Rights and Responsibilities
April 17, 2008 at 7:20 pm | Posted in poetry, writing | 12 CommentsTags: poetry, writing
i stopped counting long ago,
the moment i pursued was not
when the coin landed my way
but when it was at the apex
of its arc
…irens songs a’plenty, every poet raging drunk,
around which cluster anthropologists
attempting to divine how to sign their nam…
It’s time to go, she said taking my elbow,
it’s time to go, good night,
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- The Australian Poet Laureate
- another quote from Robert Adamson January 31, 2010
- Three Quotes from Robert Adamson October 22, 2009
- The copyright question (2) October 7, 2009
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Comment by harmonie22— April 17, 2008 #
the ending has the power of this
Comment by Scot— April 17, 2008 #
at the apex of its arc…. oh i like that Paul.
can we dance in that moment forever?
the perfect moment when its neither left nor right, good nor bad, black nor white.
Comment by Lakota— April 17, 2008 #
Mayhaps that is why I am not a good poet is my lack of raging drunkeness. I knew there was something missing
Comment by ozymandiaz— April 17, 2008 #
sad, sad sad.I am sad
Comment by enigma— April 18, 2008 #
a pinprick tragedy…a slightly-more-than mildly annoying wound to the heart handled with seriousness and dignity…
Comment by Chico Mahalo— April 18, 2008 #
Oh oh Harmonie, if you ever come back here, highlight and search, just the line every poet raging drunk. which is brilliant, and i am in front of Ben Johnson, the legendary genius of Ben Johnson, poet and drunk extraordaire, and i have pipped him at the post, 600 years later, people think i am mad,
Comment by Paul— April 18, 2008 #
oh oh oh Paul, I came back, highlighted, and laughed MAO for about twenty minutes.
Yes, you were in front of him (and six hundred years in front of him too), you mad pip, yes you, and what would you be if you were not mad, how boring to not be mad, and what is madness but the margin of the myth of man, where art is born, what would your poems be if not for that fine line between the M’ness and G’ness we seek in the bottle’s dregs…all of us poets are mad, don’t you know, it comes with the turf—and raging drunk whenever we can be. Cheers.
Comment by harmonie22— April 18, 2008 #
blue, blue, my heart is blue
the tune is in my head
I bequeath it to you
red, red, the lives I’ve led
I never put a bullet
through my head
’cause I was yellow, yellow,
with little green spots
the little green spots
they hurts a lot
that coin, that coin,
it stayed in the air
I’m underneath it
looking up there
it shines, it shine
it shines it do
if i could catch it
I’d give it to you
Comment by rick mobbs— April 19, 2008 #
the reason i keep coming back to this piece is because i really wanted to put this woman in a white dress but i couldn’t, there was no way tp fit the words in without upsetting the balance,
Comment by Paul— April 19, 2008 #
ooohhhh my… RikkiTikki’s response…. ~mouthing gaping open as I gaze at the invisible coin in awe~
Comment by Lakota— April 19, 2008 #
I love the byplay of this one. The image of her grabing his elbow and pulling him from conversation. (grin)
Comment by nectarfizz— April 22, 2008 #