Tag: Poem

The Gashlycrumb Tinies Set To Music

Welcome to Today’s FYB Post featuring the Poem The Gashlycrumb Tinies by the Infamous Writer,  Artist, Illustrator, and Tony Award winning Costume Designer Edward Gorey (February 22, 1925 to April 15, 2000) set to Music by Daisy Chapman and Red Carousel. Gorey’s Characteristic Pen-and-Ink drawings often Depict Vauge and Unsettling Narrative Scenes in Both Victorian as well as Edwardian Setting that have Built a Long Term Cult Following Gorey wrote The Gashlycrumb tinies in 1963 and the Poem that serves Cautionary Tale of being Aware of all the Deadly perils of Life that can bring about a Person’s Early Demise. The Poem was once summed up by George Boomer who said “(The Poem) Is a rebellion against a view of childhood that is sunny, idyllic, and instructive.”. The Poem follows a Fairly Simple and Dark Theme Combining The Alphabet, Children, and a Horrible Fate for Each of the Children. The Poem consists of Child with a Name Starting with each Letter of The Alphabet in Chronological Order. What makes this Poem rather Demented is Each Child Mentioned Meets a Variety of Gruesome Deaths carried out  in Some Brutally Creative Way.

Throughout Gorey’s Illustrious Career Gorey was known for His Illustrated Books as well as Drawing Cover Art or Illustrations for Other Writers. Gorey illustrated Over 200 Book Covers for a Variety of Publishing Houses including Doubleday Anchor, Random House’s Looking Glass Library, Bubbs-Merrill, and as a Free Lance Artist. Among other Works Gorey illustrated Bram Stoker’s Dracula, H.G. Wells’ The War Of The Worlds, and T.S. Elliot’s Old Possum’s Book Of Practical Cats. When Gorey was working as a Freelance Writer/Illustrator He used several Pen Names, some of which were Anagrams of His First and Last Name like Ogdred Weary, Dogear Wryde, Ms. Regera Dowdy, just to Name a Few. Meanwhile Gorey used Other Pen Names for His Original Work Too such as O. Mude (which is German for O. Weary), and Eduard Blutig which is a German Pun on His Own Name. Also During His Career Gorey conducted Literary Experiments like. Creating Wordless Books, Books the Size of a Matchbox, Pop Up books, and Books that were/are Comprised Entirely of Inanimate Objects.

Gorey Classified His Work as Literary Nonsense, and in Respone to being called Gothic Gorey Replied “If you’re doing nonsense it has to be rather awful, because there’d be no point. I’m trying to think if there’s sunny nonsense. Sunny, funny nonsense for children—oh, how boring, boring, boring. As Schubert said, there is no happy music. And that’s true, there really isn’t. And there’s probably no happy nonsense, either.”

 

It is What it Is,

 Presented by Les Sober

Antigonish

This is One of My Favorite Poems so I decided to Post It. “Antigonish” is a Poem written by American Educator and Poet William Hughes Mearns in 1899. The Poem was Inspired by Reports of a Ghost of a Man Roaming the Stairs of a Haunted House, in Antigonish, Nova Scotia, Canada, the Poem was Originally part of a Play called The Psyco-ed, which Mearns had written for an English Class at Harvard University, Circa 1899.

               

“Yesterday, upon the stair,

I met a man who wasn’t there!

He wasn’t there again today,

Oh how I wish He’d go away!

 

When I came home last night at three,

The man was waiting for me

But when I looked around the hall,

I couldn’t see him there at all!

Go away, go away, don’t you come back anymore!

Go away, go away, and please don’t slam the door…

 

Last night I saw upon the stair,

A little man who wasn’t there,

He wasn’t there again today

Oh, how I wish he’d go away….

Thanks For Reading,

Brought To You By Les Sober  (700)

This Post Wasn’t Planned.

The Post I did have Planned for Today got fucking Sidetracked, and as I drank some Beers on The Front Porch this Little Ditty Barged into My Brain. Sometimes Shit just Shows Up inside My Skull Spontaneously seeking Recognition and a Home. Enjoy.

Working Title: Come Here Conflict

I feel like a Fight

I just want to Fight

Something is Unsettling

Vexing Me Constantly

Antagonizing My Mind

The Impulse To Lash Out Uncontrollably

Without Real Reason

       

I Welcome Inflicting Violence

On Myself and Others

My Inner Sadist  is Not Alone

Without It’s Masochist

Both Feeding Like Parasites

Sickening The Soul

Growing Grotesque

I want to Bleed Profusely

To Live in Utter Primal Abandon

Embraced By Anger

Fueled By Contempt Feed with Disgust

A Clenched Fistful of Rusty Nails

To Crush Faces Along With Skulls

Spitting Venom and Spitting Teeth

As Bones Are Broken, Blood Spilled by the Gallon

Vengeance Gives Birth To Revenge to Vengeance Again

        

Watching Them Die By My Hand

Butchering Bastards and Slaying Sons of Bitches

Annihilating Abominations bodies Torn Asunder

The Cry’s of The Dying Facing Eternal Damnation

Mutilated Flesh of Mangled Corpses

Savagely Ripped Limb from Limb

Bathing in the Blood of Enemies

The Brutal Carnage is Glorious

Victorious

       

There Are NO WORDS HERE

Speaking Is UNNECESSARY

We Communicate With Only Our Eyes

Aggression Needs Alleviation

Just Like Everything Else

Time To Battle Back.

Thanks for Reading,

  By Les Sober

Chances

My phone rang one desolate, dank, and cold evening.

She asked for Carlos.

I told her she had the wrong number.

She called back.

She called back a third time.

   

My jack and coke told me that I was bored.

So we talked.

For thirty minutes.

A strange girl and myself.

I don’t talk to strange women.

Women have cooties.

       

So we went on a date. It was rather bizarre. A date with a woman. We met. She was a pretty girl, but I think I was just being nice when I told her this. She liked pixie sticks and newports. I had both of these in my pocket at the time as well. We hit it off somewhat. We saw a movie. Then sanity kicked in and I  never saw her again.

This was the ultimate chance meeting. I wanted to say I went out with my wrong number girl. If I was bi, I would have gotten in her pants so I could say I have sex with people that dial the wrong number. But I had already pilfered my friends phone line one day and made dates with six different guys who were actually calling him. My phone booth whore days have long since vanished.

       

GOOD VS. EVIL

Some chances we take have results not always visible to the naked eye. We take a chance on lending a friend money. Let say $500. That person promises to pay us back but everytime we ask them for our money the subject is changed. We hear about their abusive boyfriend, we hear about how expensive gas is, we hear about their drunken sister.

Then we suddenly remember this person is single. Then we remember gas is like a buck fifty a gallon. Then we recall they don’t have a sister.

So we stop asking.

         

We try not to harm the friendship in this person’s mind even though they might be harming it in ours but not making any attempts to pay us back. They don’t seem to have much of a consciousness or a soul when it comes to these things. Then you think for a second that you are being too harsh. Then you find out another friend of yours lent this person money and never saw a dime of it either.

Several weeks pass by. You have a few drinks at your friend’s house and fall asleep on the couch. In the morning you part ways and find your wallet to be short a few bills. You go home. You wonder what to say. Whether to say anything. What you say is ignored. So you keep silent.

     

Then we go off into the night.

Then we try and forget this person existed.

We hear rumors about their plight.

We hear sordid fairy tales, most likely a melody of facts and fables, everywhere we turn.

We wonder what went wrong, why we took such a chance on them.

Why couldn’t he have been honest? Why can’t we tell the truth and be honest for once?

 

BLACKMAIL

I like the way you look at me.

I like the way you brush your hair.

I think your eyes are a glimpse into heaven.

I know you had sex in your car last night. I am going to rat your ass out.

 Yup sometimes we are lucky little ones and aren’t always the ones with our hand caught in the cookie jar. We catch other people’s hands in the cookie jar quite often too. I was involved in one of these situations before. Well shit I seem to have been involved in many of these situations, who am i kidding?.

Sometimes all we have to do is shut up and listen. You can hear drama from quite a distance.

        

All of the thoughts in my head told me to go for the money. Extort! Extort! Extortitionaaayyyy! I need a vacation I thought to myself. I chose to have a conscience. I laughed about it with the dude, who was the “other woman”. The months worth of laughter provided much more valuable than any payment plans.Chance provided a good chuckle.

CONCLUSIONAIRE

We all take chances. Sometimes they take us.

We have the power in ourselves to determine the final outcome.

Time may have had its way with you.

Time may be your best friend.

        

But when the time comes to make your mark.

Will you actually take that chance you have been dying to take your whole life?

Or will you let time have its way with you and regret those leaps of faith?

Those chances you can’t take back.

Those choices that beckon forth your reaper. 

I simply call him Dismay.

  By SpaceDog

A whine, a whine, and cake

This month has been incredibly hard for me. With my new found dedication to my mind, body, and spirit which includes sobriety, health, and meditation has come a lot of new found pitfalls. Not really new just that I thought quitting smoking would come very easy to me like quitting drugs or quitting drinking, but those did not come on the first try so why should this have.

It has kept me from writing as much I would have liked. But changes need to be imminent, otherwise change will never occur.

That being said. I started writing this yesterday however I needed a bit of a kick in the ass, a nice taste of stupid people, and a little bit of eye candy.

Unfortunately all I saw at the gym were five foot tall power lifting gym rat muscle heads. I’m pretty sure one stood at maybe 4’4″. I always find it cute with double numbers, just not with those two. I guess if I liked women I would like 44 better. I mean Pam Anderson does have a nice rack.

   

Ugh so all these people that think they can drive the speed limit or better in the snow are amusing. It’s not that bad out yet, maybe two or three inches and people drive like they are God. I am waiting for someone to crash into the median in front of me at some point. It would be pretty funny unless an airbag went off or glass broke. Most silly accidents like that are relatively funny.

OK I’ll stop being sick in the head. The funniest thing about the snow is there is always someone on TV shoveling it way, way, way too early. In this case about 15 hours too early. And he looked 70. I wish there was a way to broadcast to all elderly people when they are cutting up.

Or anyone really. Like sometimes my conscious mind seems to take a trip to a far away galaxy. There should be a chip in my head. Bad Spacedog, Bad Spacedog!!!! And transport me to some shackles.

    

That all being said…..I am not in the mood to bitch a whole lot more.

I am in the mood for cake. An entire cake…. decadent, lascivious, homemade, mouthwatering.

Men are like cake.
If I could I would eat cake everyday.
For every meal.
Then I would waddle eventually.
Overly indulged I would not want cake ever again.

Men are like that. You have too many, you will end up waddling or walking with a certain slant or strange visitors in your nooks and crannies.

Yet there are so many kinds of cake. It’s easy to find any old piece of cake. A vanilla with vanilla frosting or a chocolate cake. Minors are kind of like cupcakes. When you are a little cupcake, they are nice and tasty and big cakes are rather frightening or daunting or cumbersome. Hopefully we grow out of cupcakes.

 

Sometimes I still feel like a cupcake or I feel like eating one but I like a biT more satisfaction. And besides cupcakes don’t come in as many flavors.

And my favorite cake. I’m not really sure. My favorite cakes changes from year to year to year. Right now it probably would be Black Forest. But if I went around looking for a man that was black forest I would probably find something similar but not the same. Like a chocolate cheesecake covered in cherries.

But it’s easy to find cheesecake too. In fact most of the men in this world are cheesecakes. You can top them with strawberries, cherries, blueberries but guess what? They are still cheesecake underneath it all. Maybe if I liked cheesecake I would have been the type of person that has had a piece of cake under my grubby little fingers since I was 16 years old but I’ve never really been the biggest fan of cheesecake. It probably would be easier. But why just settle for the cheesecake?

   

I’d even take my second favorite cake, Triple Mousse. Then I find Triple Mousse and realize that cake is no longer what I want. I suddenly am allergic to chocolate. I suddenly am allergic to you. I ponder and I plot and I worry about what I am supposed to do. It would be nice if I could put a rain check on the Mousse or the Black Forest.

But then some days I want pie. And on those days I hide. I love lemon meringue and I love key lime, but the pie sometimes symbolizes what is wrong with life. It is so convenient and so easy, like the crack cocaine of sweets. Hostess and Tastycake and Drakes offer it for a dollar or less at times and it is so accessible. It calls right there and screams my name. It is easy to resist but hard like all other bad things can be at times.

So I sit here on this post snowy day wondering what exactly Christmas cookies are.

   

Then I wonder about Advent calendars. Why can’t their just be a man hiding behind the many days leading up to Christmas? That I can take with me and wake up under the Christmas tree and then just put him away a few days after New Years and forget about him and throw him in the crawl space until the following December.

I suppose some things will never be perfect in the world.

  By SpaceDog

A frozen moment in mind

I’m frozen here at the crossroads
Where not a moment of time doth pass
Sitting here with a vacancy sign
Yet it’s been so long
The motel doesn’t remember when it felt its final blast

Bouncing off clouds as expansive as the mind can dream
Listening to the dawn creep forth
Between the cries of the banshees
And your several last hypocrisies

Molded to the roadway
Your spirits charge around
I can feel the victory
Yet am not sure the victory will be found

Bewildered as to why this capsule
Ever travelled so darn far
Hampered by the lack of brilliance
Why has the darkened sky taken me to the brightest fading star?

Lucid and rebellious
Cunning and mystique
Nothing is remembered
As I hibernate back to my sheath

Terror has forgotten
Malaise has taken its own path
Leaping bugs recalling
When the ground wore down their backs

This dawn has come upon us
We lost it along the way
And as he forever marches
Comes the beauty of my day

  By SpaceDog

Frozen Ice : N@P’s Poetic Debut

Waters become so deep in this frigid night.

Endless dreams come with might.

Embraced but still moving wind,

Only surrounding within.

As soft to tough, fingers hold so much.

Abreast in saturated Ice, covers this so called life.

Entrapped emotions release ones conclusion,

Of how bitter cold this desecrated place may be.

A majestic surrounding of deep intimacy,

Submersing the surface of gasping breaths.

 

   By N@P

Frozen

I’m frozen here at the crossroads
Where not a moment of time doth pass
Sitting here with a vacancy sign
Yet it’s been so long
The motel doesn’t remember when it felt its final blast

Bouncing off clouds as expansive as the mind can dream
Listening to the dawn creep forth
Between the cries of the banshees
And your several last hypocrisies

Molded to the roadway
Your spirits charge around
I can feel the victory
Yet am not sure the victory will be found

Bewildered as to why this capsule
Ever travelled so darn far
Hampered by the lack of  brilliance
Why has the darkened sky taken me to the brightest fading star?

Lucid and rebellious
Cunning and mystique
Nothing is remembered
As I hibernate back to my sheath

Terror has forgotten
Malaise has taken its own path
Leaping bugs recalling
When the ground wore down their backs

This dawn has come upon us
We lost it along the way
And as he forever marches
Comes the beauty of my day

By SpaceDog 

The Tale of Two Wolves

Residing in the Soul of Every Person are Two Wolves

The White Wolf of Light Embodying All thats Good

And the Black Wolf of The Dark Evil

The Beasts War constantly waging Bloody Battles

The Scales tipping back and Forth

What is Mankind to Do

It comes down to

The One You

Feed The

Most.

Thanks for Reading,

By Les Sober

Vapid Fall

The sounds of autumn

Rancid sperm hitting decaying leaves

Menstrual blood drying up on majestic tree trunks

As he cleans it with microcloth

It will all be done soon

This terrace of forgotten fears

Ice cream falling down their faces

Bliss til it burns frozen

Scorching what was left of his youth

They came home

Out of sorts

The parkay floor it wept with dust and neglect

She said she tried said it mattered

It never mattered….never mattered

Still i run

Still i crawl

Can cry about it while i unsnap your bra

Trouble find me like Jacques Cousteau

I’m stuck under the puddles of the ocean

Breathing in your soul

Nipple slip…..nipple slip

Cavernous tunnels gnaw at me

Moths swarm… hide the light

As she lets Lucifer swallow her whole

So i could run so i can crawl

My eyes became three

I could see it all

Lies of autumn reanimated again

These fallen wings, these fallen friends

The dirt conquers all i see

Yet these wicked lies eat at me

I tremble at what you took

Melancholy remains

All i wanted was you

Sweet sweet Damian

By Spacedog