Discussion:
Watermelon Moon / Will Dockery
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Will Dockery
2016-11-22 21:42:12 UTC
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Watermelon Moon
I'm going to slug this thing out
to the bitter bloody end.
The wheels have turned too fast
but gone nowhere for too long.
Snow collects on the windows
and this summer will only twist it.
Tried my best for the entire game
just to keep the lights on.
This morning I was looking
looking over the river.
At the blueness
of early morning springtime.
And through other eyes
I saw how others also needed...
your touch.
Hope they find
what it is they need.
But when you look
into the mirror
and you see those green eyes
staring yourself right back.
And you don't find
nothing to love.
Just remember others do
and we hang around for free.
Because there's nobody
else
quite like you.
What I said and thought
we two totally different things.
I ran it all through a filter
wish I could somehow
get inside you with it.
And flag down that lonely rider
that rides inside your soul.
Paying in blood
for what got lost.
What we will never find again.
Strange waters in your thoughts
like dying watercolors.
With a wicked witless witness
hair slinging to her sides.
Memories whisper like
ancient specters in some grave.
How can I water your moonlight
or alter it?
Your body curled
in creamy thin spindles.
My poetry exposed at last
all we did was eat watermelon
and drink rancid wines.
But I never wanted to lose
the sparks
we once shared.
Look at me
I have a crown of thorns
on my heart now.
But you still find nothing
there to love?
Your lips on a cigarette
smoke flutters across
your face.
Smoke rising in textured streams
like southern winds twisting.
With a twisted scorn of youth
a taste of honey on your lips.
The black drugs you use
your amphetamine trips.
-Will Dockery / May 1976
Strong realities...liking the older stuff....

---------------------------------------------------------------

Thanks again, Jimmy...

More older and brand newpoetry nd song coming directly.

:)
Will Dockery
2016-11-24 07:22:14 UTC
Permalink
Raw Message
Watermelon Moon
I'm going to slug this thing out
to the bitter bloody end.
The wheels have turned too fast
but gone nowhere for too long.
Snow collects on the windows
and this summer will only twist it.
Tried my best for the entire game
just to keep the lights on.
This morning I was looking
looking over the river.
At the blueness
of early morning springtime.
And through other eyes
I saw how others also needed...
your touch.
Hope they find
what it is they need.
But when you look
into the mirror
and you see those green eyes
staring yourself right back.
And you don't find
nothing to love.
Just remember others do
and we hang around for free.
Because there's nobody
else
quite like you.
What I said and thought
we two totally different things.
I ran it all through a filter
wish I could somehow
get inside you with it.
And flag down that lonely rider
that rides inside your soul.
Paying in blood
for what got lost.
What we will never find again.
Strange waters in your thoughts
like dying watercolors.
With a wicked witless witness
hair slinging to her sides.
Memories whisper like
ancient specters in some grave.
How can I water your moonlight
or alter it?
Your body curled
in creamy thin spindles.
My poetry exposed at last
all we did was eat watermelon
and drink rancid wines.
But I never wanted to lose
the sparks
we once shared.
Look at me
I have a crown of thorns
on my heart now.
But you still find nothing
there to love?
Your lips on a cigarette
smoke flutters across
your face.
Smoke rising in textured streams
like southern winds twisting.
With a twisted scorn of youth
a taste of honey on your lips.
The black drugs you use
your amphetamine trips.
-Will Dockery / May 1976
Strong realities...liking the older stuff....

-------------------------------------------------

Thanks again, Jim.
Will Dockery
2016-11-24 07:34:33 UTC
Permalink
Raw Message
Post by Will Dockery
Watermelon Moon
I'm going to slug this thing out
to the bitter bloody end.
The wheels have turned too fast
but gone nowhere for too long.
Snow collects on the windows
and this summer will only twist it.
Tried my best for the entire game
just to keep the lights on.
This morning I was looking
looking over the river.
At the blueness
of early morning springtime.
And through other eyes
I saw how others also needed...
your touch.
Hope they find
what it is they need.
But when you look
into the mirror
and you see those green eyes
staring yourself right back.
And you don't find
nothing to love.
Just remember others do
and we hang around for free.
Because there's nobody
else
quite like you.
What I said and thought
we two totally different things.
I ran it all through a filter
wish I could somehow
get inside you with it.
And flag down that lonely rider
that rides inside your soul.
Paying in blood
for what got lost.
What we will never find again.
Strange waters in your thoughts
like dying watercolors.
With a wicked witless witness
hair slinging to her sides.
Memories whisper like
ancient specters in some grave.
How can I water your moonlight
or alter it?
Your body curled
in creamy thin spindles.
My poetry exposed at last
all we did was eat watermelon
and drink rancid wines.
But I never wanted to lose
the sparks
we once shared.
Look at me
I have a crown of thorns
on my heart now.
But you still find nothing
there to love?
Your lips on a cigarette
smoke flutters across
your face.
Smoke rising in textured streams
like southern winds twisting.
With a twisted scorn of youth
a taste of honey on your lips.
The black drugs you use
your amphetamine trips.
-Will Dockery / May 1976
Strong realities...liking the older stuff....
---------------------------------------------------------------
Thanks again, Jimmy...
More older and brand new poetry and song coming directly.
Look forward...

-----------------------------------------------------------------

Good deal.

:)
Will Dockery
2017-11-14 23:47:22 UTC
Permalink
Raw Message
Watermelon Moon
I'm going to slug this thing out
to the bitter bloody end.
The wheels have turned too fast
but gone nowhere for too long.
Snow collects on the windows
and this summer will only twist it.
Tried my best for the entire game
just to keep the lights on.
This morning I was looking
looking over the river.
At the blueness
of early morning springtime.
And through other eyes
I saw how others also needed...
your touch.
Hope they find
what it is they need.
But when you look
into the mirror
and you see those green eyes
staring yourself right back.
And you don't find
nothing to love.
Just remember others do
and we hang around for free.
Because there's nobody
else
quite like you.
What I said and thought
we two totally different things.
I ran it all through a filter
wish I could somehow
get inside you with it.
And flag down that lonely rider
that rides inside your soul.
Paying in blood
for what got lost.
What we will never find again.
Strange waters in your thoughts
like dying watercolors.
With a wicked witless witness
hair slinging to her sides.
Memories whisper like
ancient specters in some grave.
How can I water your moonlight
or alter it?
Your body curled
in creamy thin spindles.
My poetry exposed at last
all we did was eat watermelon
and drink rancid wines.
But I never wanted to lose
the sparks
we once shared.
Look at me
I have a crown of thorns
on my heart now.
But you still find nothing
there to love?
Your lips on a cigarette
smoke flutters across
your face.
Smoke rising in textured streams
like southern winds twisting.
With a twisted scorn of youth
a taste of honey on your lips.
The black drugs you use
your amphetamine trips.
-Will Dockery / May 1976
One of the better poems I have seen and read here...
Thank you, "bryl".
More of my work can be found via the link below...
--
Music and poetry of Will Dockery
https://www.reverbnation.com/willdockery
Sylvester Stallone
eats watermelon
like a felon --
I eat water-melone
like I'm at home.

------------------------------------------------------------

Amusing OBpoem Richard, thanks again.

:)
Will Dockery
2017-11-15 00:40:34 UTC
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Raw Message
I heard that Dylan rapes his female fans on stage.
No, that's just a malicious rumor, but Dylan was observed fingering a young
lady back in 1966, while her husband watched.

True story, look it up.

:)
Will Dockery
2017-11-15 00:49:32 UTC
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Raw Message
Back in Dylan's heyday they called them "groupies".
I'd always been under the impression that sex with "groupies" was
consensual.
At the time it happened, I suspect that later the ladies satrt changing
their minds when they see the $$$ signs other chicks are getting.
Will Dockery
2017-11-20 01:27:21 UTC
Permalink
Raw Message
Watermelon Moon
I'm going to slug this thing out
to the bitter bloody end.
The wheels have turned too fast
but gone nowhere for too long.
Snow collects on the windows
and this summer will only twist it.
Tried my best for the entire game
just to keep the lights on.
This morning I was looking
looking over the river.
At the blueness
of early morning springtime.
And through other eyes
I saw how others also needed...
your touch.
Hope they find
what it is they need.
But when you look
into the mirror
and you see those green eyes
staring yourself right back.
And you don't find
nothing to love.
Just remember others do
and we hang around for free.
Because there's nobody
else
quite like you.
What I said and thought
we two totally different things.
I ran it all through a filter
wish I could somehow
get inside you with it.
And flag down that lonely rider
that rides inside your soul.
Paying in blood
for what got lost.
What we will never find again.
Strange waters in your thoughts
like dying watercolors.
With a wicked witless witness
hair slinging to her sides.
Memories whisper like
ancient specters in some grave.
How can I water your moonlight
or alter it?
Your body curled
in creamy thin spindles.
My poetry exposed at last
all we did was eat watermelon
and drink rancid wines.
But I never wanted to lose
the sparks
we once shared.
Look at me
I have a crown of thorns
on my heart now.
But you still find nothing
there to love?
Your lips on a cigarette
smoke flutters across
your face.
Smoke rising in textured streams
like southern winds twisting.
With a twisted scorn of youth
a taste of honey on your lips.
The black drugs you use
your amphetamine trips.
-Will Dockery / May 1976
One of the better poems I have seen and read here...
Thank you, "bryl".
More of my work can be found via the link below...
--
Music and poetry of Will Dockery
https://www.reverbnation.com/willdockery

Sylvester Stallone
eats watermelon
like a felon --
I eat water-melone
like I'm at home.

---------------------------------------------------------

I still get a laugh out of this one.

I don't care who it is, you are a funny guy...

:)
Will Dockery
2017-11-20 01:30:35 UTC
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Raw Message
I heard that Dylan rapes his female fans on stage. I think he should go
the way of Harvey Weinstein.
But what do I know? I'm just a sock monkey...
Stop that...he only raped Rachel....
With his mind, perhaps.

Some say Bob Dylan can bend spoons with his mental prowess.

:)
Will Dockery
2017-11-21 21:57:19 UTC
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Raw Message
On Sunday, November 19, 2017 at 8:24:41 PM UTC-5, George J. Dance
On Friday, November 17, 2017 at 11:46:41 PM UTC-5,
Watermelon Moon
I'm going to slug this thing out
to the bitter bloody end.
The wheels have turned too fast
but gone nowhere for too long.
Snow collects on the windows
and this summer will only twist it.
Tried my best for the entire game
just to keep the lights on.
This morning I was looking
looking over the river.
At the blueness
of early morning springtime.
And through other eyes
I saw how others also needed...
your touch.
Hope they find
what it is they need.
But when you look
into the mirror
and you see those green eyes
staring yourself right back.
And you don't find
nothing to love.
Just remember others do
and we hang around for free.
Because there's nobody
else
quite like you.
What I said and thought
we two totally different things.
I ran it all through a filter
wish I could somehow
get inside you with it.
And flag down that lonely rider
that rides inside your soul.
Paying in blood
for what got lost.
What we will never find again.
Strange waters in your thoughts
like dying watercolors.
With a wicked witless witness
hair slinging to her sides.
Memories whisper like
ancient specters in some grave.
How can I water your moonlight
or alter it?
Your body curled
in creamy thin spindles.
My poetry exposed at last
all we did was eat watermelon
and drink rancid wines.
But I never wanted to lose
the sparks
we once shared.
Look at me
I have a crown of thorns
on my heart now.
But you still find nothing
there to love?
Your lips on a cigarette
smoke flutters across
your face.
Smoke rising in textured streams
like southern winds twisting.
With a twisted scorn of youth
a taste of honey on your lips.
The black drugs you use
your amphetamine trips.
-Will Dockery / written May 1976
<snip>
Do you support adults having sex with 13-year olds, Will?
I've answered this question, what, about six times now?
No, I don't think people our age should do that, but I
realistically know that most 13 year olds have sex with each
other, or sure did back in my day.
And for the seventh time, the question is not about 13-year olds
having sex with other 13-year olds.
Pickering said he was 16; that's not the same but close enough.
The concept of "age of consent" would be meaningless in such a case.
No it would not; it would mean whatever the
'government/parental/society-regulated "age of consent"' dictated.
The older teen could be punished as a 'sex offender,' or the male;
or both.
The question pertains to adults having sex with 13-year olds.
No, that's the same rhetorical sleight-of-hand that was pulled with
Chuck Lysaght: reframing what he wrote about a teen having sex, as a
teen *with an adult*.
In fact, neither Lysaght nor Pickering mentioned adults having sex
with teens.
You're quite right, George. Everybody knows that a teenager doesn't
require a babysitter.
Nor, for that matter, does an adult.
So if the "Perfect Angel" wasn't a teenager, and wasn't an adult ...
what does that leave us with?
Just in case it could be misinterpreted, Chuck included a link
Oh, that was claimed, but nobody I know and trust ever saw that, including
me, for the record.

Did you see it, Horatio?
Will Dockery
2017-11-21 22:01:42 UTC
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Typical Brooke spew ignored and deleted, as always, more malicious yet
obvious lies from the anonymous stalker that calls itself "Brooke".
And so it goes...
Nice job of "ignoring" and "deleting"
Your post is gone and was ignored, so I'd say it was a darned good job.

:)
Will Dockery
2017-12-01 18:35:14 UTC
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Yet the question still remains.
What is the big difference in the thought crimes of Allen Ginsberg
from Charles Bukowski?
I am a fan of both poets from over 40 years, but both have shown
questionable preferences in sexual haits... to say the very least.
You dig?
Both were, IMHO, two of the worst, and most overrated, poets of the
past 150 years. And both were, by all accounts, reprehensible human
beings as well. As to their alleged sexual habits ... trash is trash.
Dispose of it.
And my point is both poets, while well established as two of the
greatest, had just about equally, I will admit, perverted, real life
sexual desires.
Just about the only difference in the two is Ginsberg focused on young
guys and Bukowski focused on little girls.
One can't logically condemn one while defending the other is my point.
You act as though I'd defended one of them. I detest both Ginsberg and
Bukowski equally. I detest their so-called poetry, and from what little I
know of their pedophilia, I detest them equally as individuals. I'd be
happy to burn them both in effigy, using every known copy of their
writings as kindling.
Which low-life pseudo-poet do you think I've been defending?
No, if you scroll back to the August posts, it was Jim Senetto who defended
Buk while condemning Ginsberg.

Apologies for that confusion, I am well aware of your dislike of just about
all "Modern Poetry", Pendragon.

Bukowski has always been a well known favorite poet of Jim's, though. If
you'll read earlier posts Jim sort of says Buk was just joking around, or
something.

:)
Will Dockery
2017-12-26 16:21:39 UTC
Permalink
Raw Message
Watermelon Moon
I'm going to slug this thing out
to the bitter bloody end.
The wheels have turned too fast
but gone nowhere for too long.
Snow collects on the windows
and this summer will only twist it.
Tried my best for the entire game
just to keep the lights on.
This morning I was looking
looking over the river.
At the blueness
of early morning springtime.
And through other eyes
I saw how others also needed...
your touch.
Hope they find
what it is they need.
But when you look
into the mirror
and you see those green eyes
staring yourself right back.
And you don't find
nothing to love.
Just remember others do
and we hang around for free.
Because there's nobody
else
quite like you.
What I said and thought
we two totally different things.
I ran it all through a filter
wish I could somehow
get inside you with it.
And flag down that lonely rider
that rides inside your soul.
Paying in blood
for what got lost.
What we will never find again.
Strange waters in your thoughts
like dying watercolors.
With a wicked witless witness
hair slinging to her sides.
Memories whisper like
ancient specters in some grave.
How can I water your moonlight
or alter it?
Your body curled
in creamy thin spindles.
My poetry exposed at last
all we did was eat watermelon
and drink rancid wines.
But I never wanted to lose
the sparks
we once shared.
Look at me
I have a crown of thorns
on my heart now.
But you still find nothing
there to love?
Your lips on a cigarette
smoke flutters across
your face.
Smoke rising in textured streams
like southern winds twisting.
With a twisted scorn of youth
a taste of honey on your lips.
The black drugs you use
your amphetamine trips.
-Will Dockery / May 1976
One of the better poems I have seen and read here...
Thank you, "bryl".
More of my work can be found via the link below...
--
Music and poetry of Will Dockery
https://www.reverbnation.com/willdockery
Sylvester Stallone
eats watermelon
like a felon --
I eat water-melone
like I'm at home.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

Getting this thread back on track... and closing it out, on a poetry note.
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