Sat, 29 November 2008 
my mind spins unable to empty itself of you
i was born without skin you say standing in the doorwary contemplating the rain remembering yourself an altar boy among candles gregorian chants & the strange sad music of the homeland you left at 19 long before you met me on a bridge between the Sahel and the suburbs beneath a sky of crossed stars you pierced me with a kiss like a spear carried me to a cliff at the edge of the canyon and then you flew -- a naked peregrine against a sky clouded by smoke from a bridge on fire below leaving my skin burnt to ashes Ii hold in my naked hands and my mind spins unable to empty itself of you
(c) 2008 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED Comments[0] |
Thu, 27 November 2008  a man who liesa dishonest man is not a fun man he'll break your heart at every turn a dishonest man is not a fun man he'll leave you to cry and burn don't ever love a man untrue don't love a man who lies to you he'll break your heart at every turn while in the dark you cry and burn a man who lies is not your friend his love is fickle, prone to bend if he bends the truth at his whim face his lies: stay away from him save your heart for a man of gold whose word is good, whose word is true he's the man you can love 'til you're old the kind of man who won't betray you don't ever love a man untrue don't love a man who lies to you he'll break your heart at every turn leaving you to cry and burn (c)2008 Binnings ALL RIGHTS RESERVED Comments[0] |
Sun, 26 October 2008  What You NeedTired of being alone, you open your doors and invite people to press their feet into your carpets, drink wine, and talk about politics, movie stars, and the meaning of life. Alone again, you muse about how women and men long for extended seasons of love and how all you know of the world is asses braying -- a lion's roar -- garlands celebrating your house --that if your philosophy is skepticism, no one can dispute the words you spread out on the sand under the sun, that if you fill cups with water and feed hungry children, who will deny you your ambition? --that favors turn up in unexpected places. . . You meet a man in the road carrying luggage with foreign stickers, and ask him how things explode, to explain spontaneous combustion, to carry your grocery bags to speak plainly of plans, to sit down on your sofa to write a letter that talks about how hard it is to see the obstacles that lie in the desert ahead. And then you stand near the desert not knowing if the sun rises or sets, knowing only the time to cover your face from the drying winds. It's sleep . . . or . . .love . . . . or . . . God . . .you need. #### (c) 2008 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED Comments[0] |
Thu, 9 October 2008 I changed the template, and that messed things up. I will figure out how to repair it one of these days, but too busy at the moment to do so. You can still access everything, even if it's repeated. Edit: Psssst. When you copy from Word to the publish page, please get rid of the crap code. Best Regards, Anthony. Category: tallkin' -- posted at: 11:49 PM |
Wed, 24 September 2008 
In
the still dead of night, a fear takes hold, a
suggestion of giving too much, then being left alone. Time
breaks your heart, and you grow cold. How
many times have you yearned to be bold but
afraid the cord will break and drop you with a moan. In
the dead still of night, a fear takes hold. You
travel to the days when they tried to mold you,
dissatisfied with your natural skin and bond. Time
breaks your heart, and you grow cold. You
relieve the threat of getting ironed into the fold of
a cloth without txture, music, or tone. ]In
the dead still of night, a fear takes hold. Night
after night, the stories are told about
houses burning that you don’t own. Time
breaks your heart, and you grow cold. You
lose sight of the rainbow as the days unfold counting
the minutes you have yet on loan. In
the dead still of night, a fear takes hold. Time
breaks your heart, and you grow cold. Comments[0] |
Sat, 2 August 2008  DRAMAI don't care to dwell in the past that murky place of half-baked memories my story begins here now on this Saturday afternoon in a strange city Oh sure, there was this and that... that this event the epic cast in others' stories villain friend confidante lover, fallen idol when cast in another's drama and understand the role I am supposed to play I potest "I am not like that!" But he tries to convince me I am He needs someone to play that role and I care and I am free watching the rain beat against the window my drama begins as a silent monologue it is a Saturday afternoon in a strange city . . . (c)2005 Binnings ALL RIGHTS RESERVED Comments[0] |
Wed, 4 June 2008  FIRST ELEGY Excerpt from the Duino Elegies by Rainer Maria Rilke - TranslationMy translation has attempted to somewhat simplify to make more accessible to Americans. I hope I have not lost the profundity of Rilke. First Elegy (Excerpt) Who, if I cried out, would listen among the classes of holy angels? and should one clasp me to its breast, its profound essence would dissolve me. For beauty is nothing but the first sight of a terror that we can hardly stand except that it quietly refrains from destroying us. Every angel is too awesome. And so I swallow my luring call and weep in the dark. Who can help us us? Not angels, not men—and animals know that we’re homeless in this world we’ve constructed. Maybe along a hillside a tree stands that we can see each day, and there are always yesterday’s streets and the fidel habit moved in like a tenant who now secure shall not move on. Oh, and there’s night—night when a cosmic wind erodes our faces—gentle, yearned for, but how it forces us to confront the solitary beat of life. Is it easier for lovers? No, they only conceal the lottery from each other. Don’t you understand yet? Throw the emptiness from your arms into the clearing where we breathe— maybe the bird in the widened air will fly viscerally. -Translation - Eleanor A. Binnings (c)2008 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED ================= Die erste Elegie Wer, wenn ich schriee, hörte mich denn aus der Engel Ordnungen? und gesetzt selbst, es nähme einer mich plötzlich ans Herz: ich verginge von seinem stärkeren Dasein. Denn das Schöne ist nichts als des Schrecklichen Anfang, den wir noch grade ertragen, und wir bewundern es so, weil es gelassen verschmäht, uns zu zerstören. Ein jeder Engel ist schrecklich. Und so verhalt ich mich denn und verschlucke den Lockruf dunkelen Schluchzens. Ach, wen vermögen wir denn zu brauchen? Engel nicht, Menschen nicht, und die findigen Tiere merken es schon, daß wir nicht sehr verläßlich zu Haus sind in der gedeuteten Welt. Es bleibt uns vielleicht irgend ein Baum an dem Abhang, daß wir ihn täglich wiedersähen; es bleibt uns die Straße von gestern und das verzogene Treusein einer Gewohnheit, der es bei uns gefiel, und so blieb sie und ging nicht. O und die Nacht, die Nacht, wenn der Wind voller Weltraum uns am Angesicht zehrt –, wem bliebe sie nicht, die ersehnte, sanft enttäuschende, welche dem einzelnen Herzen mühsam bevorsteht. Ist sie den Liebenden leichter? Ach, sie verdecken sich nur mit einander ihr Los. Weißt du's noch nicht? Wirf aus den Armen die Leere zu den Räumen hinzu, die wir atmen; vielleicht daß die Vögel die erweiterte Luft fühlen mit innigerm Flug. Direct download: First_Elegy_Translated_Rilke_-_Binnings.mp3 Category: podcasts -- posted at: 1:01 PM Comments[0] |
Sat, 8 March 2008  An acquaintance with privilegeThe walls are so high Opportunity is perennial yet underground like a sigh Acquaintance with privilege Who truly are you? Behind those walls, what do you do? Or think about when moments are spare Or minister to with strong feelings of care? Acquaintance with privilege What matters to you? What are your priorities? In your life, what's new? (c) 2008 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED Comments[0] |
Thu, 7 February 2008  Travis Lemle is the artist. Once long ago we created the Solotramp website together, Travis' art, my poetry. The title of this art is "Alone." Then we didn't go into the site for a period of time, and it vanished. Comments[0] |
Mon, 4 February 2008  Shadowsthough i hear your words there is no action so why should those words mean anything to me? you've held your secrets you've hid in the shadows you claim that's your right and yes, yes it is you can stay in the shadows i'll not look for you there nor will i care what you say stay in the shadows it's your right but those shadows will hide the jewels Comments[0] |
Thu, 3 January 2008  ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ Two years ago today is when I flew to Phoenix to meet the surgeon for the brain bypass. These two years have truly been an incredible experience. I am alive. Thank you, everyone!!! xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxooxxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo ==================================================== My first for 2008 . . . a poem I had sought . . . and here it is. Cycles of life . . . I Wait We're slipping along the paths that lead away from each other-- no longer lovers and barely friends. The echo of your words of love throb in empty canyons ever more distant while day to day jargon swallows memories of when we once touched. Even now a bond reaches from me to you, each day unraveling and growing more tenuous. We don't talk except in empty phrases that neither move the earth nor us. I neither leave nor stay . . . I wait. (c)2008 Binnings ALL RIGHTS RESERVED Comments[0] |
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