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DavePage
Member Elite

since 2003-12-21

Posts 2917

0 posted 2004-04-08 05:15 PM

Games of gambling were picked up from songs - Mr Ray (of the Westerns) was one singing about love, the frontier and at some point after death depending on routlette

That believe it or not - linked to a Thunderbirds episode about a Disk Jockey called Richochet and Lover was born

I tried to make it into a very long Ballad which I published badly written here.

This is the original "Lover"

Dave
**************************************************

I play and never lose
With a ball of molten steel
Ratcheting the stakes to hell
I do it for the thrill
Tangling your inner soul
Longing for my touch
Vanity, sweet vanity
For me it’s not enough
My whole footsteps
Decorate your desire
Miring your despair
To love I never cared
To own
Nor choose
Nor desire
To love

Suetang
Member Ascendant

since 2001-03-07

Posts 5187
Melbourne, Australia

1 posted 2004-04-08 05:22 PM

Hi Dave

I really enjoyed this piece. I hope you have a Happy Easter.

Take care.....Sue

I am in motion
I am blue
Love is an ocean
I'm anchored in you
- Shawn Mullins

ethome
Member Patricius

since 2000-05-14

Posts 11858
New Brunswick Canada

2 posted 2004-04-08 06:04 PM

Sounds like a very lonely life Dave but I guess that's what you want here.

Eric

Ain't doin nothin at all
Just answerin the call
Kinda driftin away from it all~~~~~

DavePage
Member Elite

since 2003-12-21

Posts 2917

3 posted 2004-04-08 06:12 PM

Thanks Sue

I am still trying to devlope something that will allow me to just use my words and shape the whole shebang into something I want, which is words and developing a site stops me writing.

The UK, unless you are Poetry Society/Government approved state and living in London is a nonsense no matter how good you are, and of course you must work within the right channels.

I cant find a free site in the UK.

Are people that afraid of words.

Dave

DavePage
Member Elite

since 2003-12-21

Posts 2917

4 posted 2004-04-08 08:01 PM

Ethome

The first fear is someone might read your words

The second is that they might feel you have actually experienced them

For that to be true an English poet whist loosing his legs in Badajo's breeches, was actually being pressganged, whilst dying, and working in a sweat shop sewing shirts and of course running a Poetry Magazine from London.

His name was Thomas Hood -

We thought her dying whilst she slept
And sleeping whilst she died
*********************************
or perhaps

Someone told the Sexton
and the Sexton tolled the Bell

or
*********************************
No I dont lead a lonely life
It is actually impossible to do in this house
But a Blue and Gold Parrot is calling
So I suppose
I'd better put some gravy on my fingers
and go and see her

Dave

Nightshade