leonardcohenforum.com

in the winter/spring of 2002 ,about a year ago,me and some others in n.y.
gathered together for the lp.s which is the lefferts park sessions.unfortunately i only have on hand my own stuff,and this i will place here.

a poem:for humanity
as i sit on this fault-line with which i am familiar
i see o'er the horizon a view oh so peculiar
a stranger says hi as he passes his fellow
i see life taken with ease deviod of the shout,the bellow
the streets are completely clean and the flowers grow lush
a local husky meanders by without the fear of the cry "mush"
a violinists enchanting music in the avenue
a family holding hands shop for dinners menu
flocks of colorfull birds overhead,a perfectly synchronized tableau
purity shines on the earth it seams,
no hussle nor bussle just people living their dreams
obviosly im hallucinating i pitch to myself this cant be true!
whatever would motivate people to be perfect,just out of the blue!
but then i look behind me and to all sides,
and i see you,her,everyone sitting on their fault-lines
>end<

moonlight:for the revolutionists
the moon shines up in the sky
just a sliver of light
the night cant deny
as i contimplate wrong from right
i chose to surrender and not to fight
the battles have wearied my soul
just one more breath that is my goal
darkness everywhere,why should i care
this game they call life
ya i know its not fair
this wall of defense this moat filled with doom
this table for one that no vacancy room
but then i dare to see whats outside
and the light of the moon nearly blinded my eyes
i gaze at the sky the darkness bended
i break these chains my solitudes ended
>end<

my lost friend:for me
i had a friend when i was a kid
'laughed together at the things we did
he was smart,me the fool
me the pebble,he the jewel
we'd go to parks and sit alone
tuning out the citys drone
we'd talk of words we should have said
those things that keep you up in bed
we'd stratigize,devise and plan
the world against this tight-knit clan
the world of suspicion and doubt
submerging all within, to drown
we sat and shrugged our shoulders
we laughed incredulously
the world overwelmed this friend of mine
i seldom look for him
for he has lost me too
but my memories of him,forevermore
i am the garment that he wore
you think i'll find him with a whore?
my lost friend,innocents of yore
>end<

a flicker of hatred,a flame of inspiration:for my nemisis
i've fallen from your grace
my image your mind tends to deface
you whisper around"look at that fiend"
at my funural you'll strut,primmed,preened
your hate makes me twitch
our friendship some sort of unatural glitch
shall i confront your betrail
will my counterattack be doomed to fail
you enjoy toying with my patience
so if i explode you'll have hit paydirt
i can remain confident,contrite,curt
my anger needs expression, yet
if it gets bottled up ,volcano effect!
i can use it creatively,strong driving force
give me paint, a pencil, my souls recourse
you'll inspire masterpieces,you will
and in time i'll unhook you from my gill
and you my friend will cease to exist
like a destoyed disgarded disinfected cyst!
>end<

a cry of self confidence:
the fire entrances the crowd
the sacrifice,his head held proud
the exocutioner,garbed and hooded
the coals he's carefully wooded
the rebbelion has taken a serious blow
the spirit of freedom with him will go
the final words,permission to shout
"the enemys name.know,is doubt!"
>end<

the stuff of nightmares:for the guy who wrote"where the wild things are"
the forest grows
the crows the foes
the vines a'clutter
the crickets stutter
the goblin grumbles
the child stumbles
the pack circles the prey
the leftovers decay
the forest grows
>end<

a quills digression:for my dad,my critic
the ignoramis writes his prose
he rymes words like nose and toes
he trys to be profound and round
yet his text is bare and square
his views biased and repetetive
his works should be used as a sedative
all he says has been said by poets long dead
these giants roll in the grave
the sins of the illiterate knave
his stupid innocents is infuriatingly benign
with tricks of the tongue
will the cosmos align?
his simplicity is disgustingly beautiful
yet to him,this quill is dutifull
>end<

i hope i havent bored you beyond recognition

elazar

I followed the poem for the first three stanzas. But it's a very long poem. The fault line image is good.

i might be misundrstanding you, but when you say one long poem,do you mean the entire post?its really seperate poems,just slapped on at one shot.

elazar

I thought it was one, long one, too, elazar....I'll re-read them later, individually. Trying to tie them all in together was challenging. Now I see why. Thanks.

my bad .sorry i hope noone had to be rushed to the hospital,due to severe headache,brainbust,or insanity.ill post them individualy,in the future

I hope you recover from your illness.

i'll also hope i recover,from my i'ness.

And speedily.

a quills digression,i made for my dad,because he brought to attention my horrible spelling,and my response was that my spelling was the least of my problems.so he really doesnt deserve the title critic,any way.i wish he would critique my stuff,being that he has a degree in philosophy and all(hes a genius),but all he just said was,very good,yada yada.and i just cant spell.anyhow........whatever may be.

elazar

Your spelling is fine. And so is your poetry.

thanks ves,
i'm of the school of thought that a critic is a poets best friend.
im not begging to be criticized,but i guess some positive criticism
keeps things"lively"and non-stale.if i seam unapreciative of the compliments,i'm sorry.i didnt mean it that way.
saluté
elazar

"a critic is a poet's best friend". Andrew McGeever believes this too and he is a poet. I see what you mean about positive criticism. I prefer what I call negative compliments. I feel this encourages poets.