Romance in El Dorado

How can you pay for what you get,
When you don’t even know what you want?
If the tickets have all been sold,
who cares if you catch the train?
like there was going be a quiz
at the end of the day…at the end our each life –

like a drained swamp is to a failed romance
in a summer day with nothing left but stench
and tuber fluid, as the ridges climb slowly
to the grassy bank, and
we got just one more, baby, listening up.

How can you, when they take away
your right to ask: “Who are ‘they’?”—
return to sender on the late night show
the picture of the man with the green suspenders
who just passes you by on his way to the table.

I’ve painted all the envelopes shut,
and my nail polish won’t dry.
We didn’t make it up
that some short walk
in the Burmese rain
can be worth a thousand moons
and some chocolates.

But we wanted to say a warm hand
on your shoulder can be worth more
than any telephone call
from the General and his niece.
We all labor under some illusion
we inherited in our misspent youth, like, --
just hand me the bleach
and truth and falsehood
can be told.
Or, you get what you need, --
when you can’t even tell where you are.

This is no history lesson, baby,
but those are my blue suede shoes,
so show me around the dance hall tonight,
cause I can’t pay my dues.



Post Edited (03-05-05 03:31)

"This is no history lesson, baby,
but those are my blue suede shoes,
so show me around the dance hall tonight,
cause I can’t pay my dues."


--yayah! good one Peter.

Coin
"Try your wings"

Thanks,

Peter

This is no history lesson, baby,
but those are my blue suede shoes,
so show me around the dance hall tonight,
cause I can’t pay my dues.

---------------

lol i loved it! You and a couple of other people are amazing at writing poems...it litarally must just come to you..i dont see why you dont get paid for this...AMAZING!!

Thanks,

Martina,

but if you paid someone for making love, he'd be a gigalo (sp.)

Peter



Post Edited (03-05-05 00:25)

We all labor under some illusion
we inherited in our misspent youth, like, --
just hand me the bleach
and truth and falsehood
can be told.
Or, you get what you need, --
when you can’t even tell where you are.

I like this message you convey through your poem. Bleach taking out stains but causing much harm at the level of health, in comparison to "truth and falshood" is interesting. Realistic romance? I guess not , but...?

Which of my tangents worked for you?

I do two seperable things when I write this kind of poem. I write in order to try to intentionally follow a beat, to let the thing flow, and to concentrate on the sound of the poem -- words, rhythms, intonations marked by pauses and line endines. And I let the words say themselves, just helping them along the way make themselves into a sense. I think if there is a third thing I do it is to try to let the poem feel finished at its end, both have it end on the right beat and let the sense come to its closure, if there is any.

Peter

bump, just because I stumbled on a copy of this on the back of an old grocery list, hence...and I enjoyed reading it.

amo,

Peter

I enjoyed reading it.

Me too.

Peter, I wonder if this poem was finished at one sitting. It seems somehow disjointed to me. Just curious.

Les

Edited 1 time(s). Last edit at 05/28/2009 11:00AM by les712.

Les,

Yes, it seemed disjointed to me too when I wrote it, but it was written in one sitting without me attempting to smooth out that disjointedness. I guess that was one of the qualities it had that I enjoy. Thanks for reading to carefully enough to notice that.

HI Joe. Thanks for stopping by.

cheers,

Peter