tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32363242024-03-12T21:27:23.701-05:00Dark Side of the LoonDona Bogarthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18000894844085280065noreply@blogger.comBlogger126125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3236324.post-1149180677675563192015-12-31T22:49:00.000-06:002016-01-13T13:58:01.052-06:00Takers<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms; font-size: 130%;"><strong>Another from the Ramblings compilation. <span style="font-size: x-small;">I have read this out loud at a Poetry Bar down on "Deep Ellum" in Dallas. It was meant to be read aloud.</span></strong></span><br />
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<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7803/50/1600/solitary1.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7803/50/320/solitary1.jpg" style="cursor: hand;" /></a><br />
<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"><strong><span style="font-size: 130%;"><span style="color: #66cccc;"><i>Takers</i><br />
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In the dank, dark, lousy cells of your mind<br />
Do you find from time-to-time a respite<br />
<br />
Do you burn all the day<br />
Do you hate all the night<br />
<br />
or<br />
<br />
Do you sometimes suffer from fright<br />
<br />
Have you cried a tear that was not for show<br />
Had a moment when you stubbed your toe<br />
<br />
Was there ever a time when you did not lie<br />
No, that would take effort - you would have to try<br />
<br />
Your one of the mean ones<br />
The takers - the spies<br />
Stay away from me<br />
You make me cry</span></span></strong></span><br />
db<br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">2/18/2010</span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script type="text/javascript"><!--
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vultures circling waiting hovering wanting a juicy pungent lunch smelling life as it seeps away murky water in a drainpipe full of debris waiting hovering wanting to feed off the scraps hollow hardly a mouthful waiting hovering wanting to tear the sun from the earth poison the liquid for which I thirst waiting hovering wanting for me to give up the ghost scavengers picking over what's choice no leave it no they take<div class="blogger-post-footer"><script type="text/javascript"><!--
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-N7208KlGYs4/VkQDHFRR5qI/AAAAAAAAEh4/ybquX1to5q0/s1600/yeoldwatling.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-N7208KlGYs4/VkQDHFRR5qI/AAAAAAAAEh4/ybquX1to5q0/s320/yeoldwatling.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">i dream of a perfect london bed in a room tight above a pub upon this bed hardly more than a cot lies a london man his head hides the pillow his feet dangle from the edge this london man large like a bear says to me with voice of honey gravel come my girl lay upon me tis plenty of room don tcha see I say no i dunna see even a spot left for me unsure trepid i climb aboard his chest his belly so deceptively soft warm i burrow snuggle find for my pillow a beard of curls thick strawberry red all is just right don't wake me you fools let me sleep forever on this perfect london bed</span><br />
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db<div class="blogger-post-footer"><script type="text/javascript"><!--
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7B29o08p2SI/VkP95tMDqrI/AAAAAAAAEhY/a-yqtisPBHg/s1600/amsterdam.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="250" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7B29o08p2SI/VkP95tMDqrI/AAAAAAAAEhY/a-yqtisPBHg/s400/amsterdam.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: xx-small;">Please enjoy Miles Davis and John Coltrane while you read.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: xx-small;"> Video below post.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Amsterdam</span></div>
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I let myself have a little wine tonight. After a glass, I found my thoughts drifting to you.<br />
<br />
I remember Amsterdam and the loft we shared. Just a bed and bath at the top of narrow stairs. Below us was that lovely bakery. I remember the smell of hot bread that would wake us before dawn. That smell still comforts me. Five days we had, five days to make love all night, wake, eat, love again. Surrounded in our blue smoke, we were the only world. Occasionally we would take the stairs down and mingle with the locals. I wonder if you ever think of that time so long ago. I choose to think you do.<br />
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I am back there now, hanging on your arm [and every word you say] as we walk along Jefferson Avenue. We liked to stop at the Blue Goose to share a treat. We would order way too much food and ask the waiter for a doggie bag and take it with us as we rushed back to our loft, because the only thing we really had a taste for was each other. We made love almost desperately as the days passed and they passed so damn quickly. We knew that our time was close. Somehow we both knew that this was magical and that we would never feel this passionately again. I never did. I really never loved like that again. I remember once clutching my stomach with an ache that went deep down to my core. I loved you so much that the thought of parting cut me deeply. The feeling was so real that I cried out loud and you asked what was wrong. I lied and told you I had stubbed my toe on the chair. I knew when the five days were over that we too would be over and I would never see you again.<br />
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Many years have passed since then and I know now that we will never be over. We are together now. Trapped in time exactly as we were then, the free-spirited boy who wrote silly songs and laughed at the world and the brown-eyed girl who still believed in time machines and soft purple dragons. We are there in Amsterdam again. It may have taken the glow of the wine to revive you, but I relish the memory as I walk the avenue holding your arm once more and it is real and I love you now as I loved you then. There is no ache this time, because I know you will never really leave me. I keep you hidden from my world. You are my secret, never to be shared.<br />
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Oh Amsterdam, you were once mine and I will always cherish you.<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">A couple of fellows we ran into.</span><br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-HkVd9WfcKww/VKma11T7A2I/AAAAAAAADYY/x7UThvtoie0/s1600/sitting.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-HkVd9WfcKww/VKma11T7A2I/AAAAAAAADYY/x7UThvtoie0/s1600/sitting.jpg" /></a></div>
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I can see the shadow of a hawk on the roof of the building across the way. I could see the bird itself if I would get up and walk closer to the window.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><script type="text/javascript"><!--
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">a little niche in my heart</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">chipped out long ago</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">a groove for him alone</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">tried to patch it closed</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br />
didn't try hard enough</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">left ragged and exposed</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">hope he will stay</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">know he needs to go</span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script type="text/javascript"><!--
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The illusions have sharply gone. The clarity that is left is painful yet exciting.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><script type="text/javascript"><!--
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ydc1XUlFCL0/VkP5gpzc8uI/AAAAAAAAEgw/LuUd_gXvo_0/s1600/intomycocoonEllieBelfiglio.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ydc1XUlFCL0/VkP5gpzc8uI/AAAAAAAAEgw/LuUd_gXvo_0/s1600/intomycocoonEllieBelfiglio.jpg" /></a></div>
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<strong><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">Cocoon</span></strong><br />
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<span style="color: #b45f06;"></span></span> <span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><strong>I cocooned myself in delusion and reality has come and sat on me. I am suffocating in panic. I gasp...my eyes grow wide. I silently scream for help knowing the only help to come must come from me. I will dig deep to dredge up the warrior that I once was and I will battle once again.</strong></span><br />
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</span> <span style="color: #b45f06;"><br />
</span> <strong><span style="color: #b45f06;">db</span></strong> <br />
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Enjoy The Decemberists "Cocoon"<br />
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<br />
skills honed by experience<br />
<br />
nails freshly sharpened<br />
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they bite and spew<br />
<br />
entangled in this ugly game<br />
<br />
one played for decades<br />
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caught in their cross-fire<br />
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gutted and bleeding<br />
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laid aside as collateral damage<br />
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they pause then continue<br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">db</span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script type="text/javascript"><!--
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1GKmfHh4eJM/VkQA-cxAGxI/AAAAAAAAEho/kG4ynWJzL2k/s1600/Taxi-in-London.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1GKmfHh4eJM/VkQA-cxAGxI/AAAAAAAAEho/kG4ynWJzL2k/s320/Taxi-in-London.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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The back of his neck is hard and shows strength. There is a thick vein winding its way down from the hairline, I imagine a train coming down a steep mountain and I follow as it disappears into the tunnel of his Polo collar. Choo Choo.<br />
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The thickness of his black hair is freshly trimmed and straightened. I can tell that the slightest hint of moisture will cause soft baby curls to materialize and pop up all over his head. Presto Magico!<br />
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He holds himself erect, but not stiff. Confidant, he glances left and right with hardly a move. He silently and unknowingly offers security and control. I accept. I wonder what would happen if I reached up and touched that vein? I evade eye contact in the rear view mirror.<br />
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He brakes and turns toward me, I pay the fare. I glance at his name plate and say, "Nice ride, Raoul" and I tip him generously, after all, he has magical hair.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><script type="text/javascript"><!--
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-X4lxMrxpIZk/VkQEBxcesLI/AAAAAAAAEiE/1GHwUbuDdGY/s1600/Yelapa-village.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="184" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-X4lxMrxpIZk/VkQEBxcesLI/AAAAAAAAEiE/1GHwUbuDdGY/s320/Yelapa-village.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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...the scent took me back to a mountain on the island of Yelapa, Jalisco, Mexico, where a tall blond-haired and handsome Mexican, named Arturo, once handed me a stash of fragrant mountain-grown bud wrapped in the New York Times. The wrapping was unexpected.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><script type="text/javascript"><!--
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Old friend, I haven't sought you out for awhile. I have thought of things I need to tell you or work out with you, but it is always in the early or late hours as I lay alone, the hours when my brain starts spiraling with forty thousand disjointed ideas, fears, emotions, dreams, songs, poems, one line from a movie with Nicholson that I saw in the 70's, my Mama saying "I don't think I'm going to make it" and knowing, me, I won't go to the doctor, no, I won't, God, your will be done, needing a change, how to change, "Spare Change, Spare Change" dog misses his yard, I lost his yard, I should have tried harder, I'm sorry, need some magic, pull something off once more, I can sell, no, I don't like to sell, why not, it is honorable, people have needs - you fill those needs, nothing magic there, maybe that is why. I like magic, I want HIM, these people are insane, no really, they are certifiable, best play along. Old friend, it is hard to put into words.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
db<div class="blogger-post-footer"><script type="text/javascript"><!--
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-QSZJe2rnrWY/VkQHwoqj7oI/AAAAAAAAEik/ehzdC8SNNmo/s1600/glasgow.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="281" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-QSZJe2rnrWY/VkQHwoqj7oI/AAAAAAAAEik/ehzdC8SNNmo/s400/glasgow.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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</div>
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<span style="color: #b45f06; font-size: xx-small;">You can listen to Coltrane - After the Rain as you read.</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="color: #b45f06;">(video below post)</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="color: black; font-size: large;">Glasgow</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
Glasgow was as dark and murky as a scene from a Dickens novel. The rain was coming down so hard it splashed up from the ground to soak pants and shoes and the roar of it gave everything a "film noir" mysterious aura.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Outside the Glasgow train station I stood soaking wet and shivering with the cold and I watched you. You were propped in a darkened doorway like a knickknack in a shadowbox. Bless, you looked lost and confused and slightly wobbly. You stole a bit of my heart that night. I looked at you and made eye contact and that is exactly when you stole it from me. I felt a jolt inside my chest and became giddy like schoolgirl. I wanted to play with you. A stranger in a strange country, had I lost my mind? I wanted to take you home and lock you in my room and keep you all to myself like a secret souvenir. My hands wanted to smooth your wild copper curls, my lips wanted to taste your lips. Your lips were full and ripe, that's not something I have ever thought about a man's lips, but yours did look deliciously ripe and I wanted to taste...savor them. I wanted you. Apparently, you wanted me too. I had a six hour layover.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
It was crazy really, I hadn't thought about a man in...well honestly, I don't recall. Maybe the job was getting to me, I had been traveling so much, I wouldn't even know I was in Scotland if it wasn't for the sign hanging over the station door, maybe I had travelers lag, I don't know. I do know I will never regret a moment of the evening.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Whatever excuse I give myself for the way I reacted doesn't really matter now, it has been almost three years since that night and I still wouldn't mind taking you home and locking you in my room. I hope you will take care of my bit of heart. I cherish the bit I took from you. You're my special curio.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Dark and murky Glasgow holds a special charm for me.</div>
<br />
<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/dCoGXMr-FOI" width="420"></iframe></div>
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<pre style="text-align: left; white-space: pre-wrap; word-wrap: break-word;"></pre>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-uVTQFe8djTE/UMGSWOPngmI/AAAAAAAACZM/9uIiXTZ4NgQ/s1600/fire.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-uVTQFe8djTE/UMGSWOPngmI/AAAAAAAACZM/9uIiXTZ4NgQ/s640/fire.jpg" height="424" width="640" /></a></div>
<pre style="text-align: left; white-space: pre-wrap; word-wrap: break-word;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">
</span></pre>
<pre style="text-align: left; white-space: pre-wrap; word-wrap: break-word;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">
</span></pre>
<pre style="text-align: left; white-space: pre-wrap; word-wrap: break-word;"><blockquote style="white-space: normal;">
<blockquote>
<span style="background-color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><span style="color: #cccccc;">TO SOME I HAVE TALKED TO BY THE FIRE</span></span><br />
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';">
<i><span style="font-family: Arial;"><b>by: William Butler Yeats (1865-1939)</b></span></i></div>
</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<ul style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; white-space: normal;"><ul>
<dl>
<dt><img align="BOTTOM" border="0" src="http://www.poetry-archive.com/w_pic.gif" height="26" naturalsizeflag="3" width="35" />HILE I wrought out these fitful Danaan rhymes,</dt>
<dt>My heart would brim with dreams about the times</dt>
<dt>When we bent down above the fading coals</dt>
<dt>And talked of the dark folk who live in souls</dt>
<dt>Of passionate men, like bats in the dead trees;</dt>
<dt>And of the wayward twilight companies</dt>
<dt>Who sigh with mingled sorrow and content,</dt>
<dt>Because their blossoming dreams have never bent</dt>
<dt>Under the fruit of evil and of good:</dt>
<dt>And of the embattled flaming multitude</dt>
<dt>Who rise, wing above wing, flame above flame,</dt>
<dt>And, like a storm, cry the Ineffable Name,</dt>
<dt>And with the clashing of their sword-blades make</dt>
<dt>A rapturous music, till the morning break</dt>
<dt>And the white hush end all but the loud beat</dt>
<dt>Of their long wings, the flash of their white feet.</dt>
</dl>
</ul>
</ul>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; white-space: normal;">
</div>
<center style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; white-space: normal;">
<table border="0" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="2" style="width: 75%px;"><tbody>
<tr><td bgcolor="#c6bc9d" width="100%"><span style="font-family: Arial;">"To Some I Have Talked With by the Fire" is reprinted from <u>The Rose</u>. W.B. Yeats. 1893.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</center>
</pre>
<div class="blogger-post-footer"><script type="text/javascript"><!--
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<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7803/50/1600/finger.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7803/50/320/finger.jpg" style="cursor: hand; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px;" /></a><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em><span style="color: #990000;"><strong>SHOPTALK</strong></span></em> </span></span><br />
<strong><span style="color: #990000;"><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Users, losers.<br />
Intentional abusers.<br />
<br />
Why are you here?<br />
<br />
Hating, abating.<br />
Obviously waiting.<br />
<br />
Why are you here?<br />
<br />
To feed off the rest.<br />
Ridicule - make jest.<br />
<br />
I would like to send you out for repair.</span></span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="color: #990000;"><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"><em>Your tainted.</em></span><br />
</span></span></span><span style="color: #660000; font-size: 78%;">db </span></strong><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: 78%;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">original post 12-08-2001</span> Written in 1991</span><span style="font-size: 78%;"></span></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script type="text/javascript"><!--
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<br />
<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">rise and rise above the influences<br />
rise above the questions, the degradations, the nuances<br />
rise above the unnamed fears, the pains, the transgressions </span></strong></span></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color: #ffcc66; font-family: Trebuchet MS; font-size: 130%;">rise high above the imbalance, the reactions, and the depressions</span></strong></div><div align="center"><span style="color: #ffcc66; font-family: arial; font-size: 130%;"><strong>rise for the scattered day</strong></span></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color: #ffcc66; font-family: Arial; font-size: 130%;">you <em>must</em> rise for the scattered day</span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color: #ffcc66; font-family: Arial; font-size: 130%;"></span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color: #ffcc66; font-family: Arial; font-size: 130%;">~</span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color: #ffcc66; font-family: Arial; font-size: 130%;"></span></strong></div><div align="left"><span style="color: #cc6600;"><strong><em></em></strong></span></div><div align="left"><span style="color: #cc6600;"><strong><em>db <span style="color: black;">04/19/06</span></em></strong></span></div><div align="left"><strong><em><span style="color: #cc6600;"></span></em></strong></div><div align="left"><strong><em><span style="color: #cc6600;">Art :</span></em></strong></div><div align="left"><strong><em><span style="color: #cc6600; font-size: 78%;"><a href="http://www.karenjerome.com/treehouses_3.htm" target="_top">http://www.karenjerome.com/treehouses_3.htm</a></span></em></strong></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script type="text/javascript"><!--
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<strong><span style="color: #cc6600;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">DARK WORLD</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I stepped into your dark world<br />
Drank from your angry cup<br />
I walked into your blackness<br />
Now you must give me up<br />
<br />
No longer will I close my eyes,<br />
to your unholy hate<br />
I will turn and walk away<br />
For I know you are not my fate </span></span></strong></div><div align="left"><br />
</div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">db</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script type="text/javascript"><!--
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<br />
The heat from you is strong<br />
I can smell your blood<br />
I hear the sound as it pulses<br />
I see the beat, the rhythm<br />
I cannot help but take you<br />
<br />
You feel my need, you sense<br />
You come to me<br />
I taste you slowly<br />
<br />
Relish<br />
<br />
You succumb, you become<br />
We are one<br />
Then I am gone<br />
<br />
db</strong></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #cc0000;"><span style="font-size: 130%;"><strong> </strong></span></span><span style="color: black;">original post 12-08-2001 - Originally written in 1995</span></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script type="text/javascript"><!--
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<span style="color: #cc0000;"><span style="font-size: 130%;"><br />
useless<br />
no reason to be<br />
<br />
kaleidoscope<br />
i don't see<br />
<br />
wounds<br />
blinding me<br />
<br />
drained<br />
apathy</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: 78%;"><em><span style="color: #cc6600;">db</span></em></span></div><img alt="" border="0" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7803/50/320/111kaleidoscope.jpg" style="cursor: hand; display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" /><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #660000;">db</span><br />
<span style="color: black; font-size: x-small;">original post 12-08-2001 written 1993</span><br />
<span style="color: black; font-size: x-small;">This blog originated as "Ramblings of a Manic Depressive" I just wanted a place to keep these poems. It was private for a long time. It still feels strange to share them.</span><br />
<span style="color: white; font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: black;">I found out there was a book by that name published in the 70's, so I had to change</span> it. </span></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script type="text/javascript"><!--
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<div><span style="color: #993300; font-family: trebuchet ms; font-size: large;"><strong>trapped<br />
backed into the wall with no escape route<br />
trapped by the times I didn't think<br />
clutched by circumstances I don't own<br />
breathless with anxiety my body tightly closing in<br />
stopped cold by obligations debts owed to all<br />
I want it to end I need it to stop<br />
I scream in my mind<br />
I have no where to go<br />
my body has failed me my mind has escaped me<br />
Will God help such a hapless soul?</strong></span></div><br />
<br />
db<div class="blogger-post-footer"><script type="text/javascript"><!--
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<br />
<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7803/50/1600/FRED%20%20FRACTAL%20%20DEMISE.jpg"><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7803/50/400/FRED%20%20FRACTAL%20%20DEMISE.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;color:#999900;"><strong>Contributors</strong></span><br />
<span style="color:#999900;"></span><br />
<strong><span style="color:#999900;">You have all contributed to my demise.<br />
<br />
When you took my love and returned no heart<br />
you contributed.<br />
<br />
When you turned on me and spewed me with your hate.<br />
you contributed.<br />
<br />
When you falsely accused me of what I would never conceive<br />
you contributed.<br />
<br />
When you used your children and threw them up<br />
you contributed.<br />
<br />
What you left behind is a fractured shell.</span></strong><br />
<br />
<strong><span style="color:#999900;">I attempt to rebound , to lift up my head. </span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="color:#999900;"><br />
Just empty eyes remain. The spirit is dead.</span></strong><br />
<br />
db<div class="blogger-post-footer"><script type="text/javascript"><!--
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</script></div>Dona Bogarthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18000894844085280065noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3236324.post-1149785103092750962009-12-10T11:43:00.003-06:002011-07-27T23:03:30.463-05:00Illusions<script type="text/javascript">
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This is another from Ramblings. I am trying to write something fresh for next week. Something not so dark. We will see.<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7803/50/1600/chromosonesmall.jpg" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7803/50/320/chromosonesmall.jpg" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" /></a><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="color: #9fc5e8;"><i><b>Illusions</b></i></span><br />
<span style="color: #cfe2f3;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="color: #9fc5e8;">How can I sit here pretending.<br />
<br />
When I really want to scream.<br />
<br />
How can I fake it.<br />
<br />
The thought to me is obscene.<br />
<br />
The daily act of living,<br />
<br />
is too much sometimes to bear.<br />
<br />
Maybe I could just smile and nod.<br />
<br />
Let them think I care.</span><br />
<span style="color: #9fc5e8;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="color: #9fc5e8;">db</span><br />
<span style="color: #cfe2f3; font-size: xx-small;">original post 12-08-2001</span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script type="text/javascript"><!--
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<b>It's Not That Easy To Die</b><br />
<br />
Mama wouldn't like it if I left a mess.<br />
People want to see your face when you are laid to rest.<br />
I could try and hit the heart, but I might miss.<br />
Way too much blood, if you go for the wrist.<br />
Drugs might not be that easy to trace, but I don't want to die with vomit in my face.<br />
I guess I'll give it another try.<br />
It's not that easy to die.<br />
<br />
db<br />
<br />
<span style="color: black;">original post 12-08-2001</span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script type="text/javascript"><!--
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<span style="color: #993300;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">WALLBANGER</span></b></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #993300; font-size: large;"><strong>The highs are as bad as the lows<br />
Like a speed freak on a jones<br />
Bouncing off the walls<br />
Unknowingly clenching my jaws<br />
I feel I'm moving too fast<br />
My future is quickly becoming my past<br />
I'm tired and I want to rest<br />
First I must finish this<br />
Cosmo personality test.</strong></span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #990000;">db</span><br />
<span style="color: black;">original post 12-08-2001</span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script type="text/javascript"><!--
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