Armand Poetry

Welcome to Armand Poetry. The poems (and other words) here are composed for my own thought and amusement. Comment and discussion are welcome. -Amore, Armand-

Monday, April 18, 2005

My Grey Folds Around 1973

Plough the moon!
and turn up your soles.
All the batteries are dead.
Trash in the street.

Remember the space age?
When we were born?
The future was soo close
you could blow it a kiss.

Burn the years!
and batter you souls.
Our rockets are silent.
The grey men are blind.

They lost their verve
for the final frontier.
And became Senators
but I remember when....

Blasting the fire!
Ejecting the stages!
Radio dead zone
to crash in the sea.

The future has come and gone.

2 Comments:

  • At 10:37 PM, Blogger lisaware said…

    Hey, space cowboy. THIS is a GREAT line:

    The future was soo close
    you could blow it a kiss.


    Yeah, baby!!!

     
  • At 11:34 PM, Anonymous Ignignok, Ruler of the Mooninites, and his sidekick Err. said…

    I remember:

    A Soviet and an American shaking hands through a hatch above our heads as we waited in Dr. Felson's office for our semiannual cleaning and fluoride treatments.

    Bubblegum flavored. Applied with a long wooden QTip.

     

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