arienettelyn's Diaryland Diary

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Poetry and Lyrics, aww!

I would just like to say before I start that I am an idiot, and I just wrote this entry all out and then clicked a link. But I'm not gonna get upset, because that's a stupid thing to get upset over. Let's start again...I have a poem and a song and I want to share them with whoever the hell reads this because they're really awesome, OK? Right on...the first is an ee cummings poem.

anyone lived in a pretty how town

anyone lived in a pretty how town
(with up so floating many bells down)
spring summer autumn winter
he sang his didn't he danced his did.

Women and men(both little and small)
cared for anyone not at all
they sowed their isn't they reaped their same
sun moon stars rain

children guessed(but only a few
and down they forgot as up they grew
autumn winter spring summer)
that noone loved him more by more

when by now and tree by leaf
she laughed his joy she cried his grief
bird by snow and stir by still
anyone's any was all to her

someones married their everyones
laughed their cryings and did their dance
(sleep wake hope and then)they
said their nevers they slept their dream

stars rain sun moon
(and only the snow can begin to explain
how children are apt to forget to remember
with up so floating many bells down)

one day anyone died i guess
(and noone stooped to kiss his face)
busy folk buried them side by side
little by little and was by was

all by all and deep by deep
and more by more they dream their sleep
noone and anyone earth by april
wish by spirit and if by yes.

Women and men(both dong and ding)
summer autumn winter spring
reaped their sowing and went their came
sun moon stars rain

I love that poem like crazy...now onto a lovely Thursday song, mainly because whenever I hear this song my mind is bombarded with really beautiful (in that morbid type of way) imagery...This is by far not the best Thursday song, lyrically or otherwise, but it means a lot to me for some reason. Enjoy!

Thursday - Steps Ascending

steps ascend to a loaded gun.
the scent of matches hangs in the air
(a lit one flickers out in a heartbeat).
we don't want to see this: a flash of light that's letting go of an empty bullet case
by the the time it hits the ground, he's out of reach.

let go...

the wolves are closing in.
there's no room left to make amends.
but do you remember when we'd fly that kite so high?

all the time we've wasted, spent fighting, will burn in the fire of our regret
all the time we've wasted, spent fighting, it's blood and it's running down the stairs.

freeze the frame between the gun shot and the hole it makes.
a spinning bullet waits in the middle.
there's no way to stop it, it will surely hit the mark.
you can try to understand but I'm giving up

the synapse fires, it's right in time.
I'm giving up.
this should always stay out of reach

I ran down the stairs and into the garden
put both my hands into the soil
in the spring, you will bloom, like her heart, through the blouse, in the back of the ambulance
as it turned and it turned down the streets
(just one more turn won't you come back to me)
as it turned on its red lights, you were turning into red roses...

but i'm not giving up.

Sorry about the capitalization and punctuation, I tried to get it the same way it was written in the book, I don't think I succeeded. Oh well.

Remember Conor?

12:57 p.m. - 2003-09-30

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