Bantering with Octagons

[GreenEyedGirl]

The telling of stories and lies on a summer afternoon is an age old tradition, passed down through generations. How else would the Jabberwocky have come into being? Or Grandfaloons or Tiddlywinks or Wild Things and where they are? A well told lie can rival a well turned heel on a blazing Sunday afternoon, especially when served with lemonade.

 

[freescorfr]

On the threshhold of a well turned lie,
Goblets filled with glow-worms'
Rough kisses, intoxicating,
Love is always worthwhile.

Even an uncle's eye can shed a tear on departure.

 

[Jimi]

Amidst the the buzzing of the glow-worms, and frothy lager on my moustache, my lies are not meant to deceive, but innocent allegories to protect the innocents within the tales, and those callow young men and maidens that hang wide-eyed on my every word.

Tears indeed - such an awsom, humbling burden: to impart wisdom in the evening shadows.

 

[sigh]

an uncle's tales of wisdom and grace
of how the skunk got its stripe
or the kitten a purr

all lies, of course, but lies of the gentle type
to bring a smile and a giggle
and a snort of disbelief

and the moustache dips into foam
as the beer flows down
and over in the shelter a poker game starts
so dear uncle gives a wink and is gone
to pass more gentle lies
of another type altogether

money passes from hand to hand
like a green river
and silver spins as the cards are dealt
and the winner laughs
and the losers too
for in the end
all win

and then the belching begins

 

[Jimi]

Uncle slips away, unnoticed, to walk is own road for a time, but his mind's eye and ears perceive the gamblers' convivial laughter. The seeds are planted - the crop is good! When Harvest comes, the bounty given is the gamblers' own - Uncle owns only his road, his draught of ale and the seeds of his experience.

 

[freescorfr]

With what shall we fertilize our bodies and our fields?
Beer or seed? Men, uncles mostly, misunderstand the basics facts of gambling. Scatter laughter, like a sower: become a parable, invent your own ontology.

 

[GreenEyedGirl]

When pouring milk and mead into the fields in the hopes of insuring a bountiful harvest, don't forget to scatter laughter with the prayers, and then lay in the field with your lover to bless the seeds with germination. If only Beltane was as well regarded as the pope, we all might spread a little more sunshine without guilt.

 

[Dillinger]

Ice cream! I dream of ice cream. Spicy vanilla with all sorts of toppings. I need to get off my diet and pig out. Maybe on milk and mead? Maybe on beer and seed? Maybe on sighs and green eyes.

 

[sigh]

pigging out on sighs
and green eyes and lies
like an uncle rampaging through a field
with mead on his lips
and a stagger in his swagger
who's forgotten
to zip up
his fly

why uncle, i cry
with a wink of my eye
is that a corndog there in your pants?
to which he replies
with a roll of his eyes
nope, this is the wonder of france

but then why is it battered
and what does it matter
what the ladies of france choose to eat?
for you're my uncle, dear boy
so i can't be your toy
which leaves you alone with your meat

 

[freescorfr]

Laughing, tickled, not as uncle wished: this miracle of chosen words, like the scent of a body between the clothes and the skin.
Delicious.
Dyadya Vanya, Tio Pepe, wicked uncle Ebineezer. Just men.
The redemption option was lost in the third hand of poker.

 

[sigh]

a miracle of chosen words
wrapped in diminishing layers of velvet
drip mystery
and subtlety
like a wink
on a sunday afternoon

dressed in velvet i stand
straddling the tracks
as the locomotive chugs on
and feel the tremble of its power approaching
closing my eyes
to dream of oblivion
i let it come
steel wheels on iron rails
gaining speed
as the whistle shrieks its warning

smile into the miracle of choice
to stay or flee
to accept oblivion
or carry on

no choice
child calls
i grin and step aside
there's a certain brightness to this day

 

[cymbidia]

Laughing freely.
Spinning gaily.
Humor restored.
Stories stored for use against another time of lean mean fighting times. Ooooops! Too early for getting on that train again, my friend.

Be still.
Relax.
Center yourself.
Breathe in through the nose...
...hold it...
...and out through the mouth.
Again.
Again.

All is well in my world tonight.
Om mani padme hum

 

[freescorfr]

Bumptious defiance of locomotive threats, silent after the clamorous comlexity of the rushing train, piercing metal, images of triumph and the child's voice.
In the end love is our engine.

 

[Jimi]

Joyful innocence protects the protectress from the snorting steaming iron monster of oblivion. Doom comes "off the rails" and breathes its last! Eschewing darkness, we remember the importance of lives created, recreating ourselves once again - with joy in our accomplishments.

 

[cymbidia]

Lives created, spun out in the electron stream of consciousness as if real. But what's reality? Is my hand on these keys more real then yours on yours just cuz i know mine are here and now? What's blue? What's red? Is yesterday real or only the long lonely sound of a train whistle blowing mournfully into yesterday as the vast herds of bison get the hell out of the way? The sky is blue...i know that. So do you. All else is illusion. All else is that long-ago train bisecting the vastness of an untamed land, electronic or not.

 

[Black_Bird]

Training keys to do tricks is simple; make them rubber and amaze your friends. Uri Geller has nothing on me; I'm a green black and orange american flag, so it's all good.

Where were you when the world became indecisive?

 

[Dillinger]

Cym cym a bo bim a banana bana she is a back cym with like this ass and these tits and that hear and such a sweet sweet voice and I'm not even on subject but what the fuck I started this thread and its mine I tell you all mine and I can do whatever I want Cym cym a bo bim a banana bana she is back cym and however you slice it I'm still a bantering a way the only thing is where are the octagons and I'm think octagon what is an octagon if not a run on sentence or even a non run on sentence but its all so dada daddy yeah it is Cym cym a da da daddy fi fo faddy are bucks and coffee and tea and how about a little bit of me?

 

[cymbidia]

~Voices at midnight from faraway hot boys
Planes that bring big cocks to soft-smiling play toys
Nip clamps for misses and gasping hot kisses
These are a few of my fav-o-rite things~

Octogonal zenish gongs ring stridently through ears that refuse to seeheartouchtastesmell. Might as well be Helen Keller, eh?

But no!
Dance the glad dance of friends and lovers and acquaintences!
Dodge the wounds of dirty dog doubt and emerge, like the phoenix, like the great-hearted dragons of yore, onto the thin ice of a new day!

Arise!
Reflect!
Cast off all doubt!
Then give us a kiss, won't you?
With tongue.

 

[sigh]

kissing with tongue
with a dragon and a dog
does nothing for your breath
(or so i've heard)
but tonguing a dragon
in a zen garden of sand
while the dog pisses a puddle to one side
is a sure way to piss off the monks

slow dance with danger
give it a hug and some head
and taste its vile pleasures
inhale the scent of shock
and searing flame
then hold on
as it arises

there'll be no doubts then

but you know...
fucking your love is better still

 

[april-wine]

Slow dances
Spinning in soundless seconds
Lips moving
Sound stuck in mid air
The walls crumbling
Dust covers the moon
One giant leap
Here in your room
Hot steaming noise
Cool slow water
Stir the shadows
Where am I
Who are you

 

[GreenEyedGirl]

Soundelss seconds stretch out over an eternity before your lips part to speak. And there, in those eternal seconds, my mind does the million mile dash. Darting from this thought to that thought and everything, both good and bad, in between.
Your eyes betray nothing, and the weight hanging in mid air becomes almost unbearable.
Now I know how curiosity killed the cat.

 

[cymbidia]

My cat purrs atonally announcing slow seconds on the bedside clock while i wonder if i gotta pee badly enough yet to make the mad dash, feet skimming, body riding the air, soul peeling out ahead into the mundanities and crystalline moments that make up the entirety of a life. Whither thou goest...the refrain echoes timelessly, causing intakes of breath and a frisson of fear. And another grand glorious gold-tinged morning has arrived.

 

[Dillinger]

Licking the steaming noise off crystalline moments
I find a leaping of curious breath
An intake of cool crumbling flames
That causes me to body dance a million miles with life
Under the hot heart of the kissing moon

 

[cybergirly]

Kissing under the kissing moon, is so under-rated. All dreams can be realized under the kissing moon. Just be careful that the moon is really a kissing moon, sometimes the waxing moon tries to take it's place. That waxing moon is a sneaky moon, especially under the blue moon.

 

[freescorfr]

Wane and wax me with little kisses, part my lips with yours. Pour libations to the moonshine gods with lunar light on dark red sands. Again, unexpectedly I leave these shores. Manet, Renoir, Lautrec, Cezanne. Bantering is also fine art.