Tulips

Quote:

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Originally Posted by The Truth

From last night:

Darkness at the break of noon,
Interrupted by awakening.
The lamb of Tartary,
In a vegetative state
At times is heard muttering
The chorus line to
Some Temptations song.
Though the first thing
Our eyes and ears meet,
It turns out to be rather forgettable.

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Truth, I'm glad I subscribed to this thread. I'll reply later, I'm at work atm , just wanted to say I really like it. Very interesting, as Fire said.

Thanks for the kind words everyone, more up and coming!

Another section of my epic poem:

A constant stream of streetlights,
A caffeine-fueled frenzy for the ages,
She passes Dachshunds
And anarchists with an orange glow
As well as a menagerie of
Beer-gutted zebras
And meth-addicted cheetahs,
And she can’t help but smirk
At the change of scenery.

Skippity-skippity-skip,
The weasel popped on the IV drip.

“Calamities are beautiful,”
She says while swimming
Around a Canadian art display
In a pool of coffee-colored liquid.
“Calamities are all I need.”

It is a talent permeated work and the whole epic poem will (or has already) have the strength doubled by your art, honest concern and - truth....

"Cripple my fertility,"
Yells Audrey from the floor,
Her cracked Capuchin promiscuity
And sleepwalker's intuition broken.

Catwalks may drown her
And abysses may astound her
But still life painting depict
Whatever in true senses exist
So we might never see her.

*****

Your Henry Bemis eyes
Can be quite alarming
When the moon traps & catches
Them just right.

Wicker knick knacks may wobble
But they don't fall down,
Sort of like interdimensional
London bridges.
But this makes the trillions of chigger
Bites on my ankle
Stick out like a thousand
Swollen thumbs.

*****

It's so fine to see you
With dephlogisticated ambrose
And your psychedelic pride.

Everything will be OK,
I think you're splendid.
It's why I leave my questions
So open-ended.

I like your poetry. Especially the second one on here. It is often difficult to follow, though, as others have mentioned, mainly because you think so fast. The jarring effect produced by your rapid-fire mention of various nouns is sometimes confusing, sometimes very exciting, when the reader can just barely make that leap across the association you had in mind.

Thanks for sharing, and keep them coming.


EDIT: I LOVE the way you rhyme. How do you do that?!

Thanks for your kind words, I can see how they may be hard for the reader to follow and that's forced me to come under some scrutiny in the poetry community but honestly, I've tried and can't do it any other way so I'm glad that you find it exciting as well, that means a lot to me.

Just found your thread, gonna take a look at it. :D

I feel it's sometimes hard to follow you because of the ellyptic nature of your thought. But a careful reading while in meditating mood, opens for one the doors to your essence.
A great little series here. The second is my preferred!

Thanks for the kind words, I'm glad someone can see what I try to put into my work because most of my close friends and colleagues certainly don't. :lol:

But thank you indeed, I may have more up and coming soon, hectic start of the school year has kind of stalled my creativity.

Submitting a manuscript of poetry here, in case anyone is also wanting the name of a small press: http://www.littleredtree.com/

Loose stitches reveal
The commission of cardigans
And the replacement of tires
And the mouths biting steel
And the dogs sniffing Daisy
And the minds feeling real
And the shot femoral arteries
And the end of Jersey Shore.

You hide in your hoodie
Like a thick-shelled taco
Sympathetic, without reason,
And eat your instant potatoes
With a crazed look in your eye.

No matter how many times
We check ourselves
With abacus after abacus,
We’ll always slip a little
Once we get too high
On green tea perfumes
And scripted linear lines.

Cucumbers may dream as well
But who would take note?
I’m too busy keeping track
Of the ones I never have
And of lines I should not have wrote.

(Insert tone shift here.)

Gera often feels inclined
To whisper in my plugged up ears.
She likely speaks of
Cattle branded with curling irons
And the dead longings
Of ex-futile squires.

She looks at me
With my deaf impetuosity
And tells me with a grin,
“Those cucumber dreams
Will only pickle
If you never let me in.”

I love your work very much, Truth;
in L5 it should be "written", methink;
Do you mean Gera in Thuringia ? If yes, it makes your poem even more interesting,
city noises forcing their way into your head...
and the surreal cucumbers, far from the countryside.
Well done, Truth. Thanks a lot.

Wonderful and burst with creatively and images to.

I very much enjoy reading your works. They do seem to come from a place far from the surface. Sometimes I don't really try to understand; I just try to follow you back down the rabbit hole.

Ever read Jane Mead? Particularly, The Usable Field and The House of Poured-out Waters.