Poetry here.

[Pluto]

Sad Dog

Sad black dog at the station. Poor thing, looking at me with ashamed eyes, its owner makes his bed in a pissed-filled corner. Poor thing, tonight I think of you and hope you are in better spirits. Perhaps on Monday I will pass you again, if so I will have food for you - poor black dog. I can tell you are hurting, it was your face, it stopped me in my tracks. Surprised to see such misery in an animals gaze. You seemed aware of things, love your owner but know he's a hopeless case. The looks people give you are reflected back in your eyes, that's what got me. You live in Brussels under a subway, life turned out different than you'd imagined. Be there on Monday, I'll have some meat for you.

[Arising_uk]

Humans.

And that about
sums up the
human primate.
Feed the fucking
dog but fuck
helping humans.

[Pluto]

Exactly - it's true. I know it and do it. But here I'm talking of the dog, it's possible and okay - Also a feeling mood driven creature. It was the look the dog gave me that shocked me, it was more than human in its genuine intensity of feeling. The human can understand why he feels sad and do something about it, the dog can't, its trapped in its nature.

Like Shakespeare's King Lear, the jester realises he's not the fool of a king but that he's the fool of a fool and so hangs himself. Maybe there was a bit of that with the dog and the homeless man in my mind. Or - The dog following its given nature of loyalty to that which feeds him yet that path is leading to total misery. The path that you follow as destined and navigated by your nature is leading you to total misery, maybe this was what I saw. Trapped in the limits of your nature.


The dog and the homeless man

Together they are, through thick and thin
They bring each comfort
The life is a sad one though
Both faces look at each other and sigh
why is this so how did this happen...

Trapped in the limits of Nature

Trapped in the limits of your nature
Bounce off the walls of confinement
If no exit then can I reconstitute what's in here
Turn inside out what's outside in
Prison door is locked but can see a new me

[bus2bondi]

here is a painting i have that reminded me of these poems. It came framed with the poem that goes along with it on the side. I'll rewrite the poem below the pic because their not clear in the image. The word 'still' refers to photo.



(Black and White Still)

meticulously arranged
bottle in hand
framed in sadness
a black and white still
red brick background
in shades of gray
his emotions etched
in the blackest of moods
the cars passing by
cast a theatrical glow
shown white
in his milky eyes
a trash littered gallery
his heart on display
clutching the corners
of a black and white still
always a family man
he reviews his heirs
held before him
frozen in time
surfaces cracked
images fading
much like his memories of them
he drank with a flourish
fit for a king
tipped his hat to the crowds
passing by
they all watched with distaste
most merely quickened their pace
missing the tears in his eyes
he's just an old drunk
he heard someone say
as they hurried along their way
a portrait of a man's pain
in his august years
a black and white still
fading gray

(poem by Joda Khan, Painting by Ejay Khan)

[Pluto]

Thanks for writing it out. In painting I know of pictures that romanticise the peasant, look how close to nature he is, honest hard work, simple pleasure. There's an amazing painting by Millet of a guy resting on a hoe, he's wearing large wooden clogs.

What's the story behind the painting, is the guy with grey hair and a beard a real guy?

I was once in Barcelona sitting outside a cafe at night. My friend had gone in to get drinks, the place was full of nicely dressed Spaniards, I was scanning the street when a figure came into my view. He was a homeless guy about 40 with a long coat, long hair and a full beard, he was dirty and looked a thousand miles away in his mind. What shocked me, gave me a start was that I suddenly felt that I was looking at a caveman from the prehistoric age, he had slipped time, was not of this place and then another jolt realising he was human and living a life.

[Arising_uk]

Justification.

Yadda, yadda.
Yadda.
Yadda, yadda, yadda.

[Pluto]

Nice images of Van Gogh's Starry Night I believe. Like the close-up effect. How do you put images on here? I'd like to do it.

I slipped Time
one time into a
new year - It was
2009 on a Tuesday

[Psychonaut]

[img]Web%20address%20of%20image[/img]

If you open a 'new post' you should see to the bottom left the word BBCode highlighted in blue. If you click on this it will tell you a number of other useful tools.

[Pluto]

Cheers, both of you, sounds complex.

Complexity of speech
is sound waving at you
when you're alone

Words are quite slippery
they're made of ice
as soon as they hit hot air
they take on their own life

[aloysius]

When the fireflies dance
brief lights shine in the darkness.
So it is with life.

[Pluto]

The Fog of Man enveloped in darkness - a white mist permeates throughout, screening her from the latent madness of an empty void

Is the void latent?

[maryshelley]

Why is poetry being associated with the word 'bin'?

It ain't right!

[Arising_uk]

I'm sure Psych could change it if requested and I'm pretty sure that if enough requested a poetry section could probably be created. Not sure if "bin" is supposed to be derogatory, in the Linux world 'bin' is a folder that stores data. Not sure if Psych got the metaphor from there?

[Psychonaut]

Nah I'm computer illiterate.

It was a tongue-in-cheek reference to the attitudes of some other board members to poetry.

[maryshelley]

Poetry would seem to fit the bill....