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The trouble with jogging is that the ice falls out of your glass.

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The trouble with jogging is that, by the time you realize you're not in shape for it, it's too far to walk back.

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The Trouble with Snowmen

'The trouble with snowmen,'
Said my father one year
'They are no sooner made
than they just disappear.

I'll build you a snowman
And I'll build it to last
Add sand and cement
And then have it cast.

And so every winter,'
He went on to explain
'You shall have a snowman
Be it sunshine or rain.'

And that snowman still stands
Though my father is gone
Out there in the garden
Like an unmarked gravestone.

Staring up at the house
Gross and misshapen
As if waiting for something
Bad to happen.

For as the years pass
And I grow older
When summers seem short
And winters colder.

The snowmen I envy
As I watch children play
Are the ones that are made
And then fade away.

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The Trouble With Love Is

Love can be a many splendored thing
Cant deny the joy it brings
A dozen roses, diamond rings
Dreams for sale and fairy tales
Itll make you hear a symphony
And you just want the world to see
But like a drug that makes you blind,
Itll fool ya every time.
The trouble with love is
It can tear you up inside
Make your heart believe a lie
Its stronger than your pride.
The trouble with love is
It doesnt care how fast you fall
And you cant refuse the call
See, you got no say at all.
Every time I turn around
I think I got it all figured out
My heart keeps calling and I keep on falling
Tears my heart in two
The trouble with love is
Its in your heart, its in your soul (doesnt care how fast you fall)
Youre losin all control
(and you cant refuse the call, and you got no say at all)

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Trouble With The Sweet Stuff

(wanna give it up
Gotta give it up
Cant give it up)
Oh mama oh oh
The moneys run out
And Im a hungry man
Oh mama oooo
You see
I--Im a--hurtin man
I was just a boy
When they told me
God love ya
Youre insane
Here I am
Pistol in my hand
Judge and jury
One the same
I got
Trouble with the sweet stuff oh yeah
I got
Trouble with the sweet stuff oh yeah
And Im never ever gonna shake it
Shake it
Trouble with the sweet stuff
Trouble with the sweet stuff
Bang bang
They shot me down
Caught me
Robbing the bank again
Say Im crazy
Im a desperate man
Nah right (cmon)
Daddys in the junk shop
Alley babe
Tryin to some that stuff
I said
I cant believe it (ooh give it up)
Trouble with the sweet stuff oh yeah
I got
Trouble with the sweet stuff
And Im never
Ever gonna shake it
Shake it
Dont wanna give it up
Dont wanna give it up
Yeah
Shake it
Gotta give it up
Dont wanna give it up
Dont wanna give it up
Trouble with the sweet stuff oh yeah
Mommys in the graveyard
Pushed her oh so long
Baby aint cryin
Cradles cold, long gone
And me mama, mama
Yes when the situation
Breaks down
Youve got trouble trouble
Bang bang
They shot me down
Caught me robbin d bank again
(are you crazy)
Baby oh yeah
Im a desperate man
Daddy, in the junk shop
Alley babe
Tryin to smoke that stuff
And me
Never gonna shake it
Baby yeah
(ooh give it up)
Trouble with the sweet stuff oh yeah
I got
Trouble with the sweet stuff oh yeah
Trouble with the sweet stuff
Baby
And Im never
Never, never, never, ever
Gonna shake it
I want
(dont wanna give it up)
Trouble with the sweet stuff yeah
(laugh) believe me babe
(shake it
Cant give it up
Come on and shake it)
Yeah
(daddys in the junk shop alley babe
Tryin to smoke that stuff oh yeah)
Yeah, gonna shake it
(cant give it up
Cant give it up)
Do you feel pain
The same way I feel pain babe
(give it up)
Breathe the same air
I gotta give it up
(wanna give it up
Cant give it up
Gotta give it up)
Give it up
Give it up

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Mister king of the ice

Your love is cold,
like the ice in Antarctica,
good luck,
mister king of the ice.

I see your face so bold,
like the stop sign.
S T O P,
i think i shall go.

You think your so smart,
You are as smart as pride takes you,
and that was me,
being nice.

You have so many witty comments,
Your like one of those talk shows,
where they have a CLAP and LAUGH,
sign that must be held up but you don't know.

You use big words,
(out of context) ,
your face is so handsome,
(in a certain light)
your smile is so perfect,
(your teeth are stained with coffee)
Good luck mister king of the ice.

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Razel the ice-witch song

Yes, I'm Razel the ice-witch, am evil and I'm ice blue,
Yes, I'm Razel the ice-witch, am evil and I can freeze you,
With my ice-device into an ice-cube!
I can freeze everything day or night!
I'm Razel the ice-witch and I'm sharp as ice!
I'm Razel the ice-witch, I'm evil and I'm bad,
I am Razel the ice-witch, I'm evil and I'm glad!
Because I can control your feelings thoughts and deeds,
Because I'm filled with spite and greed!
Yes, I'm Razel the ice-witch and I can freeze you just like that!
Yes, I can freeze you just like that! !
Uh, huh, huh, huh!

Written by Suzaria Star on June 3,1999
www.razelpuppet.com www.razel.us
www.suzaria.com

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The Ice and the Fire

The ice and the fire
a strange surge of desire
rushes over me
the fire,
the ice.

I don't know what it is about it,
mabye it's the danger
that intriques me so.
Or mabye it's the crazy
feeling I get when I'm aroung you.

You are like the ice and the fire
with a strange surge of desire
the danger about it intrigues me so

glances at me
melt me into your eyes
the fire in them one minute
the ice in them the next

The danger of me falling into them
and burning,
or freezing,
but will you stop me before I do?
or will you catch me at the bottom?

The ice and the fire
with a strange surge of desire
the danger of it, intrigues me so.

Your heart is so unpredictable
it's really dangerous,
I can't tell what your reply will be
to my words

I'm scared
but the danger of being caught
or falling into your arms
at any minute
intrigues me so

The ice and the fire
a strange surge of desire
rushes over me
the fire,
the ice.....

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The Trouble With Never

(track 1 - time 4:14)
(tony martin/mark nesler)
If I never think about her, Ill never miss her at all
Never wonder what shes doin, never give her a call
Never see her again and Ill be free as a bird
But the trouble with never is never, never works
If I never bring her flowers, Ill never see her smile
If I never try to kiss her, shell never drive me wild
And Ill never feel the need to say those three little words
But the trouble with never is never, never works
I know how to stay carefree, let no one get a hold on me
But I cant keep my hands off her
Theres something different bout this girl
If I never let me love her, Ill never settle down
And Ill never put roots in this God forsaken town
And Ill never say I do or step foot in a church
But the trouble with never is never, never works
I know how to stay carefree, let no one put a hold on me
But I cant keep my hands off her
Theres something different bout this girl
If I never think about her, Ill never miss her at all
Never wonder what shes doin, never give her a call
Never see her again, and Ill be free as a bird
Oh, but the trouble with never is never, never works
Yeah, the trouble with never is never, never works
At least not with her

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William Cowper

On The Ice Islands Seen Floating In The German Ocean

What portents, from what distant region, ride,
Unseen till now in ours, the astonished tide?
In ages past, old Proteus, with his droves
Of sea-calves, sought the mountains and the groves;
But now, descending whence of late they stood,
Themselves the mountains seem to rove the flood;
Dire times were they, full-charged with human woes;
And these, scarce less calamitous than those.
What view we now? More wondrous still! Behold!
Like burnished brass they shine, or beaten gold;
And all around the pearl's pure splendour show,
And all around the ruby's fiery glow.
Come they from India, where the burning earth,
All bounteous, gives her richest treasures birth;
And where the costly gems, that beam around
The brows of mightiest potentates, are found?
No. Never such a countless dazzling store
Had left, unseen, the Ganges' peopled shore;
Rapacious hands, and ever-watchful eyes,
Should sooner far have marked and seized the prize.
Whence sprang they then? Ejected have they come
From Ves'vius', or from Ætna's burning womb?
Thus shine they self-illumed, or but display
The borrowed splendours of a cloudless day?
With borrowed beams they shine. The gales, that breathe
Now landward, and the current's force beneath,
Have borne them nearer; and the nearer sight,
Advantaged more, contemplates them aright.
Their lofty summits crested high, they show,
With mingled sleet, and long-incumbent snow,
The rest is ice. Far hence, where, most severe,
Bleak winter well-nigh saddens all the year,
Their infant growth began. He bade arise
Their uncouth forms, portentous in our eyes.
Oft as dissolved by transient suns, the snow
Left the tall cliff to join the flood below,
He caught, and curdled with a freezing blast
The current, ere it reached the boundless waste.
By slow degrees uprose the wondrous pile,
And long successive ages rolled the while,
Till, ceaseless in its growth, it claimed to stand
Tall as its rival mountains on the land.
Thus stood, and, unremovable by skill,
Of force of man, had stood the structure still;
But that, though firmly fixt, supplanted yet
By pressure of its own enormous weight,
It left the shelving beach,-- and with a sound
That shook the bellowing waves and rocks around,
Self-launched, and swiftly, to the briny wave,
As if instinct with strong desire to lave,
Down went the ponderous mass. So bards of old,
How Delos swam the Ægean deep, have told.
But not of ice was Delos. She, crowned with laurel, wore
Even under wintry skies, a summer smile;
And Delos was Apollo's favourite isle.
But, horrid wanderers of the deep, to you
He deems Cimmerian darkness only due.
Your hated birth he deigned not to survey,
But, scornful, turned his glorious eyes away.
Hence! Seek your home, nor longer rashly dare
The darts of Phœbus, and a softer air;
Lest ye regret, too late, your native coast,
In no congenial gulf for ever lost!

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Underneath the Ice

I was down in the Antarctic
Taking soundings through the ice,
Working with a team of boffins,
Roger Cord and David Rice,
It was bleak out on the frozen scarp
I wore a heated suit,
And had thought to bring the oxygen,
They laughed - ‘The new recruit! '

They were tough as old shoe leather
Had been there since June the first,
And they scorned the winter weather,
Said ‘It's mild, will be soon be worse! '
So we took the caterpillar
Drove on out along the shelf,
There were signs of global warming,
I could see them for myself.

For the shelf had started parting
From the continent of ice,
With a chasm slowly forming
‘Fifty miles, ' said David Rice.
‘Fifty miles since June the seventh
When it started to appear,
It will break away completely
By the closing of the year! '

We began to take our soundings
Fifty metres from the edge,
We were getting steady readings
Of two miles or more in depth,
There was bedrock underneath us
Holding all this captive ice,
‘Can you hear that distant rumble,
Underneath, ' said David Rice.

I had wandered further over,
Listened keenly to the sound,
It was slowly getting louder
As I walked, just underground,
When the surface split and parted
Sent me reeling, wheeling in,
To a sudden forming chasm
With an ear-splitting din!

I dropped thirty feet or more and felt
My heart up in my mouth,
When a rush of water passed me
In a river, heading south,
And the ice that held me stable
Melted slowly at the edge,
Of the platform that had held me,
Of the ever shrinking ledge!

I could hear the cries of Roger
Up above: ‘We'll get you out! '
‘Just hang on; we'll get the rope, '
Called David Rice, I tried to shout.
But my throat had closed right over
In my terror, and the cold,
Which had turned my face quite ashen,
And was tearing at my soul!

Then the flow of water took me,
Took the ice that formed the ledge,
And I felt a sudden falling,
And my heart was filled with dread,
I was carried ever downwards
In a swiftly flowing stream,
Through a narrow icy tunnel…
I was dazed, as in a dream!

But I somehow found the mask and
Turned the oxygen full on,
I could breathe for thirty minutes,
Maybe more, though I was gone!
There was no-one now to save me
From the fate that filled my head,
I was sure and I was certain
I could only end up dead!

It was light within the tunnel
As I hurtled swiftly down,
With the water iridescent
From the light above the ground,
And it seemed to last forever
This descent into the deep,
We'd recorded two plus miles
To the bedrock underneath!

Then I slid into a cavern
Found myself within a lake,
Where the water ceased its flow
And I crawled out, my mouth agape,
For around the water's edges
Were the ruins of a town,
All iced up and gleaming starkly
With the light that streamed on down.

There was some sort of Cathedral
With its lofty, shining spires,
It stood silently, reflecting,
On the past ten thousand years,
There were houses stood forlornly
At the edges of the lake,
And the forms of ancient people
In their shrouds of ice, like slate!

From the roof of ice above me
Poured a hundred different streams,
And the light that came down with them
Lit this most fantastic scene,
I could see a stream of water
At the far end of the cave,
Flowing out to brighter daylight,
So I thought: 'I must be brave! '

I stood still beside the current
And I said a muttered prayer,
Whatever fate had offered me
I'd find it just out there,
I took a breath and jumped right in
The middle of the stream,
And felt it catch and carry me
Towards that lighter beam!

It seemed but only minutes
‘Til I shot out through the ice,
And I landed in the open sea,
I thought it paradise!
For only fifty yards away
The MV Australis,
Our very own supply ship there
Was anchored at the coast!

They marvelled at my story
But I saw their disbelief
When I told them of the buildings
And the people, underneath;
So I never did repeat it
To the world, although I know,
Mankind lived in Antarctica
Ten thousand years ago!

17 April 2012

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The Ballad Of The Ice-Worm Cocktail

To Dawson Town came Percy Brown from London on the Thames.
A pane of glass was in his eye, and stockings on his stems.
Upon the shoulder of his coat a leather pad he wore,
To rest his deadly rifle when it wasn't seeking gore;
The which it must have often been, for Major Percy Brown,
According to his story was a hunter of renown,
Who in the Murrumbidgee wilds had stalked the kangaroo
And killed the cassowary on the plains of Timbuctoo.
And now the Arctic fox he meant to follow to its lair,
And it was also his intent to beard the Artic hare...
Which facts concerning Major Brown I merely tell because
I fain would have you know him for the Nimrod that he was.

Now Skipper Grey and Deacon White were sitting in the shack,
And sampling of the whisky that pertained to Sheriff Black.
Said Skipper Grey: "I want to say a word about this Brown:
The piker's sticking out his chest as if he owned the town."
Said Sheriff Black: "he has no lack of frigorated cheek;
He called himself a Sourdough when he'd just been here a week."
Said Deacon White: "Methinks you're right, and so I have a plan
By which I hope to prove to-night the mettle of the man.
Just meet me where the hooch-bird sings, and though our ways be rude
We'll make a proper Sourdough of this Piccadilly dude."

Within the Malamute Saloon were gathered all the gang;
The fun was fast and furious, and the loud hooch-bird sang.
In fact the night's hilarity had almost reached its crown,
When into its storm-centre breezed the gallant Major Brown.
And at the apparation, whith its glass eye and plus-fours,
From fifty alcoholic throats responded fifty roars.
With shouts of stark amazement and with whoops of sheer delight,
They surged around the stranger, but the first was Deacon White.
"We welcome you," he cried aloud, "to this the Great White Land.
The Artic Brotherhood is proud to grip you by the hand.
Yea, sportsman of the bull-dog breed, from trails of far away,
To Yukoners this is indeed a memorable day.
Our jubilation to express, vocabularies fail...
Boys, hail the Great Cheechako!" And the boys responded: "Hail!"

"And now," continued Deacon White to blushing Major Brown,
"Behold assembled the eelight and cream of Dawson Town,
And one ambition fills their hearts and makes their bosoms glow -
They want to make you, honoured sir, a bony feed Sourdough.
The same, some say, is one who's seen the Yukon ice go out,
But most profound authorities the definition doubt,
And to the genial notion of this meeting, Major Brown,
A Sourdough is a guy who drinks ... an ice-worm cocktail down."

"By Gad!" responded Major Brown, "that's ripping, don't you know.
I've always felt I'd like to be a certified Sourdough.
And though I haven't any doubt your Winter's awf'ly nice,
Mayfair, I fear, may miss me ere the break-up of your ice.
Yet (pray excuse my ignorance of matters such as these)
A cocktail I can understand - but what's an ice-worm, please?"
Said Deacon White: "It is not strange that you should fail to know,
Since ice-worms are peculiar to the Mountain of Blue Snow.
Within the Polar rim it rears, a solitary peak,
And in the smoke of early Spring (a spectacle unique)
Like flame it leaps upon the sight and thrills you through and through,
For though its cone is piercing white, its base is blazing blue.
Yet all is clear as you draw near - for coyley peering out
Are hosts and hosts of tiny worms, each indigo of snout.
And as no nourishment they find, to keep themselves alive
They masticate each other's tails, till just the Tough survive.
Yet on this stern and Spartan fare so-rapidly they grow,
That some attain six inches by the melting of the snow.
Then when the tundra glows to green and nigger heads appear,
They burrow down and are not seen until another year."

"A toughish yarn," laughed Major Brown, "as well you may admit.
I'd like to see this little beast before I swallow it."
"'Tis easy done," said Deacon White, "Ho! Barman, haste and bring
Us forth some pickled ice-worms of the vintage of last Spring."
But sadly still was Barman Bill, then sighed as one bereft:
"There's been a run on cocktails, Boss; there ain't an ice-worm left.
Yet wait . . . By gosh! it seems to me that some of extra size
Were picked and put away to show the scientific guys."
Then deeply in a drawer he sought, and there he found a jar,
The which with due and proper pride he put upon the bar;
And in it, wreathed in queasy rings, or rolled into a ball,
A score of grey and greasy things, were drowned in alcohol.
Their bellies were a bilious blue, their eyes a bulbous red;
Their back were grey, and gross were they, and hideous of head.
And when with gusto and a fork the barman speared one out,
It must have gone four inches from its tail-tip to its snout.
Cried Deacon White with deep delight: "Say, isn't that a beaut?"
"I think it is," sniffed Major Brown, "a most disgustin' brute.
Its very sight gives me the pip. I'll bet my bally hat,
You're only spoofin' me, old chap. You'll never swallow that."
"The hell I won't!" said Deacon White. "Hey! Bill, that fellows fine.
Fix up four ice-worm cocktails, and just put that wop in mine."

So Barman Bill got busy, and with sacerdotal air
His art's supreme achievement he proceeded to prepare.
His silver cups, like sickle moon, went waving to and fro,
And four celestial cocktails soon were shining in a row.
And in the starry depths of each, artistically piled,
A fat and juicy ice-worm raised its mottled mug and smiled.
Then closer pressed the peering crown, suspended was the fun,
As Skipper Grey in courteous way said: "Stranger, please take one."
But with a gesture of disgust the Major shook his head.
"You can't bluff me. You'll never drink that gastly thing," he said.
"You'll see all right," said Deacon White, and held his cocktail high,
Till its ice-worm seemed to wiggle, and to wink a wicked eye.
Then Skipper Grey and Sheriff Black each lifted up a glass,
While through the tense and quiet crown a tremor seemed to pass.
"Drink, Stranger, drink," boomed Deacon White. "proclaim you're of the best,
A doughty Sourdough who has passed the Ice-worm Cocktail Test."
And at these words, with all eyes fixed on gaping Major Brown,
Like a libation to the gods, each dashed his cocktail down.
The Major gasped with horror as the trio smacked their lips.
He twiddled at his eye-glass with unsteady finger-tips.
Into his starry cocktail with a look of woe he peered,
And its ice-worm, to his thinking, mosy incontinently leered.
Yet on him were a hundred eyes, though no one spoke aloud,
For hushed with expectation was the waiting, watching crowd.
The Major's fumbling hand went forth - the gang prepared to cheer;
The Major's falt'ring hand went back, the mob prepared to jeer,
The Major gripped his gleaming glass and laid it to his lips,
And as despairfully he took some nauseated sips,
From out its coil of crapulence the ice-worm raised its head,
Its muzzle was a murky blue, its eyes a ruby red.
And then a roughneck bellowed fourth: "This stiff comes here and struts,
As if he bought the blasted North - jest let him show his guts."
And with a roar the mob proclaimed: "Cheechako, Major Brown,
Reveal that you're of Sourdough stuff, and drink your cocktail down."

The Major took another look, then quickly closed his eyes,
For even as he raised his glass he felt his gorge arise.
Aye, even though his sight was sealed, in fancy he could see
That grey and greasy thing that reared and sneered in mockery.
Yet round him ringed the callous crowd - and how they seemed to gloat!
It must be done . . . He swallowed hard . . . The brute was at his throat.
He choked. . . he gulped . . . Thank God! at last he'd got the horror down.
Then from the crowd went up a roar: "Hooray for Sourdough Brown!"
With shouts they raised him shoulder high, and gave a rousing cheer,
But though they praised him to the sky the Major did not hear.
Amid their demonstrative glee delight he seemed to lack;
Indeed it almost seemed that he - was "keeping something back."
A clammy sweat was on his brow, and pallid as a sheet:
"I feel I must be going now," he'd plaintively repeat.
Aye, though with drinks and smokes galore, they tempted him to stay,
With sudden bolt he gained the door, and made his get-away.

And ere next night his story was the talk of Dawson Town,
But gone and reft of glory was the wrathful Major Brown;
For that ice-worm (so they told him) of such formidable size
Was - a stick of stained spaghetti with two red ink spots for eyes.

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The Ice

The ice will melt today
Because the sun is shining
And that is what the sun does to the ice
The sun is hoter than the ice

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Emily Dickinson

Before the ice is in the pools

37

Before the ice is in the pools—
Before the skaters go,
Or any check at nightfall
Is tarnished by the snow—

Before the fields have finished,
Before the Christmas tree,
Wonder upon wonder
Will arrive to me!

What we touch the hems of
On a summer's day—
What is only walking
Just a bridge away—

That which sings so—speaks so—
When there's no one here—
Will the frock I wept in
Answer me to wear?

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Trouble With Dreams

There's nothin' that I wanna do
More than get alone and be with you
Trouble with dreams is they don't come true
And when they do they can catch up to you
You don't need a thing from me
But I need something big from you
'Cause you know I've got an awful lot of big dreams
I'm walking down a lonely road
Clay to me now, but I was never told
Trouble with dreams is you never know
When to hold on and when to let go
If you let me down, it's alright
At least ???
'Cause you know I've got an awful lot of big dreams
This is the life that I must leave now
Cross my fingers and wiping brow
Trouble with dreams is you can't pretend
Something that no beginning and has an end
You don't need a thing from me
But I need something big from you
'Cause you know I've got an awful lot of big dreams

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The meeting

I caught your eye
in the Afrikaans literature class
while studying business
at the private university
and you watched me
but the day your car cooked
on the soccer field,
we really met.

I saw your car parked
on the soccer field
and asked Marthinus
my roommate and friend
why it’s parked there?

He said that it belonged
to a really beautiful girl
who probably has trouble with it,
but that people like him and me
didn’t have a chance
with a girl like you.

So I asked him to introduced us
and your eyes were like the sky,
but not blue,
ever changing
sometimes green and brown
and your auburn hair
glittered in the sun.

I fiddled with a connector on the fan
and suddenly it came on
and when I looked
into your eyes
it was into your soul.

You smiled like an angel
and like magic
we were as if alone
and I was under your spell
and when I smiled back
it did something to you
and I knew
that you were the girl for me.

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You Do Know That The Lights Are Out?

You are playing alone.
And in left field.

You do know that the lights are out?

Do you practice for a new game to begin?
With a planning done in my presence.
I am not going to say you are bold...
And cold.
I'd call this...
Straight up heartlessness.

With a tilted head,
And a lot of salt and pepper.

You are playing alone.
And in left field.

You do know that the lights are out?

Why are we arguing between us about faults?
And what had been accepted,
Now hated so that has you hissing.

You do know that the lights are out?
Here!
And you can,
Play the field.

Did you come here...
To hear again,
That reminder?

A pain healed, seldom repeats that process again.
When one's duty is to booty,
Loses compassion...
Don't expect a lost action,
To rekindle itself on memories.
Few...
Were the good ones.

Do you remember your entrance?
That is also your exit.
And...
Those lights that are out?
You did it.
You turned them off.

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Under The Ice

Run, run, run and hide away.
Hide in your apartment.
Never make a motion.
You dont want to.
Porcelin and macrame.
I cant believe your breathing.
All that stone emotion.
And he wants you.
He wants you so bad he can feel it like an order under his command.
A man is like an army when he wants to.
And you die a river every day.
Lying to your mirror.
Lie lie lie inside your head again, again.
Under the ice theres gotta be a fire.
In between every line, theres a liar.(? )
Swim in your heart, flow down to your fingers. (? )
And all over.(? )
Let it take a hold on.(? )
Hold on to me.
Oh hold on to me.
Send yourself on a holiday.
Everythings behind you.
Everything you take, you take inside you.
Send yourself so far away I can never find you.
(? ) have no arms to put around you.
Under the ice theres gotta be a fire.
In between every line, theres a liar.(? )
Swim in your heart, flow out to your fingers. (? )
And all over.(? )
Let it take a hold on.(? )
Hold on to me.

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The Ship Trapped In The Ice

Hurry and see, hurry and see
The ship trapped in the ice
Hurry and see, hurry and see
The frost on the rigging superficially nice
The captain sold his marbles and the crew lost theirs at dice
Hurry and see, hurry and see
The ship trapped in the ice
How can we free, how can we free
The ship trapped in the ice
How can we free, how can we free
They sailed in the shallows now theyve paid the price
The captain drank the champagne but it tasted like old spice
How can we free, how can we free
The ship trapped in the ice
And I can only see this wreck with the aid of a drink and a mirror
She may look scenic from the shore but you dont wanna come any nearer
The captains box of butterflies have all hatched out as lice
Hurry and see, hurry and see
The ship trapped in the ice
And I can only see this wreck with the aid of a drink and a mirror
She may look scenic from the shore but you dont wanna come any nearer
How can this be, how can this be
The ship trapped in the ice
How can this be, how can this be
The frozen contract has a grip like a vice
The captain dreams of flying but hes also scared of heights
Oh how can this be, cause boy its me!
The ship trapped in the ice

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Rudyard Kipling

The American Rebellion

Before
Twas not while England's sword unsheathed
Put half a world to flight,
Nor while their new-built cities breathed
Secure behind her might;
Not while she poured from Pole to Line
Treasure and ships and men--
These worshippers at Freedoms shrine
They did not quit her then!

Not till their toes were driven forth
By England o'er the main--
Not till the Frenchman from the North
Had gone with shattered Spain;
Not till the clean-swept oceans showed
No hostile flag unrolled,
Did they remember that they owed
To Freedom--and were bold!


After

The snow lies thick on Valley Forge,
The ice on the Delaware,
But the poor dead soldiers of King George
They neither know nor care.

Not though the earliest primrose break
On the sunny side of the lane,
And scuffling rookeries awake
Their England' s spring again.

They will not stir when the drifts are gone,
Or the ice melts out of the bay:
And the men that served with Washington
Lie all as still as they.

They will not stir though the mayflower blows
In the moist dark woods of pine,
And every rock-strewn pasture shows
Mullein and columbine.

Each for his land, in a fair fight,
Encountered strove, and died,
And the kindly earth that knows no spite
Covers them side by side.

She is too busy to think of war;
She has all the world to make gay;
And, behold, the yearly flowers are
Where they were in our fathers' day!

Golden-rod by the pasture-wall
When the columbine is dead,
And sumach leaves that turn, in fall,
Bright as the blood they shed.

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Patrick White

Carrying Water To The Burning House

Carrying water to the burning house,
the bottom of the bucket falls out,
a ship on the rocks, a hemorrhaging bell
that broke one of the blood vessels
in its throat like a pipeline to its vocal cords.

I see a woman who went back into the fire
for her purse, her hands pleading against the window
like a Neanderthal cave painting,
melting into the glass like a fly in amber.

Charred vision of a dangerous day in the sunlight.
I don't want to be writing about this.
I want to be writing about red-winged blackbirds
swaying on the cattails like dozy metronomes
and something sufficiently eternal in the suffusion of sun.
Undisciplined, as if life were all I had to do.

Deep within me someone is angry and weeping.
There's a wound that wants to take over my mouth
and bleed all over the page like blood on the snow
of a small, warm animal dying under a juniper bush.
I'm usually too uncertain of myself to be
dedicated to this kind of suicide,
but I suspect I've fallen into a black hole
and there's no starmap out of this one.
I'm trying to generate light out of my own body
like a firefly, but I'm only wasting matches
by trying to ignite them in a mirage of rain.
Is it my wound? Is it hers? Am I finished with dying?
It would take a crystallographer to know
how my diamonds hurt like wounded coal.

Whose life is it I'm trying to save
like a madman with a grammar of my own
that talks in tongues to the immaculate indifference
of an abyss that been listening for light years
to me scattering my ashes on the wind
in pointillist flocks of red-winged blackbirds
emerging out of chaos into urgent paradigms
of minerals that learned to replicate their fractals.
Either that, or panspermic microbes in
time capsule meteors landing in the Gobi desert
like the ejecta of Mars or Europa, fire or black ice,
the fashionistas of a planet in hand me down clothes.

Second or third pressing of the grape.
Someone stepped on the coke with stars.
There's an arsonist in the methane like a fire storm
trying to melt its own polarized ice caps
like the skull of a dragon in total eclipse.
Who knows the secret life of shepherd moons
anymore than they do their own mind
this far from the sun? If there's any compassion
in a perfect vacuum, God help them both.
If not, I've got to rely upon this poem like a lifeboat
with a hole in it the size of the universe
to save my life from the upwelling of things
I don't understand about me in this tsunami
of hyperbolic sorrow and dysfunctional salvage.

Maybe it's a sign I should go down with the ship.
Maybe I should affix a gold earring to my left ear
like a drowned sailor and hope I'm not buried alive
when I wash up on shore, a toy of the tides.
Maybe I should have had the star of Isis
tattooed on my left palm to keep me from drowning,
or paddled close to shore with waterwings
that keep the well-stocked poetlings from sinking
instead of being swept out of my own depths
by the roiling of this turbid undertow that pulls me down?

Dogen Zenji: When the truth fills your body and mind
you always feel that something's missing.
When it doesn't, you always feel you've had enough.
Have I had enough and no longer care what's missing?
All my koans are in despair. I feel like
making a sling of my yellow belt and shooting
my skull into the sun like an asteroid that just missed earth.

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