high again..... never a memory made not worth dying , shutter bugs "cap splash click" the red carpet of time, head a the line , but keep in mind , this is all in my mind , for right , forever , and a drunkin joke about times you let go , and slipped away .....i will help you fade

dave......oh dear dave....i've missed you so.... but on your happy return i pose a question to you . since your from england , and david icke is from england ,,,,,,then did dinosaurs build spacepacks and go to the moon along time ago,,,and not really get exstinct but now, they controll us from inside the moon ,,,,,,,,,AHAH!!?!?!?!??????

it's explosive stuff.... take your time

Hi Harvey,
I don't know much about that, but anything's possible ! take for example the french philosopher Omraam Mikhaël Aïvanhov (1900-1986) who,s thoughts on the invisable are amazing as well as spiritual, so yes i believe anything is possible & probable... i chose your lines at random, but all are good, it's great how the power of words, language and meanings,can create and make !!

here's another of my recent poems, Jan 2011, this is one of my own favarite's it's very personal and the meaning is micro cosmic and either the reader understands or doesn't abit like looking into a work of art...

I am but a ghost in a modern world,
I've got a piece of st dunstan's in my pocket,
it's sad to see that they've moved the celtic, to another place.
10 steps to cross this road, smaller feet once stood in this spot.
but I'm not sad it's all gone,
time and life moves us on.
an' what's left well you can keep it !
cause what's in my head, you won't get, have or understand.
so for today i won't explain the meaning or metephors.
because if your not of a certain age or way you'll never get it anyway.

walking on like a ghost fronm another age
the poster's show blue azurean skies,white powder sands,
but is it all wasted on you's ??
it may as well be sarason's vinegar and rain.
this blue,blue sky could be a million miles away today,
wheat/bread/grapes & flowers are high above,,
as the world below continues in it's own mundane way.
the streets, and these roads where once the same in a different day.

I'm walking in the ghost steps of yesterday.
sorry & closed are the only signs in view in all the old places.
it's a shame but i'm a ghost from a modern way.

tropicana/fruit cake afrigana..
is just a small foot-note that will soon be gone.

I came across the ledge by the gas-works' tower the sign reads "sub-station"
it was coloured in a old fashioned way-(Green,battle-ship grey,) it meant so much more as I hadn't seen it for so many years...

but looking at the blue boat on the scrap heap, just brings me back to earth, it's so sad, but it won't bring me down today.

and this old playground,this park well, it doesn't mean much to that young new couple,
the girl with the long straight black looks, then looks away.
false rocket ships,torpedos and swings all standing still.
while the fountian's all broken the cast-iron was stolen a long time ago, the tap's been long gone. drip-drop...
little woods's clock has stopped and stuck at twenty past ten, but what's the point ?
so I clmb this hill to it's highest place-"that's the point it's just being here today"..
well that's what it means to me.
tarmac and roots rip up, rise up from a far off day,like a ghost, like a moment then it's gone away.

I walk on away and beyond hearing "all my god's in ages sings" ... but all i see is the strangeness on the strangers faces as they appear then dis-appear and wailk away..
I guess i'm like a ghost from another day...


well, that came to me all at once while walking on a bright sunny winter's day... who's to say where words come from i guess we can collect them when we open our ears and minds.....

regards.keep dreaming, bye for now

cheers Dave

This message has been edited. Last edited by: dave/l'pool artist,

minds open and wading through the rivers of time.... looking up at the aurora borealis with unfiltered eyes .... honestly sharing through every pour...... honestly being .... i see you being .... hitting missing and recieving .... laughing and bleating .... flying a hole in the ceiling ..... i feel your every feeling... i forgive and forget without a second breath .... and i hope to see you soon laughing and cheering while leaping from a cliff through a season for a splash and a laugh and a chuckle and a roll through an eccentric episode of life.......

If pumpkins were peas, their work at growing would be done the moment it had begun...








(My attempt at pumpkin plant pictorial free verse)
MTD

And he ran. His feet not touching the ground. The grasses bowed down to him as he passed, a silent recognition. He ran to build the village. A shop of sticks. Home of dirt. And the rest flows in a divine river from his mind, people here, there. He knows them all as family. They live as one, a melodious harmony. And the bells ring! His eyes widen. The shouts come. To home. For supper. Goodbye! Farewell!He runs again. His shoes make noise on the pavement.

blowing through my branches, kicking up my leaves , waving my limbs , shaking my knees
i'm the one so y , your the one thats free , wind remember a tree , that im climbing , the top is somewhere like a distant past. reach for limbs more feel than see. light more than memory

tends to serve us well, even for the tree that fell, he knew her so well, more than she could tell, herself or him, sink or swim, give in, where we huddle, away from the dark riders of childhood pulling at these visions, i bleed through, a swear forever, baby please don't forget

what wasn't said held tight in our bed, you won't reach the deep, the waters warm, the waters, cool, perfectly murky on their own, things that have been shown, a broken bone, scars we own, the very essence that seeps through, pours and pulls at your will you tried to store, it up keep it safe and strengthen the foundation for the house that we build

it high and a basement so deep, memories stored there collecting dust, keeping the house up, waiting patiently until they are in need

i have these stored up dreams , pull them apart but they are just dreams,,,,,or baby maybe not please tell me. on the night we met did the stars not bleed.... or at least tear up.....baby i think it's worth llooooookkking into , at least for me

and you the sky did spark, falter, change position and move, making room for our stars to cross, light the way for us to follow like we do, i follow the path come with me too, cause baby i do love you need you and want to see this through, for me and you

Hi Harvey, liking your new stuff and the flow, it's good to see your back on the forum and are you still signed in ??

recently i've been writing a lot of stuff just seems to come along in a long stream of thoughts at the moment, it's hard to keep up with it,

here'a a fresh one i wrote this morning,
i was watching a documentary on tv about the musician gill scot-heron, he wrote some great and powerful stuff, i don't know much about him but wow,, great stuff what i heard,,,,,,,

here's the revolution......


But for everyman, he can chose any colours he like..
But he’ll always go for gold, and confusion
Into another fool’s paradise
Or lennon’s fame or take dylan’s highway
While a child looks up an cries,,,
A hard rain’s gonna fall again and again.

Hey, I got a sniff of revalution,
did you see it on the tv or wi-fi
watching hour by hour , minute
reports about another man’s fire
or life that’s burning away,
don’t you know the anwswer’s always
been in your’s and his own back garden,
while the government’s more interested
in colonizing mars……..
and so it go’s on & on

like the child said
”a fool’s only a man in a mask”
A fool for half an hour
Paid by hour to entertain the masses.
Religion’s going out of fashion
so they’ll find another thing to fight about.

Hey, I heard a whisper of a revolution,
But It was only the sound of cash machines
And the panic as they increase the fuel.
That’s fuels the pheasants into revolt again
For a day at least and then it fades away
Blow’s down the streets on yesterdays newspapers
What a way to go,
into another fool’s paradise............

I'll be pictorial free-versing Halloween on Mars at this rate!

Scroll back to the 16th and see for yourselves what a fortnight's work at growing looks like from the perspective of a pumpkin plant.



It's alive! IT's alive!!!

MTD