My wife yells scrub the toilet bowl
I bolt to find detergent
My wife says baby save my soul
I pray to Jesus urgent
My wife she wants a diamond ring
I buy one down the road
My wife expects most anything
Her materialistic code
My wife she laughs at me at length
I'm broken and forlorn
My wife she saps up all my strength
I'm a piss weak little pawn
My wife screams out when I ring my friend
I hang up in concordance
My wife she tells me it's the end
I squirm I know avoidance
My wife puts her conditions on me
I comply at will to them
My wife she feigns illness at three
I delight in cleaning her phlegm
My wife will send her child to fools
I go along for the ride
My wife controls the sexual rules
I masturbate most nights
My wife determines what we spend
I agree so tacitly
My wife determines when I bend
I obey implicitly
My wife she lies, protects her ass
I live in so much danger
My wife just came top of the class
Pretending was her major
When I look into our radiant sun
I dwell on Leonard Cohen
There's no escaping this son of a gun
I remember my chore is the mowing
I reflect as I push that loud machine
I ponder my faithful sweet dear
Of what has gone on, of what I have seen
Of the lie I have lived, of my fear
My wife is now dead at eighty-eight
I'm single at just eighty-seven
There's no one left here that I can hate
Need to listen to some Dory Previn
I thought of my Mum, I thought of my Dad
It's strange I've forgotten their names
I thought so much of my eldest son Gad
He's out there repeating our games
The game always ends
The game always ends
Last edited by Boss on Thu Jan 11, 2007 10:48 pm, edited 1 time in total.
Thanks Jamesy,
I live in a flat on the ninth floor
Only joking
'Nother poem?
before i thank mr cohen
before i pack my bag
before i book the ticket
before i read lonely planet
before i face mecca
before i pray at the wailing wall
before i cancel therapy
before i kiss again
before i sign my will
before i dance in public
before i am one in eternity
before i write good poetry
before i visit that cemetery
before i turn out the light
before i speak
she must know
I live in a flat on the ninth floor
Only joking
'Nother poem?
before i thank mr cohen
before i pack my bag
before i book the ticket
before i read lonely planet
before i face mecca
before i pray at the wailing wall
before i cancel therapy
before i kiss again
before i sign my will
before i dance in public
before i am one in eternity
before i write good poetry
before i visit that cemetery
before i turn out the light
before i speak
she must know
Oh, boy, is it EVER good to see YOU, Adam!! When I first saw the thread title of Mat's poem "The Tale of Adam Tarzan," for the millisecond that it took my eyes to move to the right to see its authorship, I thought, "Adam's back!?!" Well, now it's true! Welcome to you!
On another note, how about if you get permission to sign the two of you up for a couples retreat
?
~ Lizzy
On another note, how about if you get permission to sign the two of you up for a couples retreat
?~ Lizzy
G'day Mat,
I cannot tell her. It is not too simple, it is way too simple.
G'day Lizzy,
Thank you for your kind welcome home. You see I wasn't far away; just my sabbatical meant rigourous training in the art of non-compliance and civil disobedience.
Gee, do I mention Jackie too much? I don't think so... See here:
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Well I'm going out to LA
I wanna get my business done
Then I'm going on to Vegas
Then I'm going on the run
If anybody asks you have you seen me
Please just tell them no
'Cos I'm living on the outside
And I have nowhere to go
Van Morrison 2005
I saw you this morning
You were moving so fast
Can't seem to loosen my grip
On the past
And I miss you so much
There's no one in sight
And we're still making love
In My Secret Life
Leonard Cohen 2001
They say prayer has the power to heal
So pray for me, mother
In the human heart an evil spirit can dwell
I am a-tryin' to love my neighbour and do good unto others
But oh, mother, things ain't going well
Bob Dylan 2006
I update my secret diaries
As I look into your portraits
Pinned above my computer screen
Your hats upon your heads
I put on my blue fishing cap
It's a tattered yarmulke
I dip my lid to three wise men
And thank them on the quiet
Ireland, Canada, America
You've touched this man downunder
The one aching in his silence
The one breaking in his task
I play your tunes, I dance, I skip
I scream my fucking lungs out
No one hears me, no one can
There's a sale on down the street
You prophesize in secret
About conflagrations
About a warrior's sacred rites
About Nehemiah's truth
And in my cruel obscurity
I battle for my father
His ghostly broken poet dreams
Hang on! It's not about him
She's always been the one
We danced in '87
On light infected boards
We ate her cold spaghetti
Then washed up all the dishes
I kissed her mouth afresh
And fired up the sound
We listened to you back then
Before you knew a thing
Young and rusty and naive
A hurricane punch would strike
My pride it hardly knew you
As it hardly knows you now
I have nothing left to pay you
In this Judas Iscariot world
Guess she's in everything...
I cannot tell her. It is not too simple, it is way too simple.
G'day Lizzy,
Thank you for your kind welcome home. You see I wasn't far away; just my sabbatical meant rigourous training in the art of non-compliance and civil disobedience.
Gee, do I mention Jackie too much? I don't think so... See here:
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Well I'm going out to LA
I wanna get my business done
Then I'm going on to Vegas
Then I'm going on the run
If anybody asks you have you seen me
Please just tell them no
'Cos I'm living on the outside
And I have nowhere to go
Van Morrison 2005
I saw you this morning
You were moving so fast
Can't seem to loosen my grip
On the past
And I miss you so much
There's no one in sight
And we're still making love
In My Secret Life
Leonard Cohen 2001
They say prayer has the power to heal
So pray for me, mother
In the human heart an evil spirit can dwell
I am a-tryin' to love my neighbour and do good unto others
But oh, mother, things ain't going well
Bob Dylan 2006
I update my secret diaries
As I look into your portraits
Pinned above my computer screen
Your hats upon your heads
I put on my blue fishing cap
It's a tattered yarmulke
I dip my lid to three wise men
And thank them on the quiet
Ireland, Canada, America
You've touched this man downunder
The one aching in his silence
The one breaking in his task
I play your tunes, I dance, I skip
I scream my fucking lungs out
No one hears me, no one can
There's a sale on down the street
You prophesize in secret
About conflagrations
About a warrior's sacred rites
About Nehemiah's truth
And in my cruel obscurity
I battle for my father
His ghostly broken poet dreams
Hang on! It's not about him
She's always been the one
We danced in '87
On light infected boards
We ate her cold spaghetti
Then washed up all the dishes
I kissed her mouth afresh
And fired up the sound
We listened to you back then
Before you knew a thing
Young and rusty and naive
A hurricane punch would strike
My pride it hardly knew you
As it hardly knows you now
I have nothing left to pay you
In this Judas Iscariot world
Guess she's in everything...
Last edited by Boss on Fri Jan 12, 2007 2:37 am, edited 1 time in total.
Re: The game always ends
Adam,
There is weakness in both the wife and the husband; they both
got caught in that "game." And where it is played, it comes at
a price for both. Wishing everyone the strength, spirit and discernment
to not play it, even where it's a family tradition (intergenerationally).
I'd rather be a hermit.
There is weakness in both the wife and the husband; they both
got caught in that "game." And where it is played, it comes at
a price for both. Wishing everyone the strength, spirit and discernment
to not play it, even where it's a family tradition (intergenerationally).
I'd rather be a hermit.
G'day Steven,
Unfortunately so many play the game. I believe an effective elixir is mourning for the damage inflicted on one as a child. Hermits may be safe; but afterall, what is Life about? You gotta' take a risk. Always a great pleasure in 'talking' with you.
Catch ya'
Adam
Unfortunately so many play the game. I believe an effective elixir is mourning for the damage inflicted on one as a child. Hermits may be safe; but afterall, what is Life about? You gotta' take a risk. Always a great pleasure in 'talking' with you.
Catch ya'
Adam
'In the depth of winter, I finally learned that within me there lay an invincible summer' - Albert Camus
Exactly, Steven. Awareness and commitment to change old patterns beats hermitage.There is weakness in both the wife and the husband; they both
got caught in that "game." And where it is played, it comes at
a price for both. Wishing everyone the strength, spirit and discernment
to not play it, even where it's a family tradition (intergenerationally).
NOW to bed!!
~ Lizzy
Hi Adam,
Agreed that it is unfortunate that "so many play the game." Mourning
can be part of the healing for what a person went through when he/she
was a child, but not necessarily so, and not necessarily in a formatted
or prolonged way.
Also in agreement that risks are part of life. The hermit comment
was a tongue-in-cheek response that were the nature of a relationship
to be decades of what the poem related, the hermit route would be
personally preferrable. (The hermit life, being one without social
support, has elevated risks and dangers.)
Thanks for the kind words; I enjoy "talking with you," as well.
Agreed that it is unfortunate that "so many play the game." Mourning
can be part of the healing for what a person went through when he/she
was a child, but not necessarily so, and not necessarily in a formatted
or prolonged way.
Also in agreement that risks are part of life. The hermit comment
was a tongue-in-cheek response that were the nature of a relationship
to be decades of what the poem related, the hermit route would be
personally preferrable. (The hermit life, being one without social
support, has elevated risks and dangers.)
Thanks for the kind words; I enjoy "talking with you," as well.
Goodnight Lizzy,
Goodnight Steven,
Goodnight John-boy...
I add this for your dreams. There are many ways of leaving harmful game-playing. You can dance, or fish, or move to another state; but if one does not somehow get in conscious touch with that wounded child within, if one cannot feel the pain they are creating/receiving, if you cannot 'see' things, you remain in muted limbo. This faculty human beings possess of mourning/grieving for who they were and who they are is real but somewhat neglected by many. If you hurt, go to the football, get another beer. It's all so easy. Yet deep inside, something stirs, something sleeps, a murmur. It will not lay down and die. It will not be silenced. To facilitate this expression you must weep or cry or scream. Anything to know the real you - unhindered by defences, unhindered by denial. To know the love inside.
But this has all been said before.
Goodnight Steven,
Goodnight John-boy...
I add this for your dreams. There are many ways of leaving harmful game-playing. You can dance, or fish, or move to another state; but if one does not somehow get in conscious touch with that wounded child within, if one cannot feel the pain they are creating/receiving, if you cannot 'see' things, you remain in muted limbo. This faculty human beings possess of mourning/grieving for who they were and who they are is real but somewhat neglected by many. If you hurt, go to the football, get another beer. It's all so easy. Yet deep inside, something stirs, something sleeps, a murmur. It will not lay down and die. It will not be silenced. To facilitate this expression you must weep or cry or scream. Anything to know the real you - unhindered by defences, unhindered by denial. To know the love inside.
But this has all been said before.
.