Florida - By ELIZABETH BISHOP

The state with the prettiest name,
the state that floats in brackish water,
held together by mangrave roots
that bear while living oysters in clusters,
and when dead strew white swamps with skeletons,
dotted as if bombarded, with green hummocks
like ancient cannon-balls sprouting grass.
The state full of long S-shaped birds, blue and white,
and unseen hysterical birds who rush up the scale
every time in a tantrum.
Tanagers embarrassed by their flashiness,
and pelicans whose delight it is to clown;
who coast for fun on the strong tidal currents
in and out among the mangrove islands
and stand on the sand-bars drying their damp gold wings
on sun-lit evenings.
Enormous turtles, helpless and mild,
die and leave their barnacled shells on the beaches,
and their large white skulls with round eye-sockets
twice the size of a man's.
The palm trees clatter in the stiff breeze
like the bills of the pelicans. The tropical rain comes down
to freshen the tide-looped strings of fading shells:
Job's Tear, the Chinese Alphabet, the scarce Junonia,
parti-colored pectins and Ladies' Ears,
arranged as on a gray rag of rotted calico,
the buried Indian Princess's skirt;
with these the monotonous, endless, sagging coast-line
is delicately ornamented.

Thirty or more buzzards are drifting down, down, down,
over something they have spotted in the swamp,
in circles like stirred-up flakes of sediment
sinking through water.
Smoke from woods-fires filters fine blue solvents.
On stumps and dead trees the charring is like black velvet.
The mosquitoes
go hunting to the tune of their ferocious obbligatos.
After dark, the fireflies map the heavens in the marsh
until the moon rises.
Cold white, not bright, the moonlight is coarse-meshed,
and the careless, corrupt state is all black specks
too far apart, and ugly whites; the poorest
post-card of itself.
After dark, the pools seem to have slipped away.
The alligator, who has five distinct calls:
friendliness, love, mating, war, and a warning--
whimpers and speaks in the throat
of the Indian Princess.








I love that poem. It's very conversational and doesn't attempt to even try and sound "pretty" in the conventional sense. It's almost like hearing your old aunt talk about her vacation home or something. But it describes Florida.

Florida is a sun-kissed paradise that both reeks of swamp rot, yet permeates with orange blossoms and strawberries in spring. It's fucking lush .


What paintings, movies, or poems, or other works of art sum up where you live?"

"War vet in need of help...Will work for food" ~various people on street corners and off ramps

He basicly says it all.

Amsterdam.

Picture by Jacob Olie

HamsterHuey said:

It seems so quiet and peaceful. What makes it remind you of Amsterdam??



I always picture Amsterdam as being wild and sexually charged




beautiful photo though.

Fauxie said:

Fauxie said:

Imago said:

It's a late 19th century pic. A lot of current day Amsterdam was being built, hence the emptiness.

It reminds me alot of Amsterdam in the early morning, when the flashlight wielding tourists are asleep and it is one of those moments where you have the city to yourself except for diehard drunks and cleansweeps.

And even though parts of Amsterdam are wild and sexually charged, like Nick's ladies, it's not the only side of Amsterdam. I wanted to show a different picture than women in red lights and weed smoking tourists that think Amsterdam is heaven, but in reality, that is just a small part of it all. We Amsterdammers have our own hide-aways we do not tell foreigners about, so we can have some quiet and peace.

Grin.

HamsterHuey said:

Beautiful.

I feel the same way about South Beach (I know there's no comparing Miami to Amsterdam but bare with me), before 1 PM. The streets are all quiet, and it's like having a little bit of paradise all to yourself, cause everyone is recovering from a long night of drinking, dancing, drugs, and sex.

I've made mix CDs of songs about Minneapolis. Of course, my favorites are always sad.


Kid Dakota
Ten Thousand Lakes (lyrics are kinda cheesy, but it's a gorgeous, stark song)

I'm in Minnesota again for the winter
I'm in Minnesota again for the winter

I didn't come for ice fishin', I didn't come for duck huntin'
I'm not Scandinavian or in search of Paul Bunyan

I came for the taper
I came for the tapeworm
well, I came to get better

I'm in Minnesota again for the winter
The thought of ten thousand lakes makes me feel smaller

I didn't come for ice fishin', I didn't come for duck huntin'
I'm not Scandinavian or in search of Paul Bunyan
I'm no fan of the vikings or sub-zero windchills
or drifts bigger than buildings or running on treadmills
but I'm optimistic, but I'm off to Mystic
cause I'm feelin lucky

I'm in Minnesota again for the winter
The thought of ten thousand lakes makes me feel smaller
The thought of ten thousand lakes makes me feel...
Well, it makes me feel weaker


Williams Lucinda
Minneapolis

I've been waiting for you to come back
Since you left Minneapolis
Snow covers the streetlamps and the windowsills
The buildings and the brittle crooked trees
Dead leaves of December
Thin skinned and splintered
Never gotten used to this bitter winter

I've been wasted, angry and sad
Since you left Minneapolis
I wish my thoughts were pure like the driven snow
Like the heavens and the spring's virgin buds
But they strangle me with their sin
Fill me up with poison
Black clouds have covered up the sun again

I can always trace it back
To that night in Minneapolis
Here on the seventh floor in a room I can't call mine
Deadbolt on the door, do not disturb sign
Shaking and trembling
On the clean white linen
Slivers of starlight across the ceiling

A dozen yellow roses
All that's left in Minneapolis
I wish I'd never seen your face or heard your voice
You're a bad pain in my gut
I wanna spit you out
Open up this wound again
Let my blood flow red and thin
Into the glistening
Into the whiteness
Into the melting snow of Minneapolis

Tom Waits
Christmas Card From A Hooker In Minneapolis Lyrics

hey Charley I'm pregnant
and living on 9-th street
right above a dirty bookstore
off cuclid avenue
and I stopped taking dope
and I quit drinking whiskey
and my old man plays the trombone
and works out at the track.

and he says that he loves me
even though its not his baby
and he says that he'll raise him up
like he would his own son
and he gave me a ring
that was worn by his mother
and he takes me out dancin
every saturday nite.

and hey Charley I think about you
everytime I pass a fillin' station
on account of all the grease
you used to wear in your hair
and I still have that record
of little anthony & the imperials
but someone stole my record player
how do you like that?

hey Charley I almost went crazy
after mario got busted
so I went back to omaha to
live with my folks
but everyone I used to know
was either dead or in prison
so I came back in minneapolis
this time I think I'm gonna stay.

hey Charley I think I'm happy
for the first time since my accident
and I wish I had all the money
that we used to spend on dope
I'd buy me a used car lot
and I wouldn't sell any of em
I'd just drive a different car
every day dependin on how
I feel.

hey Charley
for chrissakes
do you want to know
the truth of it?
I don't have a husband
he don't play the trombone
and I need to borrow money
to pay this lawyer
and Charley, hey
I'll be eligible for parole
come valentines day.

smelly dairy cows

I'll be nice after this but seriously:




No land mass the size of Florida is floating and the sea is not "brackish" it's fullblown saltwater! I didn't read past that.

You read some dumb poets.

Mars23 said:

Mars23 said:

.
[Edited 8/14/08 23:24pm]

Mars23 said:

I think where I live is best summed up by the fact that a famous abortion clinic bomber escaped from our county jail through the ceiling vents and a girl I went to high school with drowned her 3 kids in the lake.

We're very proud whenever the national news outlets come to town.