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C C
Sep 25, 2021 09:54 PM
(This post was last modified: Sep 26, 2021 08:02 PM by C C.)
It's almost October. You know what that means: Creepy lyrics month. ... (Yeah, after _X_ revisions, finally nailed it. Beat the editing limit deadline.)
- - - - - -
The Only Horror That's Left
Yellowed paint had been scraped away,
Revealing two childish, bloodstained scrawls.
But who cares what it might betray
Of old secrets squirreled in the walls?
These days are poisonous for thrills,
Ghost stories and psycho slayer flicks,
That no longer enkindle chills.
Hah, monsters moved on to politics.
Plunging deeper than a knife,
Is that why you feel bereft,
Now that real life
Has become the only horror that's left?
When imagination projects
No threats among the listless shadows,
When all the prim, cannibal crones
Get impaled in the fields as bad prose...
Then you know you've overtaken
This funeral march's final act.
The big screens have been forsaken;
Outside, their trashed palaces look sacked.
Plunging deeper than a knife,
Is that why you feel bereft,
Now that real life
Has become the only horror that's left?
In-laws ooze like conspiracy,
The Fool's Leap of debt grows steeper.
A crisis of infidelity,
Repo man looms like the grim reaper.
Accidents, illness, and lastly,
Hospital is a second abode.
You wish for nightmares more ghastly
To watch or read before you explode.
Plunging deeper than a knife,
Is that why you feel bereft,
Now that real life
Has become the only horror that's left?
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C C
Sep 27, 2021 10:54 PM
(This post was last modified: Sep 28, 2021 04:49 AM by C C.)
This one is more befitting of the Halloween spirit. "Sib" is short for "sibling", not Sibyl. And "dee-eye-dee", of course, is a vague reference to or suggestion of something along the line of Dissociative Identity Disorder.
- - - - - -
Sib
Whispering, pleading to sister dear.
Imploring to no one near.
Could you allow me out today?
I'd like to feel the warm light and play.
Peering through the spyhole in the door.
Seeing no one anymore.
You don't really like the sun.
And I know how you accomplish fun.
I'm the lock; throw the key to the Moon.
If it sparkles, let her roam.
If it darkles, leave her home.
Hope you're not picked like a banjo tune.
Slithering closer to sister dear.
Deftly chanting in her ear.
Could you feed me something sweet?
Long months have bled since I've had a treat.
Murdering countess, lady spider;
They pale beside my Rider.
Combing through night baneful gowned,
The lonesome world is her stalking ground.
I'm the lock; throw the key to the Moon.
If it sparkles, let her roam.
If it darkles, leave her home.
Hope you're not picked like a banjo tune.
We dream of being an amputee.
Clinic calls us dee-eye-dee.
Oh, but these aren't crippling whims,
Since both of us want to keep our limbs.
Funny priests cast out the demon's rage.
But I'm trapped in a domed cage.
My dear conscience, this I vow
Someday you'll be the severed bough.
I'm the lock; throw the key to the Moon.
If it sparkles, let her roam.
If it darkles, leave her home.
Hope you're not picked like a banjo tune.
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Zinjanthropos
Sep 28, 2021 01:19 AM
(This post was last modified: Sep 28, 2021 01:20 AM by Zinjanthropos.)
Was listening to Hendrix this aft and felt inspired. Never became one but was on the fringe of the culture. There still might be a few around. Their greatest legacy may be the music from the era which has stood the test of time. I look at whats going on now and compare it to them and leads me to think nature is currently in rinse/repeat mode. Was going to put this in poetry but I had a tune in my head
Max Yasgur's Kids
They hated war, and its sons
Made love and dodged the guns
Communal life, peace for the soul
Drugs, and sex, and rock 'n roll
Searched not for material wealth
Completely disregarding health
Psychedelic patterned flair
Braless breasts and unkempt hair
Flower powered family van
Disliked working for 'the man'
Establishment was not the norm
Demanded government reform
They freed themselves, apart from state
Yet never could escape their fate
Retired, pensioned, 400K
Visits grandkids every day
Eventually became 'the man'
Not according to the plan
The Sun has set, awaiting dawn
Where have all the Hippies gone?
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C C
Sep 28, 2021 03:12 AM
^ ^ ^ ^ ^
The last verse reminds me of the cover of National Lampoon's Tenth Anniversary Anthology 1970 - 1980, where the "suit" is looking back at himself on the other side.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Tenth...931980.jpg
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/National_L..._1970-1980
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Zinjanthropos
Sep 28, 2021 12:53 PM
(Sep 28, 2021 03:12 AM)C C Wrote: ^ ^ ^ ^ ^
The last verse reminds me of the cover of National Lampoon's Tenth Anniversary Anthology 1970 - 1980, where the "suit" is looking back at himself on the other side.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Tenth...931980.jpg
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/National_L..._1970-1980
By far, my favourite reading while growing up. I remember that cover. Even though gone I predict similar humorous covers on other mags for a temporary woke generation. That is if permitted, might have to go underground. It’s as if the hippies suddenly realized the movement didn’t guarantee survival, it was time to assimilate.
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Zinjanthropos
Oct 1, 2021 03:53 PM
CC....after reading your thread title 'Living in a Cosmic Dream' in the logic/metaphysics subform I felt compelled to borrow it. Also inspired this a.m. to spin this little ditty and yes there was a tune in mind at the time. Maybe outdid myself with this one since I don't usually get into metaphysics or whatever it's called when scientists start thinking it.
Living in a Cosmic Dream
I ask, I pause, I ponder
Whether life is as it seems
Am I really living
Within a cosmic dream
Often start to wonder
About all of what I've seen
Those things I am aware of
Within a cosmic dream
Is the universe asleep
With thought unveiling scene
Creating a reality
Within a cosmic dream
Does it know that I exist
Am I really what it seems
Is there any truth at all
Within a cosmic dream
Is it truly nothingness
Or information stream
The product of a mind at rest
Within a cosmic dream
My being and significance
On a scale as yet unseen
Dwarfed beyond comparison
Within a cosmic dream
Humbled by imagination
Not sure what it means
To even think I play a role
Within a cosmic dream
May the dreamer's thoughts be lucid
For what knowledge is redeemed
In exchange for purpose
Within a cosmic dream
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C C
Oct 1, 2021 05:02 PM
(This post was last modified: Oct 1, 2021 05:27 PM by C C.)
^ ^ ^ ^ ^
Is it desirable or undesirable if you receive a thumbs-up from Ostro?
Could add it to the so-called " philosophical song series" if there was a video or audio track.
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Zinjanthropos
Oct 1, 2021 07:02 PM
(Oct 1, 2021 05:02 PM)C C Wrote: ^ ^ ^ ^ ^
Is it desirable or undesirable if you receive a thumbs-up from Ostro?
Could add it to the so-called "philosophical song series" if there was a video or audio track.
That was accomplished free of any influence of mind altering substances. Included the consumption of two oatmeal cookies however. The Big O might not appreciate that part.
Not difficult to wax metaphysical. Kind of a mood thing I find. Maybe Ostro needs help to get there. Inspiration comes in many forms I guess. But your thread title was too good to ignore.
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C C
Oct 4, 2021 07:42 PM
(This post was last modified: Oct 5, 2021 04:08 PM by C C.)
Noticed that there were too many cheerful tributes to the colorful glories of autumn out there. So wrote one that's more in the twanging blues spirit of All Hallow's Eve.
- - - - - - -
The Strangling Fall
The harvest weeks have given up their yield:
This closing battlefield
That's picked clean, flag unfurled,
Yet dirtier than a wood floor unswept.
Now geese fly past a world
At dormancy's doorstep.
Exodus is underway,
Nothing that's awake or guilty can stay.
Don't hedge,
You can swim its choking red-yellow glow.
Feel its grasp, the season's narcotic call.
Its flow will carry you to an edge,
Then just let go, just let go,
Over the strangling Fall.
Like smoke loitering above a dim fire,
Dark clouds are returning.
The wooded slope is burning,
Its leaves a floral wreath for summer's pyre.
When those drop in disgrace,
Naked trees will betray
Your hillside, bouldered face.
Somebody's misdoings are on display.
Don't hedge,
You can swim its choking red-yellow glow.
Feel its grasp, the season's narcotic call.
Its flow will carry you to an edge,
Then just let go, just let go,
Over the strangling Fall.
[change of melody]
Brooding at the early dusk's somber rim;
Balance of day and night is slipping grim.
Are you scarred by acts of preservation,
Or dreading a winter's desolation?
You can change tunnels or persist to crawl,
Leave it behind or retain it in tow.
Maybe reached the chapter for letting go
Over the strangling Fall.
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Zinjanthropos
Oct 5, 2021 12:54 PM
The power of nature or how powerless we are to stop it. A slight tilt of the globe and this is what we get, like it or not. Life adjusts, that which can’t leave and that which can, basically a song about adaptation?
When I read your efforts or anyone else’s I always try to put my own tune to it or find another with similar.cadence. Found this one difficult but still working on it….lol
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