berries she'd make sweet eatin'...
spread her feathers
nest in their pliant warmth
bury your head under a wing
hear her bird-heart flutter
sleep the sleep of a drowned man
soul a-smiling



elemental song
such a soothing lilt to your words
float with me
endurance
yet still my heart races
limbs tremble
thinking of you
and all you mean to me

breathe for me
when i forget
i'll warm you with my fire
when winter bites
be my rock
to stand on when all the damned world's shaking
and i'll carry us down
carry us down
to the sea




for the invisible man:

i see you
even with eyes bound
tongue tied
like beez see ultras
and the camera thermal spots
even when you stand still in shadows
you radiate some hots




your hands
illustrate the dichotomy of the man
the one
slender-fingered, quiet, sensitive to vibration, pressure
understanding fragility and elemental moods
the other
well-used, resilient, its warm strength holding fast to life
rooted in determination, obstinacy and grit
i hold them both
complete the circuit
feel their energies flow




he's not a one for crowds
for balancing canapé-conversation
society's paper plates too thin
too unstable
for a man used to depths
the steadiness of rock beneath
as thoughts mingle with currents of air
and rivers run through him
so he'll wrap a cloak of shade about him
affect invisibility
outwardly still
while all hell's breaking loose inside

 

[butters]

oxygen not included

long, rainy morning
head thick with dirty heavy clouds
somewhere there's a bird
its voice calls like drenched plumage
sleep's river is never far away
its tidal draw whispers without lips
pulls thoughts into swift currents
carries them down
to the dark



last night i wanted to write a line
something about the slow grey wave
warm as rainwater held in hot tarmac shallows
its oily sheen
its turgid movement
wanted to write me stood on a littered beach
write it rolling in and on and over
escape never an option
never sought
and when the wave receded
all the sand lay bare
but instead it seems i slipped beneath
waves of a different ilk



come, magicians,
dream with me...
embark on adventures!

ride the steel dragon
sooty breath sparking the night

face into the wind in the topmost sails
fists and feet fast in the rigging

blow your own trumpets
notes streaming from the parapets

pace the dolphins with a flick of spangled tail
sea-weed locks dancing in the waves

shout sesame!, unfurl the persian carpet
talk with the animals and cross the snowy peaks

dreamers and believers all
write your magic dreams for me



i sipped vodka amidst the hanging gardens of babylon, dickensian style
saw ancient skylines pierced by old turrets and new shards
a steel-plate warship dressed in naval grey whispering to the bankside
exposed stone, green meeting darkly stirring waters, tide full out
restless, busy gulls, bobbing between bright red power dinghies
i saw a sky straight from a storybook
the unseen dragon's breath rumbling overhead
waiting for planes....



later in the year
when the lazy sun has hurried to its bed
i'll ride the 'lectric dragon westward ho
set down by the slipway licked by sullen swells
look across the spangled river
dreaming you next to me
holding hands
wondering if the stars will fall as white flakes
to hiss as they kiss black water




like the cacti's soft hairs
condense water from sea-fog
so your thought-processes
capture love
bead with clear, fresh drops
that filter into my skin
as you sign
and i learn new phrases
till i am well
brim-full

 

[butters]

his sweet waters

i never have those dreams anymore
those ones where the blue inviting water
of swimming pool or lake
curve me into a slick-fish dive
the lazy crawl
arms slicing, palms pulling
only to find the water's not as advertised
turning brown
full of floating crap and litter
foul
burning eyes and driving me to look for the sides or
banks that are suddenly so far away
and i'm left holding my breath
trying not to swallow shit...
i never have those dreams any more

 

[Tsotha]

his sweet waters

i never have those dreams anymore
those ones where the blue inviting water
of swimming pool or lake
curve me into a slick-fish dive
the lazy crawl
arms slicing, palms pulling
only to find the water's not as advertised
turning brown
full of floating crap and litter
foul
burning eyes and driving me to look for the sides or
banks that are suddenly so far away
and i'm left holding my breath
trying not to swallow shit...
i never have those dreams any more

I like this as is. However, there is something missing ( for me) between lines 4 and 5. First, "slick-fish dive" held my attention too much, took me too long to process. It did not help that the next line reads "lazy crawl". I honestly stopped reading to consider "what kind of slick fish crawls at the bottom of a lake?" which is absolutely retarded. Still, I did it. After parsed, the lines read perfectly fine, but the flow was interrupted. I'd use simpler language there. Anyway, I like it.

 

[butters]

spirit in my fingertips
feed you
one and then one and then one
the power of three
suckle on colours of nourishment
then feed me yours
pressed deep
in the mouth with no tongue
to form words but still taste
the magic of your spectrum

 

[butters]

if i should eat a cherry stone
swallow it down
think not madly of me
that i should wish it root
grow strong
bear fruit
for i would be
a harvester of stones
- home-grown

 

[butters]

when all the world slips
eddies in grey waters
when sky and sea are indistinguishable
he anchors me
lights my way
brings me home