From: owner-eda-thoughts-digest@smoe.org (eda-thoughts-digest) To: eda-thoughts-digest@smoe.org Subject: eda-thoughts-digest V4 #4 Reply-To: eda-thoughts@smoe.org Sender: owner-eda-thoughts-digest@smoe.org Errors-To: owner-eda-thoughts-digest@smoe.org Precedence: bulk eda-thoughts-digest Sunday, January 14 2001 Volume 04 : Number 004 * If you ever wish to unsubscribe, send an email to * eda-thoughts-digest-request@smoe.org with ONLY * the word unsubscribe in the body of the email * . * PLEASE :) when you reply to this digest to send a post TO the list, * change the subject to reflect what your post is about. A subject * of Re: eda-thoughts-digest V3 #xxx or the like gives readers no clue * as to what your message is about. Today's Subjects: ----------------- ET: poems from Roya [RJonthego@aol.com] ---------------------------------------------------------------------- Date: Sat, 13 Jan 2001 13:31:07 EST From: RJonthego@aol.com Subject: ET: poems from Roya Come Back Goodbye's are always the same either this phone or the cordless wishing my breath would hurry and breathe inhale and exhale so I could get back to my fast-writing pen and my long-lasting tears and cold blankets that I kick off in the night anyway. turning it all into material blue ink instead of blood hello's instead of godawful goodbye's that take too long to say, but never do justice to the happier hours I spent on this phone or the cordless my heart beats a little slower, echoeing a little louder in ears that have heard too many excuses and not enough poetry. ** Another Love Poem to another boy who's fingers skip over a guitar, or keyboard, who's voice laughs or tickles, who pushes my hand across teh page the way he pushes his hair off of his forehead which has, upon occasion wrinkled with concern, when he sees that I've stayed up all night again and asks to be woken if it happens tonight. and he will play me Beatles and make me hot cider and when I look down, his breath will catch, and I will reach for a pen to write another love poem. *** Poem, Poem, Poem, Poem sitting on the kitchen floor, like a hippie, he said because I don't care, if the chairs are taken? I realized I just turned myself into a poem and wonder if I am stronger, being a four letter word and can I melt hearts with a well turned phrase? What else is a poem good for then? *** swinging on a leash, to freedom, then back to cement and fireants, my photo collection has doubled since the last time I saw you but I can't tell you exactly how else I've changed. I haven't told you which poems are for you but you haven't called me back. ** Running On Empty When I open all the stpps and slice away the ropes and nothing happens. No Indiana Jones-escape running from ghosts and girls or getting sliced by machetes you never see him bleed. stealing lines from books of poetry from a man who might not even be dead yet - i haven't bothered to check. Just some old bastard, typing poetry alone like all the rest of us. I'm not even trying to earn a living yet, just to live and I am listening to the wrong kind of music if I'm looking for inspiration. nothing comes out. ** A Woman In Orange wants to sparkle all the time and stop smelling of pumpkin pie and she crunches maple leaves beneath her feet as she lindy hops around the block. I am on a bicycle, looking for the girl who got away because we had no whipped cream and only evergreens grew in our yard. When I track her down, I will tell her that her sweater is such her color, and she is getting riper all the time. Then maybe she will teach me how to dance. ** Swinging From The Hook i'm caught again in a world of bad dreams being chased by men with no faces and hung like slaughterhouse animals. i swing, i am stuck, i am wondering what is going on, and how i let myself be caught. you are the pain, the excrutiating pain through my mouth to my head and i am still attracted to the bait even while i am swinging from the hook. *** Now She's Free her paper has no lines her roads - no cars only her feet, and they can dance if no one's watching, she refuses to get stuck inside of thoughts, or rolled and put inside a bottle, to call for help. she will kep walking writing, all night if she has to down the middle of the paper, the rod, with no lines. her back is towards me, and i think i might start smoking so that i can't see her that clearly. now that she's left, she wants no one to follow, but i don't think i could move anyway, i'm standing in the middle of the cars she's banished from her world and all she sees is sky while i see more empty space to be alone. ** Share the Pain i will write one more because although my eyes are closing and i am coughing and my arm is aching i was told to write through everything and you will read my words because i have command enough to write them which means i can command you to read them and even like them even if they're about you. see, i wrote despite my back which is cracking and now i have one more piece of nothing to show for it. read my nothings and sigh and agree, that no one can write about nothing quite the way i can. ***** roya "a little bit of obsession helps." steve martin ------------------------------ End of eda-thoughts-digest V4 #4 ********************************