ASF Poetry Thread

[2020hindsight]

2020, Perhaps it means the guy lost most of his money following advice from the Financial Times and needed the pen to pick a horse in his racing paper.

you mean, the way a few of us choose our shares ?
close your eyes and stab...

I personally prefer a dart, lol

btw, true story m8 - ok maybe for 1 hour - and maybe the pen cost more than 10c ..
btw "for five hours" meant to sound like 4 5 hours etc

for an hour I just memorised rhymes *
while I searched for a twenty cent pen -

* = (and swore at the dog because rather than help find the pen she only wanted to play with a bludy ball)

and also I swallowed that bludy fly lol
used to do it regularly - back when I used to whistle all the time
but yesterday as I was coughing and trying to spit the damned thing up, (unsuccessfully) I suddenly wondered what the fly's take on all this was...

PS very awkward meterage...
If I were writing it again I'd probably rewrite it as follows:-

btw, not much you can do with "obviously oblivious" = (/ - - - - / - - ) = a string of unstressed syllables - -
except maybe (what I would do anyways)
a) pretend it's intentionally awkward, and just enjoy messing around with words (refer next post)
or

b) leave out half the verbs and prepositions and (hopefully optional) syllables and stuff and hope people understand what the hell you're trying to say ... (would help if I added some punctuation marks I guess)

PS I have recently twigged that if you make lines shorter, e.g. split them into two - then it's easier to pick up the meter earlier in the poem (PS I have a lot to learn about this lol ). Sometimes I make first stressed syllable start with a capital - I doubt that anyone else before of since has needed to do that - in good , even half-decent poetry it should be obvious I guess.

PS 'buzzer' meant to sound like 'bastard' - which is something a buddhist monk wouldn't say presumably - who nose?

THE BUDDHIST MONK WHO SWALLOWED THE FLY - TAKE 2

- - / - - / - - / - - / ,
he was Walking and Whistling and Swallowed a fly

- - / - - - / - - , / - - /
that was Obvious obLivious ! Headphones on High ?:scratch:

- - / - - /, - - / - - /
then his Whistling went Sus, he went Cross-eyed and Cried :22_yikes:

- - / - - / -, - - / - - /
"oh you Poor little Buzzer !! that's the Last flight you've Flied !!"

yes I know - pathetic lol - whatever

 

[2020hindsight]

JUST MESSING AROUND WITH WORDS

Some men get their kicks just messing with boats
or messing with irons and woods
and some get their kicks just messing with quotes
- or just messing around with words. : 1.5 one and a halfcents

(PS If I could afford it, I'd be out playing golf, m8 - or messing around in boats for that matter - ahh, whatever. )

 

[2020hindsight]

an article based on an interview with Frankie Hyde.. in the Catholic Weekly...
(first time I've read that particular publication - but I agree with the bottom line, he was a good man)
http://www.catholicweekly.com.au/02/jul/28/16.html

Conversation: A life of faith ‘straight between the posts’ - Frank Hyde, football player, coach, journalist, broadcaster
By Damir Govorcin

Frank Hyde, MBE, OAM, regarded as the doyen of rugby league broadcasters, has packed a great deal of living into his 86 years. He has been a player, coach, administrator, journalist (he wrote a sporting column for The Catholic Weekly for 25 years), pop star (he had a top 10 hit in the 1970s with Danny Boy), charity worker, family man (he and wife Gaby – married for 60 years – have six children) and devout Catholic.

Only a recent heart attack has threatened to slow down one of life’s true gentlemen. Frank says that, on reflection, his faith has been the driving force behind his impressive list of achievements.

“I was a product of the Depression, so everything I have achieved in my life is a direct result of my faith,” he says. “I hate to think where I would have ended up if I didn’t believe in Christ. It helped me get through some tough times, and I have never forgotten the sacrifices my parents made.”

Frank has never been one to beat his own drum, but his contribution to the game of rugby league in particular and to society in general has been enormous. As a broadcaster, Hyde was seen as a trail-blazer, revolutionising the way the game was called.

His memorable “It’s high enough, it’s long enough and it’s straight between the posts”, will go down in the annals of sports broadcasting.

Frank ruled the airwaves with radio station 2SM for 31 years, never being beaten in the ratings. Sports broadcasters in Australia today will tell you they owe him a great debt. “Most of today’s callers were smart enough to realise there will only ever be one Frank Hyde and weren’t silly enough to try to copy him,” says columnist Mike Gibson.

“In the business of calling football matches, Frank created a wonderful tradition that today’s commentators have carried on. “I don’t think any of them will ever be Frank Hyde, nor would they want to be. I think everyone in the radio game accepts that Frank Hyde alone was the voice of rugby league … and always will be.”

As a devout Catholic Frank has spent all his life helping the less fortunate. It was not uncommon for him to finish calling a game at the Sydney Cricket Ground, then venture across to the Matthew Talbot Hostel where his duties would include arranging the beds for the night and helping residents wash.

“It’s funny because I would go down to help and the residents would abuse me for giving the man of the match award to the wrong bloke,” he recalls. “It was all in good fun. “But, seriously, helping the less fortunate made me never take things in my life for granted.”

Long-time friend and fellow broadcaster John Brennan says Hyde should be classified by the National Trust as an Australian treasure. “He’s a national icon, a sacred personage, and I don’t think other commentators have ever had the vision that Frank had,” he says.

“Frank had a profound influence on my life. He upheld all the great traditional Christian values. He stood, and still stands, for all that is good in life. He is disciplined, a loving family man, a devout Christian.”

Come December, Frank and his wife Gaby will be celebrating their 60th anniversary. (maybe an edit due here). Frank says jokingly that he doesn’t know why Gaby has stayed with him for so long. But he adds that he would be nothing without her. Tolerance and love have been the cornerstones of their relationship, he says.

“We have had our ups and downs, but I have grown to love Gaby even more,” he says. “God has been so good to me in many respects, and everything I have in life would mean nothing without her. “We have learnt to be tolerant of one another, and to never forget that we love each other.”

Last month, Frank sent a scare through his family and friends when he suffered a heart attack. He has been in and out of hospital ever since, but insists that he is slowly on the road to recovery.

His poor health forced him to turn down an invitation to a Kangaroo Tour reunion dinner and to miss the one-off Test match in which Australia defeated Great Britain 64-10. " I’m still under doctor’s orders, so I have to play it on the safe side,” he said. “I’m working my way back to health and plan to be around for some time yet.”

Such is his standing in the game that even though he never made a Kangaroo Tour to Great Britain and France, Frank continually gets invited to the reunion dinners.

Former Australian Rugby League boss Ken Arthurson says: “The Kangaroos are a pretty select club, as they should be, and they do not welcome outsiders to their annual get-together.

“But Frank is asked, and on a regular basis.

“I think the thing that appeals to me most about Frank Hyde, and why I genuinely like him, like listening to him speak, and why I am so interested in his views on things, is that the man is so sincere. “He is a very decent, highly principled person and it’s that quality of sincerity in the way he speaks and the way in which he conducts his life that endears him to people.”

THE BOUNCE OF THE BALL

that’s the end of another season
and a pause in the sportscaster’s call
and the end of the rhyme and the reason
as we analysed biffo and brawl
why we won in the rain and the freezin
where the wingers dive over and spawl
or where luck played a hand in treason
and we lost to the bounce of the ball.

some would say it’s a training session
that you learn how to rise when you fall
a confession expelling aggression
for that last final rise on God’s call
just as footie’s a game of obsession
from divine to obscene in one mall
praps our life is a game of possession?
just a temporary run with the ball?

that’s the end of old Frankie Hyde's season
and the end of old Frankie’s call
and the end of his wit and his wheezing
(and the end of his coffin and all)
some would say its less luck and more passion
and the measure’s “how morally tall”
either way old Frankie should cash in
he transcended the bounce of the ball.

let's assume that HIS God agrees
and gives him a favourable call
let's assume that he’s granted the keys
to pass through that last pearly door..
.........
gee I hope MY God’s easy to please
and he doesn’t lay down divine law
since I haven’t prayed much on my knees
should I pray for the bounce of the ball?

 

[2020hindsight]

SIMILES AND METAPHORS
I found this in some old school book...
how many of each in the above
I make it 7 of each (I guess)

CONCRETE MIXERS
by Patricia Hubbell

The drivers are washing the concrete mixers;
Like elephant tenders they hose them down.
Tough grey-skinned monsters standing ponderous,
Elephant-bellied and elephant-nosed,
Standing in muck up to their wheel-caps,
Like rows of elephants, tail to trunk.
Their drivers perch on their backs like mahouts,
Sending the sprays of water up.
They rid the trunk-like trough of concrete,
Direct the spray to the bulging sides,
Turn and start the monsters moving.

Concrete mixers
Move like elephants
Bellow like elephants
Spray like elephants,

Concrete mixers are urban elephants,
Their trunks are raising a city.

SIMILES AND METAPHORS (1)
the date was going swimmingly
they’d paid the bill and run
he suggested what he was sweating for
was to stay up and see the sun
the girl said smiling “simile
it’s not like I’m a nun”
and that was what he’d metaphor
to have a bit of fun

SIMILES AND METAPHORS (2)
If you say your brother "is" an ass
well that’s a metaphor,
it’s better to say he’s "like" an ass
cos that’s just a simile dig,
but if you say when he’s at the table
(and constantly yelling for "more")
it isn’t a question of "like" or not
he bloodiwell IS - . .. a pig!!

 

[2020hindsight]

further to previous post, and the
concrete mixer (truck) = elephant metaphor

Incidentally, I found a drink called a Cement Mixer - and post it to add some complete irrelevance..
reminds me I used to make a drink as a kid - pineapple cordial with milk - the milk instantly curdled , lol - just magic it was - tasted like (what I imagine) a spittoon would taste like (simile - not a metaphor)

moral to the story? - similes are powerful lol

The two components of a Cement Mixer.
A cement mixer is a shot drink. It consists of:
• 1 part Bailey's Irish Cream
• 1 part Lime juice (lemon juice may be substituted)
It is drunk by taking the shot of Bailey's, holding it in the mouth, then sipping the lime juice and swirling the two around the mouth. The acidic lime juice causes the cream-based Bailey's to curdle.

 

[2020hindsight]

THE IDLE MAN'S MIND IS THE WORKSHOP OF THE DEVIL

some men heal and some swing hammers
some lead horses round with rope
some men preach or teach in slammers
some just cruise and some just cope
but the minds the most attractive
for the devil to elope
are the sad and bored inactive
with no work, no help, no hope.

some men plough a field at sunrise
some get home long after dark
some men make an Easter bun rise
some play Santa for a lark
some retire into oblivion
no more to make their mark
but the devil's far best dividend?
those men just stuck in "park"!

it’s often through no fault of theirs
the way the dice have landed
the ones employed say “hell who cares
so what if they are stranded”
I allude to need again folks
we’re agreed that needs aren’t “level”
but the idle mind of men folks
is the workshop of the devil

some are racked with inhibition
but they struggle on in pain
some lament their own condition
but their struggle’s not in vain
some men’s spirit's into fishin
some men twirl their spirit levels
but the idle disposition
is the fishing hole of devils

let’s assume a gentle shin up
is the trigger some men need
just a chance to get their chin up
so self dignity can seed
let em just get one good win up
so their favoured side is freed
let em find a different pinup
to the devil and his breed

..............
Footnote on drugs

praps from "warn-ignored" “drug ember”
he turns sadist, sad self killer
and the man you won’t remember
turns to ugly and gorilla
praps the ugliest of ugly
praps the frightened-est of fear
may his mind get super lucky
may his monkey disappear.

may you both get super lucky
may his devil disappear.

 

[2020hindsight]

HEY - "NO INSULTS" CRIED THE CHIMP

sometimes Photographs are juxtaposed
to Show them as dead ringers
(different goaty praps or flatter nosed
or lullabies they sing us)
- comparisons extrapolated
- which is mental blimp ??
- whose brain cell's more dilapitated?
......
"no insults!" cried the chimp!!

 

[2020hindsight]

THE WINE LIST AT MY WAKE

I’m thinking I’ll stock a “penultimate fridge”
and fill it all up with beverage
it can range from insult to filthy rich
(and there’s damn all there that’s average)

and the plan would be that “the last out” pays
when I push off this mortal coil
and the range in booze can reflect my days
with the tons of fun and the toil

and throw in a case of a good shiraz
for the spice along the way
and throw in champagne for a bit of pizzazz
and a couple with which to spray

and throw in some coconut milk and yeast
and give them an hour of "romancing"
and see if the inhibition’s released
and the girls don’t start hula dancing

I wasn’t real smooth so a merlot’s not right
and I wasn’t real subtle – no sake
and I wasn’t real couth, so my mate’s can get tight
(there was plenty of course and khaki)

but the very best – yes the absolute bests
they will bludiwell have to guess at
..........
what I didn’t drink here, I gave to LIVE guests
OR I’ve taken on high – to bless at

 

[drillinto]

“Do You Have Any Advice For Those of Us Just Starting Out?"

Ron Koertge

Give up sitting dutifully at your desk. Leave
your house or apartment. Go out into the world.

It's all right to carry a notebook but a cheap
one is best, with pages the color of weak tea
and on the front a kitten or a space ship.

Avoid any enclosed space where more than
three people are wearing turtlenecks. Beware
any snow-covered chalet with deer tracks
across the muffled tennis courts.

Not surprisingly, libraries are a good place to write.
And the perfect place in a library is near an aisle
where a child a year or two old is playing as his
mother browses the ranks of the dead.

Often he will pull books from the bottom shelf.
The title, the author's name, the brooding photo
on the flap mean nothing. Red book on black, gray
book on brown, he builds a tower. And the higher
it gets, the wider he grins.

You who asked for advice, listen: When the tower
falls, be like that child. Laugh so loud everybody
in the world frowns and says, "Shhhh."

Then start again.


From Fever, 2006
Red Hen Press (USA)

 

[2020hindsight]

Fiery Jack - Ye Jacobites

http://www.thebards.net/music/lyrics/Ye_Jacobites_By_Name.shtml Background: Song about the Jacobite Revolution of 1746. The song was re-written by Robert Burns in 1791. Patrick D. writes, "I doubt that it is written about the Jacobite Uprising in 1745, and may be more of a warning against Jacobite sympathies and the possible consequences. Alternatively, since it was written in 1791, it could be a warning against Jacobinism during the French revolution

YE JACOBITES BY NAME (rewritten by Robbie Burns)

Ye Jacobites by name, lend an ear, lend an ear;
Ye Jacobites by name, lend an ear;
Ye Jacobites by name,
Your fautes I will proclaim,
Your doctrines I maun blame, you shall hear.

What is Right and what is Wrang, by the law, by the law?
What is Right and what is Wrang, by the law?
What is Right and what is Wrang?
A weak hand and a strang,
A short sword and the lang,for to draw.

What makes heroic strife, famed afar, famed afar?
What makes heroic strife, famed afar?
What makes heroic strife?
To whet th' assassin's knife
Or hunt a Parent's life, wi' bludie war?

Then let your schemes alone, in the state, in the state;
Then let your schemes alone, in the state;
Then let your schemes alone,
Adore the rising sun,
And leave a man undone, to his fate.

http://www.mysongbook.de/msb/songs/xyz/yejacobi.html The conventional perspective is again apparently discarded in Ye Jacobites by name, one of Burns' best party songs, which deals with the human misery lurking behind political slogans and begins with a bold challenge to the legitimists: [chorus].

This sounds like a Whig song, but it is not. The singer's strictures are framed in humanitarian terms, and form a grim exposé of the suffering and misery glossed over by the glib formulae of political theory. Divine Right however exalted is shown to be like other kinds of state power, ultimately based upon brute force; and lurking behind the fashionable cant about 'the just war' are the tragic realities of murder and parricide: [verses 1,2]

The song could easily have ended at this point, as a straightforward condemnation of the Jacobites' willingness to plunge the nation into civil war for the sake of a theory. As in so many of his better songs, however, Burns does not present the argument simply, but places it in a dramatic context which allows the true point of view to develop. Here he waits until the last moment before revealing that the singer is himself a Jacobite [???], an ironical twist that lifts the song at a stroke from the level of party strife to that of enduring general statement. [Verse 3]

The singer speaks from direct personal experience, from the vantage point of a political commitment which has destroyed him, to the Jacobites 'by name', the meddlers, adventurers, and foolish partisans blinded by their own propaganda. At no point does he lose sight of what ideology means in human terms: abstractions like right and wrong are irrelevant; in real life justice is meted out by the sword-length, and the weak are at the mercy of the strong. These soi-disant patriots are urged in a bitter coda to pursue self-interest within the established order of things.

And so political disillusionment is given perhaps its definitive statement in a 'goodnight' ballad of extraordinary directness and power. Burns looks beyond Jacobitism here, at war and the ordering of states, seeing with deadly clarity the violence upon which they are founded.

This song may reflect Burns's actual convictions. The tortuous complexity of his politics may conceal a very simple fact: maybe he didn't believe much in any of it, and assumed and discarded party labels largely in order to survive. He was, after all, a devious, proud and vulnerable man with many hostages to fortune, struggling to make his way without wealth, position or political influence in the corrupt and authoritarian ancient regime of late-eighteenth-century Scotland. He experienced and survived, (just) a major political purge as the government machine, reacting to the spread of French Revolutionary doctrines, attempted to eliminate its opponents in Scotland during the 1790s. (Donaldson, Song 85f)

 

[2020hindsight]

SCAB - Will Ye No' Come Back Again

Traditional Scottish Songs - Will Ye No Come Back Again?
After the defeat of Bonnie Prince Charlie at Culloden and his escape back to France, with the aid of Flora MacDonald, there were still many who hoped that he would return, some day. Here is a song about that sentiment, written by Carolina Oliphant (Lady Nairne) in the first half of the 19th century). There are a number of versions of this song, this is one of them.
You can download an MP3 version of this song from Margaret Donaldson's Web site.

Will Ye No Come Back Again?

Bonnie Chairlie's noo awa',
Safely ower the friendly main;
Mony a heart will break in twa',
Should he ne'er come back again.

Chorus:
Will ye no come back again?
Will ye no come back again?
Better lo'ed ye canna be,
Will ye no come back again?

Ye trusted in your Hielan' men,
They trusted you dear Chairlie.
They kent your hidin' in the glen,
Death or exile bravin'.
Chorus

We watched thee in the gloamin' hour,
We watched thee in the mornin' grey.
Tho' thirty thousand pounds they gie,
O there is nane that wad betray.
Chorus

Sweet the laverock' s note and lang,
Liltin' wildly up the glen.
But aye tae me he sings ae sang,
Will ye no' come back again?
Chorus

Meaning of unusual words:
gloamin'=twilight
laverock=skylark

 

[2020hindsight]

Another brilliant eulogy to a dog

The House Dog's Grave
by Robinson Jeffers (1887-1962)

I've changed my ways a little; I cannot now
Run with you in the evenings along the shore,
Except in a kind of dream; and you,
If you dream a moment,
You see me there.

So leave awhile the paw-marks on the front door
Where I used to scratch to go out or in,
And you'd soon open; leave on the kitchen floor
The marks of my drinking-pan.

I cannot lie by your fire as I used to do
On the warm stone,
Nor at the foot of your bed; no,
All the nights through I lie alone.

But your kind thought has laid me less than six feet
Outside your window where firelight so often plays,
And where you sit to read‚
And I fear often grieving for me‚
Every night your lamplight lies on my place.

You, man and woman, live so long, it is hard
To think of you ever dying.
A little dog would get tired, living so long.
I hope that when you are lying
Under the ground like me your lives will appear
As good and joyful as mine.

No, dears, that's too much hope:
You are not so well cared for as I have been.
And never have known the passionate undivided
Fidelities that I knew.
Your minds are perhaps too active, too many-sided...
But to me you were true.

You were never masters, but friends. I was your friend.
I loved you well, and was loved. Deep love endures
To the end and far past the end. If this is my end,
I am not lonely. I am not afraid. I am still yours.

 

[drillinto]

Very good poetry site ==> http://www.poetryfoundation.org/index.html

 

[2020hindsight]

Robinson Jeffers is a self- proclaimed pantheist
http://members.aol.com/PHarri5642/jeffers.htm
http://pages.infinit.net/noxoculi/jeffers.html

Robinson Jeffers' evocations of the divine in nature are so powerfully
depicted in his poetry that he has served to revive our modern religious
sensibilities. His spiritual insights were in three major areas: First, he
has inspired mankind to see the world anew as the ultimate reality. Second,
he perceived and described the physical universe itself as immanently
divine. And finally, he challenged us to accept the ultimate demands of
modern science which assign humanity no real or ultimate importance in the
universe while also aspiring us to lives of spiritual celebration attuned to
the awe, beauty and wonder about us... etc born 1887

Jeffers and his wife Una moved to Carmel in 1914. He described the
mid-California coastal area of the Monterey Coast/Santa Lucia Range as the
chief actor in his poetry. It was the beauty of this area that marked the
final shift of Jeffers' spirituality from hand-me-down Christianity to a
very personal pantheism. As he proclaims in "My Loved Subjects," a poem
published posthumously: "Mountain and ocean, rock, water, and beasts and
trees / Are the protagonists, the human people are only symbolic
interpreters."

When Jeffers came to this beautiful and still wild area he was determined to
be a poet but he had been unable to find an original voice. It was while
walking in the wilds of these surroundings that he was inspired to another
world-view than that given him by the history of Western culture. As the
anthropologist/author Loren Eiseley said of Jeffers: "Something utterly wild
had crept into his mind.The seabeaten coast, the fierce freedom of its
hunting hawks, possessed and spoke through him. It was one of the most
uncanny and compete relationships between a man and his natural background that I know in literature."

Sign-Post is a theological directive written by the poet who
has no dogma to dispense--except the fundamental realization that transcendence is needless
if the realization of divine immanence is achieved within the real world.
This perception is the basis of Jeffers Pantheism.


SIGN POST

Civilized, crying how to be human again: this will tell you how.
Turn outward, love things, not men, turn right away from humanity,
Let that doll lie. Consider if you like how the lilies grow,
Lean on the silent rock until you feel its divinity
Make your veins cold, look at the silent stars, let your eyes
Climb the great ladder out of the pit of yourself and man.
Things are so beautiful, your love will follow your eyes;
Things are the God, you will love God, and not in vain,
For what we love, we grow to it, we share its nature. At length
You will look back along the stars' rays and see that even
The poor doll humanity has a place under heaven.
Its qualities repair their mosaic around you, the chips of strength
And sickness; but now you are free, even to become human,
But born of the rock and the air, not of a woman.

 

[2020hindsight]

JEFFERS continued ...
a poem to his "dearly departed" wife...

In his final years, with his beloved wife Una now gone, Jeffers continued to write. In his final narrative poem Hungerfield, Jeffers concludes with a note to his wife which explains his understanding of death.

HUNGERFIELD

Here is the poem, dearest: you will never read it
nor hear it. You were more beautiful
Than a hawk flying; you were faithful and a lion heart like this
rough hero Hungerfield. But the ashes have fallen
And the flame has gone up; nothing human remains. You are
earth and air; you are in the beauty of the ocean
And the great streaming triumphs of sundown; you are alive
and well in the tender young grass rejoicing
When soft rain falls all night, and little rosy-fleeced clouds float
on the dawn.---I shall be with you presently.

 

[2020hindsight]

Very good poetry site ==> http://www.poetryfoundation.org/index.html

thanks m8
maybe manjana

 

[2020hindsight]

...

My name is Cocaine
(by anon)

My name is Cocaine - call me Coke for short.
I entered this country without a passport.
Ever since then I've made lots of scum rich.
Some have been murdered and found in a ditch.
I'm more valued than diamonds, more treasured than gold.
Use me just once and you too will be sold.
I'll make a schoolboy forget his books.
I'll make a beauty queen forget her looks.
I'll take renowned speaker and make a bore.
I'll take a mother and make her a wh-ore.
I'll make a schoolteacher forget how to teach.
I'll make a preacher not want to preach.
I'll take all your rent money and you'll get evicted.
I'll murder your babies or they'll be born addicted.
I'll make you rob and steal and kill.
When you're under my power you have no will.
Remember my friend my name is " Big C ".
If you try me just one time you may never be free.
I've destroyed actors, politicians and many a hero.
I've decreased bank accounts from millions to zero.
I make shooting and stabbing a common affair.
Once I take charge you won't have a prayer.
Now that you know me what will you do ?
You'll have to decide, It's all up to you.
The day you agree to sit in my saddle.
The decision is one that no one can straddle.
Listen to me, and please listen well.
When you ride with cocaine you are headed for hell !!!

Crack-cocaine delivers an intensity of pleasure beyond the bounds of normal human experience. Unfortunately, it delivers suffering beyond the bounds of normal human experience too. The pleasure it yields is brief. The suffering that follows may be prolonged. The brain's hedonic treadmill isn't easily cheated.

For all drug-taking - whether recreational, clinical, or even tomorrow's designer-drugs - is little more than glorified glue-sniffing compared to what's in prospect in centuries to come. Revolutionary gene-therapies, systematic germ-line re-writes and nanoscale hedonic-engineering can transform a fleeting crack-like intensity of well-being into an ingredient of everyday mental health. Our descendants may also be smarter. They may just conceivably be nicer. Until then, euphoric happiness of a crack-like intensity is probably too dangerous even to contemplate.

Yet kneejerk doom-mongering about Drugs is wrong. The future may be inconceivably better than we imagine. Crack-cocaine offers only a hellish parody of what lies ahead.

http://www.cocaine.org/resource/index.html

... How to Quit cocaine ...
http://www.cocaine.org/justsayno.html

alternatively how to fool the bladder cops ...
http://www.cocaine.org/drugtestfaq/index.html

http://www.theantidrug.com/teachersguide/activities_antidrugpoetry.asp
suggests teachers get kids involved with writin poetry about drugs

http://www.theantidrug.com/drug_info/drug_info_ecstasy.asp

Ecstasy

MDMA, called "Adam," "ecstasy," or "XTC" on the street, is a synthetic, psychoactive (mind-altering) drug with hallucinogenic and amphetamine-like properties. Its chemical structure is similar to two other synthetic drugs, MDA and methamphetamine, which are known to cause brain damage.

Beliefs about MDMA are reminiscent of similar claims made about LSD in the 1950s and 1960s, which proved to be untrue. According to its proponents, MDMA can make people trust each other and can break down barriers between therapists and patients, lovers, and family members.

Health Hazards

Physical and psychological symptoms. Many problems users encounter with MDMA are similar to those found with the use of amphetamines and cocaine. They are:

Psychological difficulties, including confusion, depression, sleep problems, drug craving, severe anxiety, and paranoia during and sometimes weeks after taking MDMA (in some cases, psychotic episodes have been reported).
Physical symptoms such as muscle tension, involuntary teeth clenching, nausea, blurred vision, rapid eye movement, faintness, and chills or sweating.
Increases in heart rate and blood pressure, a special risk for people with circulatory or heart disease.
Long-term effects. Recent research findings also link MDMA use to long-term damage to those parts of the brain critical to thought and memory. It is believed that the drug causes damage to the neurons that use the chemical serotonin to communicate with other neurons.

MDMA is also related in structure and effects to methamphetamine, which has been shown to cause degeneration of neurons containing the neurotransmitter dopamine. Damage to dopamine containing neurons is the underlying cause of the motor disturbances seen in Parkinson's disease. Symptoms of this disease begin with lack of coordination and tremors, and can eventually result in a form of paralysis.

etc I'm sure you all know all this stuff...

 

[2020hindsight]

EXPERIMENT AT WILL / EXPERIMENT WITH A WILL

try these drugs without restraint
experiment at will
this nice young pusher such a saint
says these are such a thrill
and if you’re feared of feeling faint
or freeze or fry or chill
it’s probably just a head complaint
so pop another pill

try these drugs they’re quite all right
and safe as barbie dolls
they’ll have you dancing half the night
like morons and mafia molls
hey don’t believe the stuff they write
that your old man espouses
ignore him – feel your brain ignite
you're the envy of all the wowsers

try these drugs, they’re all ok
they leave your mind full blown
just pay the pusher come what may
(but it’s YOU that he will own)
and after this you’ll be au fait
you’re heading for “combat zone”
hey crikey – now you’re instant grey!!
and..... let’s hope you grow out of this groan. :eek3:

 

[2020hindsight]

THE PUSHER (uncensored)

In the hurly burly hub hub - down the backstreets of debauchery
malevolent and menacing the pusher makes his way
they say he's blind to agony, the bodies on the balconies
the dirt and the depravity, the victims of his play.

the hookers lined along the street they play some game of hide and seek
their dresses up around their cheeks, their knickers full of holes
one blind to caution counts her bills from stockings lined with filthy frills
he grins his grin of countless kills – he flatters and cajoles

………………………………

her mind’s transported from her bed, by chemicals inside her head
back to a small suburban shed, where childhood dreams began
the lace and laughter singing , in her mind confusion ringing
while her laced up mind is clinging , thanks to pushers and their plan

they say that something has to give, in order that one lace will live
and which will take and which will give, demand exceeds supply
they say release is just an edge, you jump off to a broken pledge
beyond some non–returning ledge, where lace has gone awry

before the dancing of her demons, lacey pants and clients' semens
anything to humour he-mans, morals built on clay
and way back when the boy next door, would clumsy whisper “I adore”
before the cruel nickname “wh-ore”, and things just went astray

.........

The morning sun across her floor reveals an arm stretched out for more
a needle still impinging, and a tiny pinhole "gash"
no longer sad, no longer soiled - her youth so bright, her old age foiled
her mortal coil is now uncoiled – past pushers counting cash

 

[2020hindsight]

THOUGHTS BESIDE A LITTLE WHITE-WATER CREEK IN THE SUNSHINE

sun upon my head and shoulders
like a torch in ancient Rome
sets alight some mental folders
now to summarise that tome
from those fires and fire-walked boulders
that I’ve walked on as I’ve roamed
from those embers half remembered
something smoulders to a poem

blue as blue the sky above me
cyber ocean as it were
truly mother nature loves me
truer still that I love her
bonfire of my thoughts just now
make my outlook much more warm
help me keep it burn somehow
help my “Norm” change to this norm.

clear as clear the air is sunning
in my lungs and nostrils too
I can push it when I’m running
thoughts of air can fire the flue
as the warm thoughts guide and govern me
settle at my feet – accrue
truly mother nature loves me
have no doubt ma’m, I love you!

………..
sandstone layers here inclining
origins are long since filtered
where the sand was laid and binding
and the land has long since tilted
meanwhile berries birds are finding
as they squawk and chirp and boast
wonderful ! – I need reminding
blood is warm and rocks are toast

reflections on a chequered pool
of leaves and clouds on high
reflections of a life half cool
but much more warm in style
reflections of a side of me
with Nature as my wife
reflections where I only see
a bright reflective life.

……………………………

As I pass your babbling creek
where the waters splash and play
the babbling in my mind I seek
- rocks washed since bygone day
because those sounds are so unlike
the TV or the mobile phone
I’ll state them here, this verbal micre
this fade-out for this passing poem.

kersplash with racing notwithstanding
standing waves in strings galore
little crash onto rocky landing
next a waterfall or four
rapids racing round a corner
where the current changes tack
echoed semicircles born where
nature’s message bounces back.

…………

some little birds are draining beakfuls
drowning out their fears
the rain we used to get one week falls
roughly in five years
but when the global warming ****-falls
high priests argue with peers
But there’s no doubt that climate pit-falls
leave Mother Nature in tears