But the touch of a lover who's running out OUT.

[Umbilical]

Warning: crudity, vulgarity, and everything else.



Am I bending over backwards for you ---
did I precipitate your menstruation, as my castration catharsis reached its climax,
to become a little girl again, in her juvenescence
facility to facilitate growing inwards (1 + 1 = dik and they Say it ain't FAIR)
to become to come a budding adolescent of
dripping vaginal fluids to the never eat soggy wheatbix south of a fundamental
connection between polarizing forces of parental love,
and snatching the womb for myself,
so that one day when I turn into her and her dream of HOW WE SHOULD BE
I shall shove something (romantically and romanticizing all of the ABOVE)
Above-a me, so I can push out my self-conceptions,
and in dreams palpable a myriad of past lucrative and lubricious failures of the mind,
as I walk into water represented by amniotic fluids that keep you rubbery and
flexible and bending to the left despite your age
and the time-hand being just another warm fractious fraction that makes me part of a bigger hole/whole, because I knew that I wasn't the only ONE
one chance to make it right, you said,
and I bend to the right for we are converse parties in this political arena that we battle with co.ck and hand in one, and one for all, and utilitarian concepts that divine and combine and decide and divide us as the GREATER GOOD
for we are all GOOD representations of a semblance of god,
as we come for precocious bodies and
someone will always blame us and themselves,
and project themselves,
for capacity always coming too early
and umbilical righteousness always stretching the planes and fields,
as a ghost walks into my abyss
that I call my childhood where its in a flux of refractory time period rest,
before I go up and down again,
on the see-saw of life and I saw it ALL HAPPENING AGAIN
and I'm sore from the inside out,
because being sore means you've gained wisdom, despite losing life,
and dying soon with nothing to hold
but the touch of a lover who's running out.
out.

[Umbilical]

...?



boobboobbooob.

[Pendragon]

Warning: crudity, vulgarity, and everything else.

Except a poem...

[Umbilical]

Please explain.

[kelby_lake]

yuck. it wasn't even that well-written, sorry.

[Umbilical]

Your opinion, fair enough. I don't mind... don't be sorry.

:)

[blazeofglory]

Reading this stuff, I do not know poetry or prose is very arrestably full of substance. All I like about the writer is honesty, staunchness. Of course the stuff is different from the traditional style of writing and as such some may feel hesitant to recognize it as a poem.

I do not mind this is not written in the traditional frame or following a particular formula, yet there is a lot of honesty in there. The writer is very staunch.

[Umbilical]

Thank you. I appreciate that you can appreciate it for what it is...

"Reading this stuff, I do not know poetry or prose is very arrestably full of substance." What do you mean by this?

Nice to know that my work is 'considered' poetry, despite these 'official', authoritative voices trying to tell me what it is and isn't.

Maybe I didn't dirty it up enough.

[Beautifull]

ummm...what exactly is this about?

[Umbilical]

possibly changes I'm going through... my relationship with someone else, and myself (general, I know, but I'd rather keep it that way).

In retrospect meaning is always different, so I find it difficult to answer that question.

[Pendragon]

Please explain.Well, there is no flow, no reasonable setup of any control, just disjointed thoughts placed end to end with no cohesive binding. You have a series of run-on sentences stacked on top of each other. This wouldn't even make a prose poem look good. Your subject matter seems chosen for shock value alone, and you are offering to "dirty it up".

Just try a re-write and try to keep your sentences more definite as to what they are saying. Tie one sentence into the next somehow. If this is anger, let it show, and niceties are not required. Tell it like you feel. But be precise with wording so that there is flow from one sentence to the next.

You have a lot to say, and you could get your point across very well. You have fine language skills. You just need to focus a little more. That's all. And mind you, I am not the "'official', authoritative voices", I am one person with one opinion. You may always simply ignore what I have to say. I am only trying to help.

Pen

[firefangled]

As much as we will all may hear a poet laureate, professor of literature, critic, etc. say "there are no rules," that statement is to be taken with some judgment. Of course there are rules in poetry. We should always remember while writing that poetry is a made thing. If a writer wants to make a sonnet, then there is a form with rules from which to begin. To make a variation on a form, one must pay some homage to the form or the reader will never know this was intended to be a new sonnet form. I use this form as an example only.

I do believe a writer must have some intention to make something(s) specific before they write, or during, but however and whenever and whatever we are writing, we need intention as a guide. If you build a house with very strange doors, they should have some resemblance as a door or no one will use them because they don't know what they are.

If you read Song of Myself or Howl, in their apparently open style there is still structure. They are true to themselves through their structural reflection.

Perhaps this is the first commandment to bear in mind when abandoning yourself to the no rules idea. Your poem must be true to itself. It must show a commitment to structure, through form, metaphors, ideas, things, some feature that shapes it. When a poem sees itself in the mirror, it must recognize itself.

All other rules may be broken carefully, but not the first one: The poem must be true to itself through reflection.

[firefangled]

Well, there is no flow, no reasonable setup of any control, just disjointed thoughts placed end to end with no cohesive binding. You have a series of run-on sentences stacked on top of each other. This wouldn't even make a prose poem look good. Your subject matter seems chosen for shock value alone, and you are offering to "dirty it up".

Just try a re-write and try to keep your sentences more definite as to what they are saying. Tie one sentence into the next somehow. If this is anger, let it show, and niceties are not required. Tell it like you feel. But be precise with wording so that there is flow from one sentence to the next.

You have a lot to say, and you could get your point across very well. You have fine language skills. You just need to focus a little more. That's all. And mind you, I am not the "'official', authoritative voices", I am one person with one opinion. You may always simply ignore what I have to say. I am only trying to help.

Pen

Well said and true, Pen. We must have felt the same itch. :lol:

[Umbilical]

Fair enough...
I appreciate your posts. You're probably correct, and I agree with much of what you say.
But I honestly just don't care...
It's how it came out of me, and I'm not taking it back, whether or not it reflects any form of poetry or any subversion of any poetic form.

I'll just say that I wrote a 'mess',
but I like my mess...

I've still got a long way to go, obviously, but I'm not messing with what's there.

Sorry if I offended you, Pen, by saying that you're the 'official' voice.

I do feel that it flows from one sentence to the next, and there is interconnection... and I enjoy stacking run-on sentences on top of each other. I was being sarcastic when I said "dirty it up"... it's just my way. You could be right with the shock value, or maybe I just don't know how else to channel my emotions other than through misdirected vulgarity... But at least I'm not covering it with pretty flowers and other offerings.

And I don't want anyone to walk through the doors.

Thanks for your critiques... I'll probably come to a point in my life when I'm not a dumb kid and will agree. But at the moment, I partially agree, and that's enough for me for me.

By the way, firefangled, you seemed to like my last poem when you likened my style to a feminist poet. I forget her name (please forgive my memory). I guess this was a further aberration because I just couldn't 'control' myself.

Lol.

Anyway...
take care.

Jodi

[Umbilical]

seeing as I made poetry sad...
I'm going to post something that I wrote at 16/17 years of age.
Maybe it's more poetic. I hope.

Soap Opera Start:

Cringe and cuss at your face
a reflection of us.
abominable angel, from above
destructive catalyst, Embodiment of frantic fear, gone insane,
in a world of anarchy…
who’s to blame? Minster, take my sin, make me new
with the renewal of Christ to Fame.
Blame the disaster on the soul of pasture and lands unearthed,
to cringe at rebirth.
Bring him to notoriety…
poet… A feigned deity. He is you.
This creature, manifestation of evil… deception. He killed millions. Hates you.
bi.tch, fu.ck off…
fu.cking criminal, slut, whore, wife, murderer… recidivist…
as we re-enact our court room re-enactments --
fold the paper.
Stare a little. Grudge, begrudges… pull her hair apart.
The verdict was funny… I laughed.
[All over TV… soap opera start.]
Everything you don’t want to be, we create you to be…
because you be through watching
and the innate fear emerges as a potent potion.
So everything you see is a reflection of the self,
and couldn’t be if you didn’t be yourself…
and be inside the monster you condemn for being yourself.
Yourself, yourself, a lie.
We are a lie. I am a lie.
bi.tch, lay down and die…
because from afar the eagles cry emerges with the sky…
and nothing

but a painting of larceny.
Oh, false apprehension. Bring him into court in a tie.
Spotted tie, with polka dots and brown rimmed shoe’s with black openings and nice holes, polished by the fat man down the street. Give him books to read so we tell him how to see… Speak with a foul accent -- a British, broad. Semantics. Speak smart. Street smarts. Get the guy where he belongs. Fool the fate… as the angels conglomerate to find him guilty of past deception and rules of how we should be…
turned around like a mysterious weapon.
Our gun you trigger with insentience.
Watching death eat us up.
A mockery of humanity, as he looks at us…
with acceptance. How can he accept us? Does he accept himself?
Does he accept Christ upon the cross of mercy? Take me down, cut me up.
A mimic of my former self.
Crucible, detachment fable…
anarchical ambivalence…
stealing sentience from a baby’s womb. A growing tomb, to capture me.
Set me free into the clutches of society.
[Where I can be… free?]
No. no, not free, Lord.
Oh, the Beer tonight, upon my beard.
Grown long to match that comic on TV [The Flinstones?]
The Simpson’s… I saw me there.
I fu.cked Marge in the night, whilst the children emerged from their beds.

I never grew up.

Take another pill. Sedate my will, and false words spoken, to steal my own.
My own voice silenced by this destructive case
of insomnia. I wake to see a penitentiary surround me.
With its walls… as thick as your ignorance.
Suffocating my chance to speak, and educate the wealthy…
of the disparity.
poor dwell beneath, and reveal society,
for you…

You are me.

---

[firefangled]

By the way, firefangled, you seemed to like my last poem when you likened my style to a feminist poet. I forget her name (please forgive my memory). I guess this was a further aberration because I just couldn't 'control' myself.



Your last writing, I encouraged you to "mess with it." As a few others have commented, there is material for poetry in your raw thoughts. I mentioned Adrienne Rich, not because of a similarity of style, but because you seemed to be addressing similar themes, sexual politics, gender, place...

[Umbilical]

Oh okay, sorry for the confusion...
Thanks for your suggestions and help. I apologize to both you and Pen for not being appreciative of it. I'm sure that my ability to turn those raw thoughts into a more poetic form will develop over time... I'll work on it.

:)
Jodi

[ampoule]

Your last writing, I encouraged you to "mess with it." As a few others have commented, there is material for poetry in your raw thoughts. I mentioned Adrienne Rich, not because of a similarity of style, but because you seemed to be addressing similar themes, sexual politics, gender, place...

And I can't help but think of Sylvia Plath in that, it has been said about her, she was the premier satirist of postwar American girlhood.

And then, this, two kinds of ancient Celtic poets, the bards, who learned songs and stories and recited them, minstrel-style, and filid. The fili were visionary poet-magicians. Like bards, they memorized ancient stories and lore, wrote eulogies and satires, but a bard's satire was just a poem. A fili's satire was like a curse, and if one sang a satire about you, it would hurt you or sicken you. It was no small thing to anger, betray or disrespect a poet. I believe that!!

What that has to do with you, umbilical, not sure.
You've stirred me up like Prince often does, but different, both good.

[Umbilical]

I'm not exactly sure what you mean...

Please explain.

I'm confused right now because I'm having problems reading properly and it's causing me frustration, and I don't understand because I'm capable yet my mind doesn't flow through the sentences... and then I begin to feel anxious and angry, and I feel like my mind is suffocating itself in these instances.

I was trying to read my law text.

Because I don't read often, I don't have a variety of reference points and resources to draw from for expression.

[Pendragon]

Sorry if I offended you, Pen, by saying that you're the 'official' voice.

No offense, I just wanted to be sure you understood that I am not the offical voice. I may be the one with the most posts, but that doesn't make me official. :)

You have to find your own voice ultimately. As long as you can live with your choices, you are the one who will find a place here or not. Acceptence lies with the many, not the few. See how often you are read. Any comments are just icing on the cake. The readers make us live or die, not the critics! :) :D


Because I don't read often, I don't have a variety of reference points and resources to draw from for expression.

If you are going to write, especially poetry, then reading becomes a must! You really need to read many different things, it will help your development as a writer. This is one point where I am certain of my view. Without reading, one doesn't learn to write very convincingly...