Friday, August 31, 2007

Wild About My Lovin' 1999 & 1928 versions

Click HERE for this beautiful song ~ ' Wild About My Lovin'
1999...that's Geoff Muldaur on lead vocals/guitar on this one,the late great Fritz Richmond on washtub and John Sebastian on banjo.
And then the original 1928 take #1 version by Jim Jackson.

Geoff Muldaur

Paul Butterfield Blues Band at Newport Folk Festival

Saturday, August 18, 2007

A PoemsFray Experience . . .

Living Buddhas Need Passports
To incarnate legally
~~ ~~ ~~ ~~ ~~ ~~

No reincarnates can be found
In Beijing’s athiest compound..
In this city where dead is dead..
A reincarnate could lose his head!

No passports may be issued now
To souls returning once again..
The Dalia Lama must disavow
That he remembers more than men..

The frightened leaders in Beijing
To guarantee their full control
Are sifting through the afterbirth
To weed out any twice born soul..

Millions of Buddhists look askance
When oxymorons start to dance..
Once Herod dared to stake out polls
But Jesus too escaped the rolls..

What fun, the Dalai Lama laughs..
These Chinese leaders try to kill
What does not die, what is reborn..
Tibet still lives though it was shorn..

All tyrants try to kill the past
Erase the goodness that was done..
Defile compassion as a mask
To rule with fear and loaded guns..

Now even Heaven is under rule
By Beijing’s tyrants all reborn..
They sharpened all their buried tools
And donned their attitudes of scorn..

O mothers can you guarantee
The babe you carry is quite new?
And got its passport in your womb
(That will expire when life is through).

And so forth..

©Artemesia ..8/9/2007

This is why they call it The FRAY...
Artemesia wrote a fine poem called Living Buddhas Need Passports
To incarnate legally
In her Top Post titled: Beijing: Buddhas Need Passports To Reincarnate, saying she was inspired after reading an article, HERE.

I had read this very same article some days before because a friend of mine emailed it to me knowing I would find it interesting, appalling, and hysterically funny all at the same time.

Anyway, Artemesia wrote this very fine poem. I would love to post here but will wait for her to show up and give me permission to do so (please say yes)… (permission granted)

In the meantime I will provide links because this thread became quite long, somewhat intriguing, and to say the least, very frustrating thanks to MaryAnn. (For what it’s worth) I don’t know where mOOnbirdshadow lives, but (she?) claims to be Chinese.

Enjoy the show!
But most of all enjoy the poem! . . . reading the article will help you get the poem.


Friday, August 17, 2007

۝ Admonition ۝


By Sylvia Plath

If you dissect a bird
To diagram the tongue
You'll cut the chord
Articulating song.

If you flay a beast
To marvel at the mane
You'll wreck the rest
From which the fur began.

If you pluck out the heart
To find what makes it move,
You'll halt the clock
That syncopates our love.


Monday, August 13, 2007



By Sylvia Plath

After whose stroke the wood rings,
And the echoes!
Echoes traveling
Off from the center like horses.

The sap
Wells like tears, like the
Water striving
To re-establish its mirror
Over the rock

That drops and turns,
A white skull,
Eaten by weedy greens.
Years later I
Encounter them on the road---

Words dry and riderless,
The indefatigable hoof-taps.
From the bottom of the pool, fixed stars
Govern a life.

Sunday, August 12, 2007

۝ Admonitions to a Special Person ۝

Admonitions to a Special Person
By Anne Sexton

Watch out for power,

for its avalanche can bury you,
snow, snow, snow, smothering your mountain.

Watch out for hate,
it can open its mouth and you'll fling yourself out
to eat off your leg, an instant leper.

Watch out for friends,
because when you betray them,
as you will,
they will bury their heads in the toilet
and flush themselves away.

Watch out for intellect,
because it knows so much it knows nothing
and leaves you hanging upside down,
mouthing knowledge as your heart
falls out of your mouth.

Watch out for games, the actor's part,
the speech planned, known, given,
for they will give you away
and you will stand like a naked little boy,
pissing on your own child-bed.

Watch out for love
(unless it is true,
and every part of you says yes including the toes) ,
it will wrap you up like a mummy,
and your scream won't be heard
and none of your running will end.

Love? Be it man. Be it woman.
It must be a wave you want to glide in on,
give your body to it, give your laugh to it,
give, when the gravelly sand takes you,
your tears to the land. To love another is something
like prayer and can't be planned, you just fall
into its arms because your belief undoes your disbelief.

Special person,
if I were you I'd pay no attention
to admonitions from me,
made somewhat out of your words
and somewhat out of mine.
A collaboration.
I do not believe a word I have said,
except some, except I think of you like a young tree
with pasted-on leaves and know you'll root
and the real green thing will come.

Let go. Let go.
Oh special person,
possible leaves,
this typewriter likes you on the way to them,
but wants to break crystal glasses
in celebration,
for you,
when the dark crust is thrown off
and you float all around
like a happened balloon.


Wednesday, August 08, 2007

((( Iris-2 )))

Dear Iris-2,

If you are reading this please bookmark this site
You are most welcome to lurk or comment. I’ve missed you so. As you might know I’ve stayed away from The Fray periodically … only to return (LOL). I’ve thought about you often. I would welcome you with open pixel arms if you returned there, or at my blog. But if you remain in lurking/rating stance (which I understand) I am still happy to feel your cyber presence. You can always find me here, but you can’t always find me there…

~ Galatea

If you don’t have a “google” account you can click on “anonymous” when (if) you comment and just sign your name…

۞ Hawk Roosting ۞

Pale Male © Lincoln Karim

Hawk Roosting
By Ted Hughes
~~ ~~ ~~ ~~ ~~

I sit in the top of the wood, my eyes closed.
Inaction, no falsifying dream
Between my hooked head and hooked feet:
Or in sleep rehearse perfect kills and eat.

The convenience of the high trees!
The air's buoyancy and the sun's ray
Are of advantage to me;
And the earth's face upward for my inspection.

My feet are locked upon the rough bark.
It took the whole of Creation
To produce my foot, my each feather:
Now I hold Creation in my foot

Or fly up, and revolve it all slowly -
I kill where I please because it is all mine.
There is no sophistry in my body:
My manners are tearing off heads -

The allotment of death.
For the one path of my flight is direct
Through the bones of the living.
No arguments assert my right:

The sun is behind me.
Nothing has changed since I began.
My eye has permitted no change.
I am going to keep things like this.