thango

An Example of Bare Horse Riding

14 Jun 08 09:22:43 GMT



Evangel, yours the book has a saddle smell quality
mine yet is to be given, maybe I’ll buy it first,
crossing bridges or going through walls helps?

Someones spirit lit change; in your name after death.

Boreal, to elements whisks the paw of tenderness
your nails in my back leave a strange poison – Loner!
pastures for your lips now , how come?

Our choices are blind visuals that give a worthful life.

Peruse we are in detail and as close as an aging breath
can divide the bedroom or all space that is the next door
for a good reason urges plunder into invisible distances?

Their voices unheard today let me cut open your nightdress.

Thank you - my flower, oh! Sooo prepared...

Thourn Whaul -- June 2008

Rejections

13 Mar 08 10:20:16 GMT


Are there many or were they avoided up to a notch
where the rite or rhythm takes us into corner still comfortable
where the visuals place us into what we want
where we don’t get but give birth only to change
some passage, the reward on our family wall
but this one has a noticeable spot of mold after the last,
really maybe only friend has died.

Was it your partner? Your wife of ten children or
the ones facial expression when stale
still accomplishes a pleasant evening
like the every weekend social
and the very all dear
who wouldn’t pull apart of tooth
that much as time can,
if not in check.

Only a moth open
Loves
As it sees,
Feels
Why?

Maybe to believe there is something else
that what we hold in tears, as life feeds.

Thourn Whaul '080313TW' rev: 080429

Lanius Collurio

11 Mar 08 12:08:59 GMT


Impaled on the fence a lizard, only its tail for you 
is already in your stomach,
my tea is cooling with a biscuit soggy in the flask on the bench

earlier my sweet companion slipped in the stream nearby
and her hair is so beautiful when wet, 
we watch you 
  and noticed a boat that is not ours on the sea.

In it, you greet us again, dropped a mouse
Is it ‘cause we carried back,
your tiny 
fallen chick from the nest?

The flight my darling with no answer,
it took you away with the winds
clouds that build only yearn, the boat has your hairy gift
but only as a short feast and your  courtesy returned;
understood beside all the next to me 
 better part, her sudden
sea sickness.

Thourn Whaul 11/03/2008

FOUND - THE TALE OF SOLDIER FEDOT, THE DARING FELLOW

07 Mar 08 11:15:11 GMT


  TSAR
    The British envoy has come for
    Our refreshment after night before, 
    While we only have to eat 
    Stale bread, a bone... and that's it!
    You must go and bring some food,
    Something special, something good,
    Say, a partridge, or a grouse
    Or whatever, from the wood.
    If you can't do that, my dear,
    I shall have to execute you, hear?
    It's a matter of importance,
    A state affair, is it clear?

... Leonid Filatov

---
Od kog si se to sakrila...

Thourn Whaul

Mortum my Gum Accroides?

03 Mar 08 09:42:00 GMT

(saying good-bye to a always pretending but dead friend)


I've burned it to welcome Christmas
them, plucked have oils scented stronger than mint 
as vapor when crushed in the palms,

Is it yours though - that hand?
That had the privilege
like the same ergodicity - you have
that always leaves you silent when crucial,

touching,
some sort of
stone masonry you've build
always in your mind

It isn't yours, but glad -
I am that neither; nor your neck now
on a rope will be swinging under my apple tree,

Please at least die in dignity; since 
you had that rather; than have to patch desires
and do turn the bundle of strings knot 
the right way,

so it will snap your cat neck fast!

---

Dimitrie is back again,
you ignoring all said - unfelt
it isn't difficult anymore,
you two being together again
as your letter states, almost notes
Yes! It was very easy.

Dimitrie left his socks
after the stream and place
you two barefoot tiptoeing
through my garden, 
o how beautiful...

Thourn Whaul, March'08 (less we forget)

Mortum my Gum Accroides?

Some poetry revisions only...

01 Mar 08 05:16:07 GMT

Minute Minuartia
You Left me Alone
Untitled unless...

Cascade of Red Tickets

25 Jan 08 10:47:53 GMT


One is folding
the rest counts four with it

The machine that it came from
it didn't half it lying on the desk

Each has "one" and they resemble a train
autistic is only the place on which they're spend.

Thourn Whaul 25/01/2008

Boxing Day 2007

28 Dec 07 08:46:49 GMT


You love, from afar
today I walked to the lotus
it is in bloom and no one around
its leaves played with the lakes
small waves and the wind
but the stem stayed undisturbed,
it is my favorite place.

You, that gracious
would fill more with grander
the words you would have
the thoughts with such caress
and as the grand flower opens
there in front of us we would see
that alone it isn’t,

 never was 
.

Thourn Whaul

TW-boxing_glove_nb_two.jpg

And it happened, it was wonderful:

Lion Eating Poet in the Stone Den

25 Dec 07 09:14:28 GMT

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lion-Eating_Poet_in_t... (Don't miss listening to the recital of the poem)

The Lion-Eating Poet in the Stone Den (simplified Chinese: 施氏食狮史; traditional Chinese: 施氏食獅史; pinyin: Shī Shì shí shī shǐ) is a famous example of constrained writing by Yuen Ren Chao which consists of 92 characters, all with the sound shi in different tones when read in Mandarin. The text, although written in Classical Chinese, can be easily comprehended by most educated readers. However, changes in pronunciation over 2,500 years resulted in a large degree of homophony in Classical Chinese, so the poem becomes completely incomprehensible when spoken out in Putonghua or when written romanized.

PRC linguists suggest that Yuen Ren Chao, as the leader who designed Gwoyeu Romatzyh, believed in romanization of Mandarin (which incorporates tones and foreign cognate spellings) but believed it suitable only for writing modern vernacular Chinese and not Classical Chinese. As a result, Classical Chinese should be abandoned and vernacular Chinese should be promoted. Other linguists, however, see the text as a demonstration of how absurd it could be when the Chinese language is romanized. It sometimes causes confusion rather than giving assistance for the learners.

Sana (arabic - briliance) or (Sanskrit - One of the three esoteric Kumaras, whose names are Sana, Kapila and Sanatsujata, the mysterious triad which contains the mystery of generation and reincarnation.)

POSTCARD - Voucher

21 Dec 07 10:32:37 GMT

How to Grieve a Banker


In the papers by accident your sorrowed image, name and aged
the black cross and frame, few words, family and last mentions
commemorations, and dates, faint clue for sudden reasons of death,
abridgment is there, status of the deceased, public particulars on
well amounted contributions - significant the loss a sincere grief.

Your time was, what happened? Wind it back and check
wasn’t it that what was missed was the driving force,
so much that  it wouldn’t have by any chance the to repeat?
And yet it does, same as your sizing up and that box was done by eye
cheap coffins are well made, and designed when imported from Indonesia.

You don’t care now, sure, if cremation or next venture could as well place
the: that more less you’ll be visited as the brass letters of your name will green

The neighbors you didn’t choose for the first time, and it is now afterlife like
my internet searches confirm, one is a convicted murderer and the other?
Some typical housewife; with five children behind, both been your bad customers in the past.

---

Your loyal harfa classical childhood friend left a rose some ten years past
Today is a normal day and his face you will not recognize in the decay cast.

His key, a beach ball now on your monument cleaners will soon take away.
Not long now, he will join you, yes, but will you find each other ever again?

Thourn Whaul 2007

A Bird came down the Walk


A Bird came down the Walk—
He did not know I saw—
He bit an angle-worm in halves
And ate the fellow, raw,

And then he drank a Dew
From a convenient Grass,
And then hopped sidewise to the Wall
To let a Beetle pass—

He glanced with rapid eyes
That hurried all abroa—
They looked like frightened Beads, I thought—
He stirred his velvet head

Like one in danger, Cautious,
I offered him a Crumb,
And he unrolled his feathers
And rowed him softer home—

Than Oars divide the Ocean,
Too silver for a seam—
Or Butterflies, off Banks of Noon,
Leap, plashless as they swim.

Emily Dickinson

Je t’aime mi amoré menebêff fie

Ene le arabylyla,- too much

Rousanoú Meteora

13 Nov 07 08:23:56 GMT

There were times
that the sparrows would disappear
the hate and disaprovement
would chew weeks and beads,
peas crushing dry one's scull
leftover teeth bits

Behind all bad that goes on
It is indeed behind
how not to disagree?

There, a plunge
spiraling down from the
Meteora rock house
the pool isn't a glass
the landing dive
dip into your eyes.

There are also times
the dark hooded priest
white bearded, black cloth
and book covered in gold script
would take a seat
on an unmarked grave
pull out a tiny little glass bottle
drink out the clear spirit in one go

And say, "See me, don't blame me
and don't you ever talk to me again!"

He would leave,
but two birds would spring
out nearby high grass
swallows, their destination - roof,

And no falcon or eagle
would notice them,
placing down
their first branches.

Thourn Whaul 11/'07

The Flock Trip

09 Nov 07 22:44:10 GMT

The flock has landed
with no seed ever thrown.
On a field green and mended.
Full in pain, a new keeper has grown.

People want times to be dear.
No problem being a bit queer.
Earth in shocking state.
Past the river of blood, 2 and 8 will mate.
(I am loosing inspiration, should I shutdown?)

Cages clean as never seen.
From all, only two saw eye to eye.

Thourn Whaul '02

The Reason I Did It

03 Nov 07 20:52:11 GMT

Chafed and bewildered a reach finally found
this year's gown and hairs falling in the fitting room
it is a ritual each year and the wearable is not
just something picked out of thin air in design.

Sometimes satin, at others - and on that day in the year
no store would have the flawless hatched moron fine
silk that you are after on a whole Saturday alone.

Like a new pet or stray it does eventual arrive
you lie in it and think of me and my last nonsense,
the way the young neighbour asked you for sex
while trying to borrow a spanner to close her water pipe.

Youth teases, explores each pore but stops
when door opened pronounces your stylish manor
heavy as the first wig and both, thick as the first lipstick.

You think of me, and the way I rejected meeting her
that beautiful blond, with yet a cup empty of regrets
a smile bolted shutdown feelings and excited blush
a knock and thoughts about nothing moments before.

Wake happy, at least this once.

Thourn Whaul

Poetry Picks From The Net

01 Sep 07 06:54:59 GMT

TITHONOS AND EOS

This room in Eos house without windows,
The door tightly secured from the outside.
The food no longer shoved in through the trap in door,
For old Tithonos is immortal, not eating will not cause him to die.
When immortal Tithonos grew old and ugly,
Eos, a goddess eternally young, shut him from her sight.
Eos spends her time at the corner bar sipping Campari,
Waiting to find a young man as beautiful as the young Tithonos.
Tithonos is now 2,000 years. He is so old his wrinkled flesh
Has disappeared, even his aged bones have disappeared.
All that is left of Tithonos is his voice. With his voice he sings
A Lehar song from Paganini, "Girls are made to love and kiss."

Duane Locke

http://www.badosa.com/bin/obra.pl?id=p126

Dialgum

It has nothing to do with me
that there are no answers on that answering machine.
The cherry tree's cherries descry,
deplore, dispute disparity between
to be and to seem.
It doesn't matter to me:
I eat them.

The pink tennis shoes chews
her gum which moves
her henna'd hair. Hers
is a dream of Else and Other
wise beyond their years.
She calls them a man.
Who hears that you want him to love and can
it mean what you think he fears--
et cetera.

Et cetera. That, alone,
I'm allowed to say,
dear.

Lis Waldner

Lines of Communication

Weight of a Mourning Dove shivers the wire
strung along a dusty roadside
above the wheat fields
between the lean of wooden poles.

She sits inside the clapboard farmhouse
wonders how far the wires stretch before they break.
How many miles between these cities of signals?
How long before the bird flies?

Static on the line -
through broken slats, forlorn cries;
a vee of geese.

Weaver 29/10/07

Love Poem

I sit on the seawall in the midnight hour
to scan the sky for leftover stars.
Where am I going? she asked.
I am going where this night is the darkest,
where the only light is twinkling white freckles
from the cheek of the milky way,
condensed above my head.
Our privacy is stunning,
the August moon is the October sun.

She teases me in the midnight hour; she teases me always.
"The soul can be sifted into other vehicles."
Sacrificed is the love by which our circuitry is crafted
in this life; if you find yourself a flamingo,
ask yourself if you still love to sketch strangers in charcoal.
But you won't, because the parts of you that could
are sifted into the memories of other dead vehicles,
the prior hearts of other flamingos.

Crest, you will not be remembered.
The death of your subtle differences will not warrant any remorse;
you will be pulled back into your brothers and sisters,
and that's all that we can hope to be: a heaving circle.
Your eulogy will celebrate your height and your velocity,
the enthusiasm with which you sucked recycled shore,
but in the end, she makes me ask: Who Didn't?

Whose body isn't wrapped in a layer of elastic gossamer,
tethered to the past?
And where are we going? I asked.
In the midnight hour, I wish to know if I am malleable,
if I can save this breath as a proof of purchase,
if I can mail them away for some divine validation,
a certificate that says I am neither a folding wave
nor a bead in a kaleidoscope, however beautiful.

I wish to open my lungs on the seawall for this hope:
death will cancel out any suspicions about herself,
if those suspicions are false.
If she is absolute, we've got nothing to lose
but the ability to comprehend loss.
Where am I going? she asked.
She is shedding her black cloak,
she smells like my mother's strawberry shortcake.
She is starting to look more and more like home.

Where I can soak in the deepest pocket of air
left in my heart, reserved for her still.
It's just as well that I fall in love with ideas and not people,
for there is no lover like an existential crisis.
Her drive and her loyalty are no cotton candy love;
she won't melt in your mouth before you can taste her,
like any man limited to flesh and lies.

And I'll never have to miss her, lose her.
We'll exit the stage hand in hand,
a siamese marriage made in the stars.
We'll fall with everything to land with nothing,
fall for us and land with neither.

SilaryHilary 26/08/07

CHOPIN: AN INVENTORY

Almost sixty mazurkas; about thirty etudes;
two dozen preludes; a score of nocturnes;
some fifteen waltzes; over a dozen polonaises;
scherzos, improvisations, ballades, four of each;
three sonatas for piano; and two concertos for piano and orchestra,
one berceuse, one barcalole, one fantasy, one tarantella, etc.,
besides some seventeen songs for voice and piano; a fatal case of tuberculosis;
a talent for concertizing; many mundane successes; an unhappy passion;
a celebrated liaison with a famous woman; other assorted liaisons;
a country without sure borders or definite independence;
the French Europe of Romanticism; several friendships with the eminent;
and scarcely thirty-nine years of lif. Others lived less, wrote more,
tasted more bitterly the classically bitter bread of exile, were ignored
or persecuted, died forsaken, didn’t linger in alcoves
or salons of glory, confined themselves less to the instrument they had mastered most,
and were exiled longer in suffering for a non-existent country.
Besides, almost all the others escaped the repugnant possibility
of becoming a melody for virgins, a rhythm for the castrated,
a sham, a languishing, a nostalgia of illiterates,
and other vulgar, mediocre, and ungenerous things – as he did not. Or of becoming
a piece de non-résistance for performers who play for those who believe
they like music but really don’t. And what’s more,
he was a parvenu, a pedant sure of an aristocracy he couldn’t claim,
a reactionary anguished over revolutions that would liberate, among others,
the oligarchies of Poland – poor things. And, finally,
one begins to suspect he was not even a romantic,
at least not in the sense he pretended or let others believe he was.
A knack for composing music as one writes a poem,
a power disguising itself in languor, an air of inspiration
concealing the structure, a harmonious melancholy above
an ironic melody (or the other way round), the magic of rhythms
used to hide thought – and hide it so well
that he still passes for an ass of a genius, this man who had thought in his fingers,
whose boldness put on the mask of feeling and free forms
to create a self. So able in the kitchen, that he can be served
lukewarm, in hours of longing and sorrow,
hot, at those great occasions of triumphant life,
or cold, when music alone expresses the empty despair of being
nothing more in the world than a piano.

Poem of the Week:
http://international.poetryinternationalweb.org/pi...

Metamorphosis V

22 Apr 07 15:40:47 GMT

link

This Woman is Hot!

And The Opposite

INVISIBLE MACHINE

By subjecting fragments from Akira Kurosawa's film Rashomon to a mirror effect, Provost creates a hallucinatory scene of a woman's reverse chrysalis into an imploding butterfly.

(music is frightening - be warned)

YOUR TOUCH

my real interest

Metamorphosis I

04 Nov 06 07:16:50 GMT

POETRY HERE

link

And here is well done but evil Fire Engine Clip

link

~~~ Fooofff Blue Stalker ~~~

link

And here link to Jono Rotman from NZ (pro-photographer - allow popups)

060317 - Blue Crow

It looks up
then eats sand

But why? Poor Soth!

Look here, bread crumbs - a full hand.

After the feed, I dreamed my real loved one; has caught me in her butterfly net...

Thourn Whaul

link

One day the sky will break...I hope it will...

link

no link

My Ex!

link

Balkan Indy

My Flatmates if I Don't Move

My flatmates and MU next to the stove when I move, and I am not moving far.

Weavers Secret

Faun

Female Faun

Just found out about AMMA (an spiritual organization.
Which is not AMA (an evil organization).
Anyway, got nothing and don't want anything to do with any of these.

Even if their help offered or needed, they will be refused till the rest of my life. My answer, to one with good attention and to the other (AMA) with root in hell! And with who ever made you tick and let you walk earth in the first place. Same orgz. in other countries exempted.

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About Love

13 Jul 08 10:36:21 GMT


Love uttered too much
is it reason we hutch
swear all earthly faults
the foot as tooth
only gavage body kind,
but let me roll in the malts.

End, it spoke and despised
that measures are too spiced
the truth singing out
every play is a crane
flying over the advised.

Owning it only can jester
but having it, is it a body gesture?

Thourn Whaul July '08

Minute Minuartia

27 Feb 08 11:57:00 GMT

(An Ἑστία Prayer)

Herbal, stamen, reappear

Call me in images touchable

Visit me in my midnight speech

Most of all; perish from all reach.

The nature of your sisters mute

to words uttered an acute

This earthling only wants

That night or day is not in his palms.

Thourn Whaul 27/02/2008

Untitled unless...

24 Feb 08 02:51:37 GMT


You didn’t expect it
that thunder from a white guy echoes

Why would I look twice?
If last time you turned the back to me.

Let me make it possible babe!
There are always things as beautiful as us.

Forgive me, being in doubt that time and score will pass.

Thourn Whaul feb'2008

You Left me Alone

16 Feb 08 06:17:48 GMT


You say my cross is not straight,
rather an x-ray into the shiny boots you bought
on a Valentine’s day, their smell are in me full, with you on the bed
you’ve let me shine them, polish in this strange but pleasant passion you found me in.

Your legs move and body wants more - I can tell
that you yearn me to acknowledge and dive in
as expected between branches that are so on offer.

Me? I am sad but not in mood to let go,
of the little that is to say about myself, except to give you love




me and my seeds can only out whisper all consequence,
me and my poverty 
burdens you with some uncontrolled mistake - I can tell.

Dear friend and lover, isn’t it enough that I’ve let go,
maybe it is enough; and you decided to leave and go away,
but only after seeing my gardens flower that indeed has stayed,
did you know, how it reminds me so much on you after revision?

Thourn Whaul '08

Kisses

09 Jan 08 12:28:06 GMT

Kisses


They from me, they from you
our dreams fulfill,
Reality turned blue

WOHIN WAGNER GEHÖRT

Auch jetzt noch ist Frankreich der Sitz der geistigsten und raffiniertesten Kultur Europas und die hohe Schule des Geschmacks: aber man muß dies "Frankreich des Geschmacks" zu finden wissen. Die Norddeutsche Zeitung zum Beispiel, oder wer in ihr sein Mundstück hat, sieht in den Franzosen "Barbaren", - ich für meine Person suche den schwarzen Erdteil, wo man "die Sklaven" befreien sollte, in der Nähe der Norddeutschen ... -- Nietzsche


...
Till the little ones, weary,
No more can be merry:
The sun does descend,
And our sports have an end.
Round the laps of their mothers
Many sisters and brothers,
Like birds in their nest,
Are ready for rest,
And sport no more seen
On the darkening green. -- 
from The Echoing Green - William Blake

POSTCARD - Where Breathing Starts

16 Nov 07 18:44:35 GMT

"Where Breathing Starts" -- Tord Gustavsen Trio

http://www.squareamerica.com/pa1.htm

---

And fromThango: 1 * 21312/24 = 888 -> (888/24) + 1 = 38 -> (((38-24+5)*888)/38) * 1000 = 1444
, hmmm NO!

Castrato Tricks

09 Nov 07 21:44:00 GMT

Castrato Tricks

Why gurggling names, long
each morning, infront of the sink
spits out enemies?

Because it's a book
pillow remembering leafs
exams failing you!

You don't want amour,
You don't want to be studied
You want cushions!

Light up a candle
I also, will do so and watch
moths arrive pregnant.

I'll pin one for you
send it wrapped in yellow
it will never rot.

I'll hold one for you
for days between hands, frozen
you've said you'll visit.

Thourn Whaul

02/2005

Washing Black

You dreamed 'bout rescue
but chained there you are stunning
Unused and yearning
to give away your body
stripped leaving trail

Red Turned

First time red ready
your calm posture perfection
Me undeserving
Will take only vail
cherished memory of you

Thourn Whaul '05

Trinity

27 Sep 07 14:00:13 GMT

There are no peatels to the this shrine
only branches brown and thin
the closer you are to the destination
the thiker and harder it gets to walk.

You are tempted to grab, clear the way
but it has been years and neglect collects
each strength, each move, each motion
the thiker and harder it gets to continue.

The altar turns to be a hundered meter cliff
health collects still each creavacy to grab
climb as you got so far and for fun sake
the thiker and harder it gets to reach God.

If you get there, don't bring gifts.
Don't bring mirros, mirracles are unbreakable.

Thourn Whaul '07

Wishful Thinking

25 Sep 07 20:16:36 GMT

Your body
It is a healing force here
Under me, but
You wanted only kisses to continue

Your words
They shut me down
Above you, a pigeon
I wanted only kisses to begin

Dreams never shatter
close
no they wake
with you.

Thourn Whaul