Quotes about radar, page 10
Being In Love In 1974.
Being in love
was like being ill
and that day
after Judy'd left
to go to Florence
for a week
you went to the big city
to take your mind off her
but she lingered there
wherever you went
every brunette
with long hair
was her
and when you sat
in the Royal Opera House
to watch a ballet
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poem by Terry Collett
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Being in Love in 1974.(poem)
Being in love
was like being ill
and that day
after Judy'd left
to go to Florence
for a week
you went to the big city
to take your mind off her
but she lingered there
wherever you went
every brunette
with long hair
was her
and when you sat
in the Royal Opera House
to watch a ballet
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poem by Terry Collett
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Unpoetic Rumblings For An Unpoetic Age
They told me I cannot write
something remote like the sand and pebbles
of a secluded beach in Siquijor
stranded in isolation by the tides
that push the island away from the radar
of conscious speculation or
those waterfalls and caves in Rogongon
that remain a mystery to those accustomed
with the slums and maggot-infested corners
of a Capital with no passion for the idyllic
instead I must write of the realities of life
and quit imagining the heavenly fog
that bearded Mt. Apo one Tuesday afternoon
as I found myself marching to its peak
cradled with the silence and whispers of nature
away from the disturbed realities
that gripped the lives of the inhabitants
of a Manila that is giving way
to the intellectual high rise that
reach the poisonous smog in Makati and
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poem by Artchil Daug
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… Too Many Gods
… too many gods
Too many think that they are God
Too many think that they know God
Too many think that they see God
Too many talk like they know God
Too many sins
Too many Satans
Too many prosecutors
Too many executors
Too many judges
Too many smudges
Too many think that they are right
Too many, for the wrong reasons, fight
Like there is no tomorrow
What a shame! What a sorrow!
Too many think that they know more than they know
Thank God, they can barely see the peacock and the crow
In front of their nose. The dagger behind the head is not
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poem by Hebert Logerie
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There Are Many More Like Me To See
Is there any 'particular' reason why you question me?
Any reason at all you question my integrity with intensity?
My experience and acquired wisdom you detect as delusional.
Or believe me to fantasize the real issues to minmize?
Why?
Is it that I do not expose wounds or scars left by obstacles?
Am I not reflecting enough pain from a suffering done,
To buffer the sounds of groans I've numbed...
From the taking of drugs or the drinking of alcohol,
And thrown out of local bars when I've gone too far?
To be seen stumbling around until I fall and discovered bawling?
I've been through all of that.
Long before you began to probe with xrays and radar.
Is there any 'particular' reason,
Why you address me with disrespect?
Or feel free and okay to express indiginites you think I'll accept?
Is it my appearance, where I live, speak or choose to dress...
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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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A Walk
February on the narrow beach, 3o
A.M. I set out south. Cape Cod Light
on its crumbling cliff above me turns
its wand of light so steadily
it might be tolling a half-life,
it might be the second-hand
of a schoolroom clock,
a kind of blind radar.
These bluffs deposited by glaaciers
are giving themselves away
to the beaches down the line, three
feet of coastline a year. I follow
them south at my own slow pace.
Ahead my grandfather died
in a boat and my father
found him and here I come.
If I cleave to the base of the I berm
the offshore wind swirls grit
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poem by William Matthews
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A Moth Life
What is this moth life?
To sleep all day
to hide from the light
the heat the warmth of the sun...
To awake with night
the night sounds night senses
to see by light of moon tread stellar stars...
To fly with dark air
still air night breezes winds
like dark matter currents of the universe...
To fly with celestial navigation
upon moon beams, or flickering stars these pulsing points,
guide your path, as you dance with radio waves, unseen in human unaided perception...
God created you in dull form
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poem by Terence George Craddock
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Massacre
A blast fantastic.
Lightening fast.
And penetrating with quickness.
Nothing earthly,
Could track this flash!
Or detect by radar!
Massive the massacre!
An intelligence ending all ignorance,
Defended!
And overnight as those slept...
Invisible were the 'beams' that crept!
Sending signals that awakened consciousness.
With a refreshened depthness,
None would suspect.
Or could arm themselves to protect!
A dawning of awareness...
Arriving with no contest to test,
Not this power!
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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Envied
Digging deep,
For signs of credibility...
Being swept along streets,
To catch between the grated holes...
A mass marketing sweeps,
Those of vacant minds into consumed
Materialistic hysteria!
Keeping back orders of ridiculousness in business!
It's amazing this BS is tax free.
It's amazing,
Just how crazed this madness is these days.
The sight of squeezed fat ugly butts,
Into imaginations stretched beyond...
Digusting jellied guts.
To hide a gluttony of sad habits.
Like a 'secret' tote that's puffed,
From that 'weed' folks can not give up!
As a few stand by and watch...
This drug infested simmering stew brew!
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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Wild bees, lost souls
The bees, this year,
have come before the swallows dare
and take the wings of April
inadvisedly;
ignoring the cloud of jasmine around the open door,
incurious, it seems, about the front garden’s offerings,
they swoop into the house,
take a left turn where the corridor gets darker,
and land up in the front room; where
they swoop again, then like lost souls
start for here and there, change flight-plan,
and end up nosing uselessly against the window
which doesn’t open; crawl a bit; and
surprisingly soon, fall down, on their backs,
legs folded in some final surrender
just enough like a human being, to chill…
I take the kitchen strainer
since it’s larger than a jam-jar, reaches further,
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poem by Michael Shepherd
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