I just feel like sharing some of my favourite music with you tonight. Actually, I think I'll make this a 'music that makes me feel part II'. I'll jest get to the music now...
Candlebox - Far Behind
"Some would say your life was sad. But you lived it anyway "
"And that cold day when you lost control. Shame you left my life so soon. You should have told me. But you left me far behind"
It's a great song about the loss of a good friend. It's a song that makes me feel. I've been left behind a few times.
Johnny Lang - Red Light
"Walk on."
I love that song. Also, I used to be friends with the guy singing it. It has a great message, what does it mean to you?
Eric Bibb - Shine On
"Keep on when your mind says quit. Dream on 'til you find your living it."
Dream a little dream of life. Then make it bigger and do it. You rock and you can do anything.
Bloc Party - This Modern Love
"What are you holding out for? What's always in the way? Why so damn absent-minded? Why so scared of romance?"
Why is it so hard these days? I think romance is dieing. Maybe it's just me. It seems like people are so afraid of falling in love, they keep an emotional distance. I'm afraid, but I still put myself out there.
I'm in no rush to fall in love, I think I'm just getting tired of being alone.
Alright, what music makes you feel? Leave a comment below and let me know!
Monday, September 13, 2010
Friday, August 20, 2010
Some older poems
Some of you may have seen these before, but it's been a while since I've shared them.
Jaundiced Green
Did I tell you - I envy the honey bee
that hovers around your neck,
attracted to the scent of your perfume?
Did I tell you - I envy the flush
that colours your face,
when you laugh and smile?
Did I tell you - I envy the air
that inhales cool and exhales warm
from your soul?
Did I tell you - I envy the bandage
that has been entrusted to heal,
the paper cut on your finger?
Did I tell you - I envy the words
on the pages you read,
that dance in the reflection of your eyes?
If I have failed - as I have and will
my fondest desire is,
that you know how I feel.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Yes, at once upon a time I wrote poetry with some form of structure... Over the years, I've moved on to a more abstract writing style that seems to suit me. Jaundiced Green is my favourite poem from the days when I followed the "rules" of writing.
Now, a few shorties. I think these are all almost ten years old now.
Jaundiced Green
Did I tell you - I envy the honey bee
that hovers around your neck,
attracted to the scent of your perfume?
Did I tell you - I envy the flush
that colours your face,
when you laugh and smile?
Did I tell you - I envy the air
that inhales cool and exhales warm
from your soul?
Did I tell you - I envy the bandage
that has been entrusted to heal,
the paper cut on your finger?
Did I tell you - I envy the words
on the pages you read,
that dance in the reflection of your eyes?
If I have failed - as I have and will
my fondest desire is,
that you know how I feel.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Yes, at once upon a time I wrote poetry with some form of structure... Over the years, I've moved on to a more abstract writing style that seems to suit me. Jaundiced Green is my favourite poem from the days when I followed the "rules" of writing.
Now, a few shorties. I think these are all almost ten years old now.
This Pain
This love
It hurts me so
This pain it eats my
Soul I feel so very weak and
I cry
Frozen
Those eyes
Your fragrant hair
The way you walk into
The room makes me forget my thoughts
I'm lost
Sunshine
What is
It about you
That makes me feel this way
Whenever I see your smile
I melt
Seven Shades of White
I look into your eyes,
And my heart just stops.
I can't explain it;
I lose myself in their depth
There they are. Hmm, it seems there's a bit of a theme to this post after all ... neat.
I've recently decided to shart sharing some of my more personal writings. The stuff I've never shared with anybody. Yes, I'm nervous, but what is the worst that could happen? You'll all laugh at me? I can deal with that. I'm going through boxes of old notebooks and I'll have a nice collection put together soon. Hey, lucky you! You're gonna get a peak at my soul...
Questions? Comments? Concerns?
Comment on this post, follow this blog. Just let me know if anyone is out there.
Monday, July 19, 2010
Love and Lust, Also
Hello everybody, it's been a while. I got some things to show you. Here we go!
Love
So, this took me quite a while to put together. Thank you Voltaire for your constant inspiration. I'm sorry it's so small, after you follow the tumbnal, click the image to make it a little bigger. I guess Photobucket has a size limit. If you want a larger copy of this, let me know and I'll email one to you or something.
Lust, Also
Look at that ... I forgot to sign this one. Oh well, this one has a much larger origional as well. Do I need to explain this? I think it pretty much speaks for itself.
Okay, that's all for now. I need to go to work. So, leave comments and follow this blog. I hope to start posting once a week soon, but that's really up to you ...
Sunday, May 2, 2010
Music that makes me feel
Hey everybody! It's been a while since I posted some music for you. On my old blog, I used to do it all the time. Let's just get right to it then, huh?
Vex Red - Can't Smile
I don't know, that song always made me have emotions for some reason.
Placebo - Running Up That Hill
Yeah, it's a cover of a Kate Bush song. Kate Bush just bugs me, sorry. Placebo's version of this song just pounds the emotion out a bit more.
Collective Soul - Heaven's Already Here
This one is a bit of a double whammy for me. I used to love listening to this song, it made me happy and made me think about someone special. And then ... this happened to be the song I was listening to when I was told that person had been found dead. I have mixed feelings about this song now.
Live - Lightning Crashes
I think most people feel a bit of something when they hear this song. When Mom's older sister died, this song was starting to get popular. The first time I've ever seen Mom cry ... was the day after Aunt Linda died. She had been hiding her pain well, then as she was doing some laundry getting ready to go south for the funeral, this song came on the radio. My friend Stew was over at the time, and he has the same reaction as I do when this song is playing. Can't help tearing up. There's a few bars we go to where the staff knows us well. When somebody plays this on the jukebox, they skip it for us...
Ok, those were a few songs that make me feel. Do you have any songs that make you feel? What songs? What do you feel? Do you want to share?
Comment below.
Until next time,
~Mikal
Vex Red - Can't Smile
I don't know, that song always made me have emotions for some reason.
Placebo - Running Up That Hill
Yeah, it's a cover of a Kate Bush song. Kate Bush just bugs me, sorry. Placebo's version of this song just pounds the emotion out a bit more.
Collective Soul - Heaven's Already Here
This one is a bit of a double whammy for me. I used to love listening to this song, it made me happy and made me think about someone special. And then ... this happened to be the song I was listening to when I was told that person had been found dead. I have mixed feelings about this song now.
Live - Lightning Crashes
I think most people feel a bit of something when they hear this song. When Mom's older sister died, this song was starting to get popular. The first time I've ever seen Mom cry ... was the day after Aunt Linda died. She had been hiding her pain well, then as she was doing some laundry getting ready to go south for the funeral, this song came on the radio. My friend Stew was over at the time, and he has the same reaction as I do when this song is playing. Can't help tearing up. There's a few bars we go to where the staff knows us well. When somebody plays this on the jukebox, they skip it for us...
Ok, those were a few songs that make me feel. Do you have any songs that make you feel? What songs? What do you feel? Do you want to share?
Comment below.
Until next time,
~Mikal
Friday, April 30, 2010
Madadh
Alright, I wrote this poem about my dog. It's not a great poem, but I like it. Most of my poetry is about lust, and a bit of it is about loss. So, this was kinda new to me. Ok, I'll just show you the poem now.
Madadh
This dog is still young
Sure, he may be cute
When he tilts his head
~Inquisitive stare
Then he grabs a knife
From the kitchen sink
Runs around the house
"Hey, come play with me.."
Afraid to get cut
I just back away
He will drop it soon
If I don't give chase
And then, when he sleeps
He is cute again
Chasing that rabbit
He sees in his dreams
So, that's it. What do you think? I'm trying to start working with new styles and themes.
Hey, here's an idea ... give me a few theme suggestions. I'll try to write about whatever you tell me too. This might be fun, or I could fail and look like an idiot. Either way, it should be entertaining to you!
Please comment and become a follower.
Until next time,
~Mikal
Saturday, April 17, 2010
Poetry readings
Ok, I'm gonna make this quick. I don't know why, but I've been having trouble trying to embed youtube videos.
Here's a few poems read by the author. I won't give descriptions or anything. Just the video.
Forgetfulness by Billy Collins
Storm by Tim Minchin
There. Done. You like? Let me know, comment below.
Here's a few poems read by the author. I won't give descriptions or anything. Just the video.
Forgetfulness by Billy Collins
Storm by Tim Minchin
There. Done. You like? Let me know, comment below.
Sunday, April 11, 2010
Favourite poets
What it is people? I'm going to share some samples from a few of my favourite poets. I am in no way saying that these are the best poets ever, just a few that I enjoy. I hope you're ready, 'cause here we go!
First, I'll start with my very favourite, Charles Baudelaire. He was a French dude in the 1800's.
I give you Spleen by Charles Baudelaire, translated by Richard Howard.
(I)
February, peeved at Paris, pours
a gloomy torrent on the pale lessees
of the graveyard next door and a mortal chill
on tenants of the foggy suburbs too.
The tiles afford no comfort to my cat
that cannot keep its mangy body still;
the soul of some old poet haunts the drains
and howls as if a ghost could hate the cold.
A churchbell grieves, a log in the fireplace smokes
and hums falsetto to the clock's catarrh,
while in a filthy reeking deck of cards
inherited from a dropsical old maid,
the dapper Knave of Hearts and the Queen of Spades
grimly disinter their love affairs.
(II)
Souvenirs?
More than if I had lived a thousand years!
No chest of drawers crammed with documents,
love-letters, wedding-invitations, wills,
a lock of someone's hair rolled up in a deed,
hides so many secrets as my brain.
This branching catacombs, this pyramid
contains more corpses than the potter's field:
I am a graveyard that the moon abhors,
where long worms like regrets come out to feed
most ravenously on my dearest dead.
I am an old boudoir where a rack of gowns,
perfumed by withered roses, rots to dust;
where only faint pastels and pale Bouchers
inhale the scent of long-unstoppered flasks.
Nothing is slower than the limping days
when under the heavy weather of the years
Boredom, the fruit of glum indifference,
gains the dimension of eternity . . .
Hereafter, mortal clay, you are no more
than a rock encircled by a nameless dread,
an ancient sphinx omitted from the map,
forgotten by the world, and whose fierce moods
sing only to the rays of setting suns.
(III)
I'm like the king of a rainy country, rich
but helpless, decrepit though still a young man
who scorns his fawning tutors, wastes his time
on dogs and other animals, and has no fun;
nothing distracts him, neither hawk nor hound
nor subjects starving at the palace gate.
His favorite fool's obscenities fall flat
--the royal invalid is not amused--
and ladies in waiting for a princely nod
no longer dress indecently enough
to win a smile from this young skeleton.
The bed of state becomes a stately tomb.
The alchemist who brews him gold has failed
to purge the impure substance from his soul,
and baths of blood, Rome's legacy recalled
by certain barons in their failing days,
are useless to revive this sickly flesh
through which no blood but brackish Lethe seeps.
(IV)
When skies are low and heavy as a lid
over the mind tormented by disgust,
and hidden in the gloom the sun pours down
on us a daylight dingier than the dark;
when earth becomes a trickling dungeon where
Trust like a bat keeps lunging through the air,
beating tentative wings along the walls
and bumping its head against the rotten beams;
when rain falls straight from unrelenting clouds,
forging the bars of some enormous jail,
and silent hordes of obscene spiders spin
their webs across the basements of our brains;
then all at once the raging bells break loose,
hurling to heaven their awful caterwaul,
like homeless ghosts with no one left to haunt
whimpering their endless grievances.
--And giant hearses, without dirge or drums,
parade at half-step in my soul, where Hope,
defeated, weeps, and the oppressor Dread
plants his black flag on my assenting skull.
~~~
Yes. Don't you just love that? There's so much great awesomeness from Baudelaire, but I'll only post the one. If you can find a good translation on Les Fleurs du mal, pick it up and give it a read.
Moving on...
Next, Marcus Argentarius. Though he may not be one of my favourite poets, he did write what could be my favourite poem.
Here is Love is Not by Marcus Argentarius, translated by Fleur Adcock.
Love is not just a function of the eyes.
Beautiful objects will, of course, inspire
Possesive urges - you need not despise
Your taste. But when insatiable desire
Inflames you for a girl who's out of fashion,
Lacking in Glamour - plain, in fact - that fire
Is genuine; that's the authentic passion.
Beauty, though, any critic can admire.
~~~
Most excellent, no? All I know about Marcus Argentarius is that he lived a long ass time ago.
Ok, I was going to post some videos of poems read by the authors, but I guess Youtube is doesn't want me to do that tonight. I'll try that again later.
I guess that's it for tonight. Please, let me know what you think. What do you think of these poems? Who is your favourite poet? What is your favourite poem?
Until next time ....
~MikalSylvine
First, I'll start with my very favourite, Charles Baudelaire. He was a French dude in the 1800's.
I give you Spleen by Charles Baudelaire, translated by Richard Howard.
(I)
February, peeved at Paris, pours
a gloomy torrent on the pale lessees
of the graveyard next door and a mortal chill
on tenants of the foggy suburbs too.
The tiles afford no comfort to my cat
that cannot keep its mangy body still;
the soul of some old poet haunts the drains
and howls as if a ghost could hate the cold.
A churchbell grieves, a log in the fireplace smokes
and hums falsetto to the clock's catarrh,
while in a filthy reeking deck of cards
inherited from a dropsical old maid,
the dapper Knave of Hearts and the Queen of Spades
grimly disinter their love affairs.
(II)
Souvenirs?
More than if I had lived a thousand years!
No chest of drawers crammed with documents,
love-letters, wedding-invitations, wills,
a lock of someone's hair rolled up in a deed,
hides so many secrets as my brain.
This branching catacombs, this pyramid
contains more corpses than the potter's field:
I am a graveyard that the moon abhors,
where long worms like regrets come out to feed
most ravenously on my dearest dead.
I am an old boudoir where a rack of gowns,
perfumed by withered roses, rots to dust;
where only faint pastels and pale Bouchers
inhale the scent of long-unstoppered flasks.
Nothing is slower than the limping days
when under the heavy weather of the years
Boredom, the fruit of glum indifference,
gains the dimension of eternity . . .
Hereafter, mortal clay, you are no more
than a rock encircled by a nameless dread,
an ancient sphinx omitted from the map,
forgotten by the world, and whose fierce moods
sing only to the rays of setting suns.
(III)
I'm like the king of a rainy country, rich
but helpless, decrepit though still a young man
who scorns his fawning tutors, wastes his time
on dogs and other animals, and has no fun;
nothing distracts him, neither hawk nor hound
nor subjects starving at the palace gate.
His favorite fool's obscenities fall flat
--the royal invalid is not amused--
and ladies in waiting for a princely nod
no longer dress indecently enough
to win a smile from this young skeleton.
The bed of state becomes a stately tomb.
The alchemist who brews him gold has failed
to purge the impure substance from his soul,
and baths of blood, Rome's legacy recalled
by certain barons in their failing days,
are useless to revive this sickly flesh
through which no blood but brackish Lethe seeps.
(IV)
When skies are low and heavy as a lid
over the mind tormented by disgust,
and hidden in the gloom the sun pours down
on us a daylight dingier than the dark;
when earth becomes a trickling dungeon where
Trust like a bat keeps lunging through the air,
beating tentative wings along the walls
and bumping its head against the rotten beams;
when rain falls straight from unrelenting clouds,
forging the bars of some enormous jail,
and silent hordes of obscene spiders spin
their webs across the basements of our brains;
then all at once the raging bells break loose,
hurling to heaven their awful caterwaul,
like homeless ghosts with no one left to haunt
whimpering their endless grievances.
--And giant hearses, without dirge or drums,
parade at half-step in my soul, where Hope,
defeated, weeps, and the oppressor Dread
plants his black flag on my assenting skull.
~~~
Yes. Don't you just love that? There's so much great awesomeness from Baudelaire, but I'll only post the one. If you can find a good translation on Les Fleurs du mal, pick it up and give it a read.
Moving on...
Next, Marcus Argentarius. Though he may not be one of my favourite poets, he did write what could be my favourite poem.
Here is Love is Not by Marcus Argentarius, translated by Fleur Adcock.
Love is not just a function of the eyes.
Beautiful objects will, of course, inspire
Possesive urges - you need not despise
Your taste. But when insatiable desire
Inflames you for a girl who's out of fashion,
Lacking in Glamour - plain, in fact - that fire
Is genuine; that's the authentic passion.
Beauty, though, any critic can admire.
~~~
Most excellent, no? All I know about Marcus Argentarius is that he lived a long ass time ago.
Ok, I was going to post some videos of poems read by the authors, but I guess Youtube is doesn't want me to do that tonight. I'll try that again later.
I guess that's it for tonight. Please, let me know what you think. What do you think of these poems? Who is your favourite poet? What is your favourite poem?
Until next time ....
~MikalSylvine
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