Reincarnation of the poetry thread

[MollyMac]

this can be no more undone
than a fold in paper
creased by an unclean hand

everything holds this memory
even perfectly still
air still ripples where you stand

[raggedyanne]

Originally Posted by HumanePain

Whoa. Heavy. Let me guess: a homeless person pushing their grocery cart around downtown?

Good idea, but I actually jotted it down while we were trying to get parking in San Fran. It sucks.
~~~~~~~~~~~~

Snow drifts onto cars
fog covers windows with grey
ice drips from the sky

[Shyantra]

Originally Posted by HumanePain

Shyantra, that was cute! Even with the typos.

Thank you Hp.

Maybe I should reread my posts before submitting.... :$

[MollyMac]

Rough draft, written for one of my gals who had a rough day:



She belongs on Angel Island
Feet along those unfettered lands
Among cockles, mussels, cold wet sand
Dancing with unfettered hands


She is less the draw of the moon
She pulls away the tides
She doesn't cry because it rains
It rains because she cries

[A Simple Poet]

A poetry thread? How quaint! Too bad it is not sticky as such threads on all literary sites should be.

Regardless, here is my latest bit of tripe. It is the final poem of my last collection of verse that I've been wanting to be done with for a couple years now since the Madness and Europe is receding. My next collection is likely to be a bit more gravid with reality ... if only I were!

All right, here it is ....

Blue Moon Wednesdays

what humdrum creatures we are!
medieval jelly

bellied shaped mortals
ensnared alone and

sinking in swamps of superfluity
clutching tight to our cracked compasses.



but there are those rare blue moon wednesdays when our persistent periscope pops out of our life’s tepid wake.

thunderstruck, we then witness yonder stars miraculous
and occasions for nirvana

before bone cold reality
reignites our routine drool.



then God,
feeling merciful, sends us

that blessed earthquake
knocking our kicking souls

topsy turvy
our twiggy limbs akimbo.



wriggling and rattled,
like inverted pill bugs,

we struggle topside, only to
spin our fractured vinyl round and round again.



how dare we doubt then the progress of baboons?

There you have it, feel free to rip it apart.

[HumanePain]

Originally Posted by A Simple Poet

sinking in swamps of superfluity

This reminded me of the Stone Temple Pilots Vaseline:

"Flys in the vasoline we are
Sometimes it blows my mind
Keep getting stuck here all the time"

Originally Posted by A Simple Poet

we struggle topside, only to
spin our fractured vinyl round and round again.

how dare we doubt then the progress of baboons?

Originally Posted by A Simple Poet

So bear with me as I try to grasp your expression: We go in circles, making no progress, while baboons at least are making small progress?

In any case, thank you Will for revitalizing the Poetry Thread!

[A Simple Poet]

Yeah, HP ... it is more along the lines of Simple Poetry. And I don't rightly know why baboons come to mind, but with humanity simply making slight, ever increasing orbits from its violent past and turbulent infancy; I felt that perhaps other residents of Mama Earth might be secretly making more progress and we are a bit too self absorbed as people to notice.

Yeah, the imagery is wait out there, admittedly, and maybe the poem is not the greatest, but there is a bit of a shout out for evolution of species which, ironically enough, I don't support.

Better poem next time. That was off the wall and needed to close a collection.

Ciao.

[Underwater Ophelia]

Originally Posted by Super Spright

Why do you call yourself a poet?

Why are you so angry, and why do you feel the need to put everyone down?
I'm not trying to be a bitch; I sincerely want to know.

[A Simple Poet]

Super Spright wrote:

Why do you call yourself a poet?

Why do you call yourself a Senior Member, or Goth even you impolite, surly urchin-snouted horse-drench!

If you haven't anything constructive to add, clam up.

[Underwater Ophelia]

After your previous comment, "I wouldn't rip that apart, unless you paid me," (where, unless I'm mistaken, you have misplaced a comma) why shouldn't he take what you said as an insult? This is the internet, it's hard to tell what people's tones are, so if someone takes what you say the wrong way, don't be offended.

[Zenit]

In such a positive environment, who wouldn't want to post their poetry(or attempted poetry)?

Scullcrack

My head splits
in every direction, my brain sucked out
of it's vacum and bits
hit the bag underneat the end, no doubt
I'm a post-partial-birth abortion, or so it feels
the second my skull reveals
the rotting fruit
that is
my thoughts


But seriously, there is no need to be rude, and since this is a litterary forum it should be no problem to phrase oneself in a manner that is non-mistakeable...

Please play nice?

[Underwater Ophelia]

Originally Posted by Zenit

In such a positive environment, who wouldn't want to post their poetry(or attempted poetry)?

Scullcrack

My head splits
in every direction, my brain sucked out
of it's vacum and bits
hit the bag underneat the end, no doubt
I'm a post-partial-birth abortion, or so it feels
the second my skull reveals
the rotting fruit
that is
my thoughts


But seriously, there is no need to be rude, and since this is a litterary forum it should be no problem to phrase oneself in a manner that is non-mistakeable...

Please play nice?

I really like a lot of the imagery, but your wording seems a bit confusing at times, like here: "hit the bag underneath the end, no doubt." I'm assuming you're referring to the vacuum, but I'm not really sure.

Also, instead of saying "the rotting fruit that is my thoughts," I would just say "the rotting fruit." But that's just my opinion.

[Zenit]

The bag underneat "the end" is one of those bio-hazard-bags they put what is left after an abortion in...

[A Simple Poet]

Super Spright, if your question was indeed a non-malicious jab then I apologize for my venomous response, but as Ophelia surmised, I interpreted it that way. And not because I am sensitive or insecure about my poems. Most of them suck, I just share them anyway.

To answer your question, I don't know. In my view a Poet is an artist that uses word craft to express images, feelings, et al in the same fashion as an artist or sculptor feels a need to tangibly express their craft. I particpated in a seminar in poetry where this very question was broached and in the true spirit of postmodern existentialism, the collective group could not define poetry either.

Yes, society makes labels. I'm not always a fan of that, but sometimes they are necessary. You could classify motor oil as a caramel mocchiato, but if you ignore what it is and drink the wrong thing, one of them will kill you. In that case, having a label helps.

I don't necessarily classify myself as a poet, but it is merely one of the things I do. A comprehensive list would be too long. Hopefully that attempts to answer your question, Senior Member. No hard feelings.

Zenit. Your poem (aside from a misspelled word or two) was what a poem should be. It was direct and gravid with powerful images (the partial birth abortion & the rotting fruit of thoughts) that were quite brilliant. I enjoyed it and confess I feel that way sometimes.

[Underwater Ophelia]

Originally Posted by Zenit

The bag underneat "the end" is one of those bio-hazard-bags they put what is left after an abortion in...

Hm...that's rather unclear, then. Maybe try to work on clarifying your images a bit?

[Zenit]

Hm...

What about inserting an "at"? So that it reads as
...and bits
hit the bag underneath at the end, no doubt...

A Simple Poet, thank you very much. It's rare that I get that kind of praise

[A Simple Poet]

Your welcome, and please, call me Will.

[raggedyanne]

to lie within the throes of thought
to sleep beneath battlefields newly fought
to flutter between midmorn and day
to live within the pages and lock one's self away
to wither and die beneath cerulean seas
to float and flourish beneath guardian trees
to prosper forever in cities of gold
to reap the knowledge of cities of old
to escape bitter bordem that descends with great gravity
to reach beyond the grasp of close minded humanity

[Mir]

Anne, that was excellent, bar a few spelling mistakes.

[MollyMac]

in one second
she knows she doesn't have
what it takes

another second
she knows if it doesn't bend
it breaks

[raggedyanne]

thank you. As I stated over in the school thread, I am a notoriously bad speller.

[HumanePain]

Originally Posted by raggedyanne

to lie within the throes of thought
to sleep beneath battlefields newly fought
to flutter between midmorn and day
to live within the pages and lock one's self away
to wither and die beneath cerulean seas
to float and flourish beneath guardian trees
to prosper forever in cities of gold
to reap the knowledge of cities of old
to escape bitter boredom that descends with great gravity
to reach beyond the grasp of close minded humanity

This delightfully sends the reader hither and yon, just for the sheer pleasure of it! I like it.

[HumanePain]

Originally Posted by MollyMac

in one second
she knows she doesn't have
what it takes

another second
she knows if it doesn't bend
it breaks

In this is hidden and crouched
and unbidden and painful OUCH!

[MollyMac]

Yeah, it wasn't a tendon, it was a bone. Meh. Bones heal easier

[raggedyanne]

A disconnected train of thought

To speak of death is just passe
tis something we hear most every day
The weather bores
The sun abhores
Aha! Look yonder tis the moon
Its light reflects upon thy face
Etherial glow
has more to show
than the most tan of Californians
But alas, my skin
Olive complexion,
new ressurection
of skin lighteners that never work
I wish to burn akin to the alabaster babe
giggling in his bassenet
damn to thou, babysitter
why must thou be'est thee
tis the pay I seek
but a'boo and peek
his laugh is most infectious
now what was this about the weather?