Little boxes on the hillside,

Little boxes made of ticky tacky,

Little boxes on the hillside,

Little boxes all the same.

There's a pink one and a green one

And a blue one and a yellow one,

And they're all made out of ticky tacky

And they all look just the same.

And the people in the houses

All went to the university,

Where they were put in boxes

And they came out all the same,

And there's doctors and lawyers,

And business executives,

And they're all made out of ticky tacky

And they all look just the same.

And they all play on the golf course

And drink their martinis dry,

And they all have pretty children

And the children go to school,

And the children go to summer camp

And then to the university,

Where they are put in boxes

And they come out all the same.

And the boys go into business

And marry and raise a family

In boxes made of ticky tacky

And they all look just the same.

There's a pink one and a green one

And a blue one and a yellow one,

And they're all made out of ticky tacky

And they all look just the same.

Little Boxes, Malvina Reynolds 1962

{random poetry #131}

the rhythm

It is all a rhythm,
from the shutting
door, to the window
opening,

the seasons, the sun's
light, the moon,
the oceans, the
growing of things,

the mind in men
personal, recurring
in them again,
thinking the end

is not the end, the
time returning,
themselves dead but
someone else coming.

If in death I am dead,
then in life also
dying, dying...
And the women cry and die.

The little children
grown only to old men.
The grass dries,
the force goes.

But is met by another
returning, oh not mine,
not mine, and
in turn dies.

The rhythm which projects
from itself continuity
bending all to its force
from window to door,
from ceiling to floor,
light at the opening,
dark at the closing.

C. Robert (1926-2005)

i love you like i love space sounds in electronic music

Plux Quba (1998) by Canavarro, N.

{random poetry #130}

Özgür Baba - Dertli Dolap 

Water-wheel, why do you moan?
For I've troubles, I moan.
I fell in love with the lord,
That is why I moan.

My name is troubled water-wheel,
My water flows pure,
Thus, as the Lord wishes,
For I've troubles, I moan.

They found me on a mountain,
They broke my arms and wings,
They found me fit for a water-wheel,
For I've troubles, I moan.

I'm a tree of a mountain,
Neither sweet, nor bitter,
I'm thankful to the Lord,
For I've troubles, I moan.

They cut off my branches,
Destroyed all my order,
Yet, I'm an unwearied poet,
For I've troubles, I moan.
I take my water from below,
I turn and pour it high,
See what i suffer from,
For I've troubles, I moan.

Yunus, comes and finds no joy here,
The tree will never grow,
No one remains in this mortal world,
For I've troubles. I moan.

Merry everything, 

happy always...

'Merry Christmas Mr Lawrence' - 1983 by R. Sakamoto