Lastwordosis

[1eye]

If someone has the last word, in a discussion, it may be because she or he has satisfactorily answered all open questions and the discussion is at a natural end-point. On the other hand, everyone else may have stopped listening, and walked away. "You can't quit the Beatles! I'm quitting the Beatles! Hey! Where did those guys go? ...She loves you, yeah, yeah, yeah... ...I was the walrus, dammit."

[Cece]

we may be seeing some recurrent restenosis of lastwordosis

I on the other hand am addicted to firstwordosis...it is fun posting new news when it comes in...

[1eye]

One thing I have noticed is the inevitable attraction to clarity or plainness, that leads writers to reveal all there is to know about their own value systems, and what is most important to them. That seems to be true even when it is not at all clear what the heck they are trying to say.

[bluesky63]

You say stop
and I say go . . .

You say high,
I say low . . .

I don't know why you say goodbye
I say hello . . .

[1eye]

or as John Hartford used to say "So much depends on the six o'clock train and a girl with green eyes."

[ozarkcanoer]

"You say to-MA-to and I say to-MAH-to..... let's call the whole thing off; OR let's call the calling off off !" - Cole Porter

ozarkcanoer

[1eye]

"Potay toe, potay toe, potay topo
Tato po, tato po, tato potay
Topo tay, topo tay, topo tato
potato potato potato"

"Potato" by Cheryl Wheeler (sung to the tune of "Mexican Hat Dance")

[zinamaria]

Hey! That's William Carlos Williams (doctor and poet):

The Red Wheelbarrow

so much depends
upon

a red wheel
barrow

glazed with rain
water

beside the white
chickens[/u]

[1eye]

It might be Monday, everybody's drinkin' vermouth...

http://tinyurl.com/3vusbns

[1eye]

Watch out, never let a lastwordosis sufferer speak last. According to my daughter, as I guess it is with quite a few birthday celebrants, it's a special day today. Star Wars Day. May the fourth be with you.

[Cece]

dammit
in
say
hello
eyes
Porter
Dance
chickens
vermouth
you!

[zinamaria]

1eye, I love this thread...so fun.

Okay, here goes:

So much depends
upon

a great attitude
and perspective

hailed by a
passing ship

near the jumping
fish

[1eye]

"How can I miss you when you won't go away?
I keep telling you day after day.
But you won't listen, you always stay and stay.
How can I miss you when you won't go away?"

-Dan Hicks

[bluesky63]

very nice last words courtesy of frank o'hara -- thanks for a lovely thread and lovely people

A True Account of Talking to the Sun on Fire Island

The Sun woke me this morning loud
and clear, saying "Hey! I've been
trying to wake you up for fifteen
minutes. Don't be so rude, you are
only the second poet I've ever chosen
to speak to personally

so why
aren't you more attentive? If I could
burn you through the window I would
to wake you up. I can't hang around
here all day."

"Sorry, Sun, I stayed
up late last night talking to Hal."

"When I woke up Mayakovsky he was
a lot more prompt" the Sun said
petulantly. "Most people are up
already waiting to see if I'm going
to put in an appearance."

I tried
to apologize "I missed you yesterday."
"That's better" he said. "I didn't
know you'd come out." "You may be
wondering why I've come so close?"
"Yes" I said beginning to feel hot
wondering if maybe he wasn't burning me
anyway.

"Frankly I wanted to tell you
I like your poetry. I see a lot
on my rounds and you're okay. You may
not be the greatest thing on earth, but
you're different. Now, I've heard some
say you're crazy, they being excessively
calm themselves to my mind, and other
crazy poets think that you're a boring
reactionary. Not me.

Just keep on
like I do and pay no attention. You'll
find that people always will complain
about the atmosphere, either too hot
or too cold too bright or too dark, days
too short or too long.

If you don't appear
at all one day they think you're lazy
or dead. Just keep right on, I like it.

And don't worry about your lineage
poetic or natural. The Sun shines on
the jungle, you know, on the tundra
the sea, the ghetto. Wherever you were
I knew it and saw you moving. I was waiting
for you to get to work.

And now that you
are making your own days, so to speak,
even if no one reads you but me
you won't be depressed. Not
everyone can look up, even at me. It
hurts their eyes."
"Oh Sun, I'm so grateful to you!"

"Thanks and remember I'm watching. It's
easier for me to speak to you out
here. I don't have to slide down
between buildings to get your ear.
I know you love Manhattan, but
you ought to look up more often.

And
always embrace things, people earth
sky stars, as I do, freely and with
the appropriate sense of space. That
is your inclination, known in the heavens
and you should follow it to hell, if
necessary, which I doubt.

Maybe we'll
speak again in Africa, of which I too
am specially fond. Go back to sleep now
Frank, and I may leave a tiny poem
in that brain of yours as my farewell."

"Sun, don't go!" I was awake
at last. "No, go I must, they're calling
me."
"Who are they?"

Rising he said "Some
day you'll know. They're calling to you
too." Darkly he rose, and then I slept.

[1eye]

My life is like this cigarette that's burning quickly in my hand
And every puff that I forget to take is like another grain of sand

Its passing through this small glass channel simply serves to tell the time
While that thin line of smoke which rises is the outline of my mind

Whirling up in endless patterns through the air in lofty free-fall flight
It rises carried by the endless heat of burning life

You shook the hourglass you gave me time your wake disturbed the smoke when you walked by
You took away that rising perfect line then walked away and left the spark to die

So now I sit to wait until this glow burns down into my weary waiting hand
Forgetting what I am and who I know to watch the very last small grain of sand