When a man gives you a poem…
or a piece of music…
or even art work he has forged with his hands…
that is the most-erotic foreplay around.
Is that all right….?
mmm hmmm.
One of my heroes: Oscar Brown, Jr.
On November - 8 - 2009ADD COMMENTS
“The Beach”
by Oscar Brown, Jr. (10/10/1926 -- 5/29/05)
And now I’ve landed on this beach,
it takes sixty odd years to reach,
as this generation of mine
is ordered onto life’s front line.
The targets of a fusillade
that forces us to think of God.
Reluctantly, we storm this beach,
advancing to fill up the breach
created by that fallen corps of elders who charged here before,
while we enjoyed our middle age,
removed from fire; we now engage.
A withering barrage breaks this beach.
It’s bullets bear the names of each
of those who set foot on these sands,
Old General Calendar commands.
Advancing to a sure defeat
without the option to retreat.
We knew, before we hit this beach
the enemy that we besiege
has ammunition for us all
who, as casualties must fall.
Not one will manage to survive.
Nobody leaves this beach alive.
For those arriving on this beach
there is no prayer to pray or preach
to beg us off in any tongue
since we’ve outlived dying young.
And for surviving in exchange,
now face the fire at point blank range.
The witness we bear on this beach
has only one lesson to teach.
Here, the carnage never stops,
as every day another drops.
Some classmate, relative or friend,
whose attack comes to abrupt end.
So on into the breach, my peers.
Who knows how many weeks or years
remain till you and I are hit,
as we inch onward bit by bit.
We only know our lives will bleach
eternally, out on this b“The Beach”http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rmD_s_N8tDQ
TheBeach
by Oscar Brown, Jr. (10/10/1926 -- 5/29/05)
And now I’ve landed on this beach,
it takes sixty odd years to reach,
as this generation of mine
is ordered onto life’s front line.
The targets of a fusillade
that forces us to think of God.
Reluctantly, we storm this beach,
advancing to fill up the breach
created by that fallen corps of elders who charged here before,
while we enjoyed our middle age,
removed from fire; we now engage.
A withering barrage breaks this beach.
It’s bullets bear the names of each
of those who set foot on these sands,
Old General Calendar commands.
Advancing to a sure defeat
without the option to retreat.
We knew, before we hit this beach
the enemy that we besiege
has ammunition for us all
who, as casualties must fall.
Not one will manage to survive.
Nobody leaves this beach alive.
For those arriving on this beach
there is no prayer to pray or preach
to beg us off in any tongue
since we’ve outlived dying young.
And for surviving in exchange,
now face the fire at point blank range.
The witness we bear on this beach
has only one lesson to teach.
Here, the carnage never stops,
as every day another drops.
Some classmate, relative or friend,
whose attack comes to abrupt end.
So on into the breach, my peers.
Who knows how many weeks or years
remain till you and I are hit,
as we inch onward bit by bit.
We only know our lives will bleach
eternally, out on this beach
Goobs [gewbs] |noun|:
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