This is an amazing poem by Queen Ja- erm, Haunted, from her thread 'A Short Collection of Trashy Poems' (although the thread's title is misleading on many levels).Quote:
Originally Posted by Catamite
J
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This is an amazing poem by Queen Ja- erm, Haunted, from her thread 'A Short Collection of Trashy Poems' (although the thread's title is misleading on many levels).Quote:
Originally Posted by Catamite
J
'The sun, that peppercorn' by PrinceMyskin
The sun, that peppercorn,
shines as if it were
the naked face of God.
Beneath it, we huddle
in the sanctuaries - Khartoum, Edinburgh, Mumbai
- we have sketched,
we here, others there.
Underneath that, the lesser peppercorns
scatter on their apparently
aimless way...
I must write more. One of my poems being posted here would help with my continuing need for validation.
There are so many excellent poems, some of which have already been reposted here. In order to draw everyone's attention to the fabulous Contest Section, here are two or three (or more) of my favourites out of the Minimalist Poetry Contest.
Let's start with this one :
"Punctuation" by jajdude
He smoked his cigarettes like commas,
or sometimes like semi-colons;
Vague the meaning was.
"Building" by YesNo
I built a castle in the sand.
The waves pushed it away.
The castles built up in my mind
Won't leave. They tend to stay.
"#0" by Haunted
I’m just fine thanks
yes I got disconnected
no I don’t know the number
no don’t know the name either
ummm actually...........
...........
I have no one to call.
none.
................did you know
......you can implode
in a void
here I am, alone
in a dark place
dying inside as we speak
...
operator can you please
reconnect me
Boo by the sea
by Jerrybaldy
Upon Paignton pier on a winters day,
half hearted, half open,
winkles on special, whelks out of stock,
we walked on frosted planks,
past ice cream signs, lit by a watery sun.
On a beach with no chairs,
no laughter, no buckets, no spades,
we strolled wrapped in scarves,
with dreams of a warm café
and a hug from a hot mug of tea.
Sleeping arcades offered no jackpots
a sign politely ordered, not to feed the gulls,
a poster declared who was coming
to the Playhouse, last May.
An ambulance parked on the prom
awaited a pensioners fall.
A hand rail flaked white paint,
as we followed a bleak shore
with an optimism you found,
amidst the February grey.
That’s the warmth,
that you gifted to me.
Neon in hibernation, no music,
as you held my gloved hand
I dreamt of the
summers we planned ,
whilst etching our names
with a chilled flotsam branch
in the sand.
Excellent choice! ^^^^
JB is good to read.
J
Originally posted by Delta40
Quote:
Originally Posted by Delta40
It's always an honour to find my work posted here!
A Favourite of mine:
Quote:
Originally Posted by MystyrMystyry
I like this sentence "The night is a room,
Stepping into the door of the dusk
You were changed into a shadow from an entity".
A poem after my own heart:
Stressed by Hawkman:
Quote:
Great spondee with your heavy feet,
a trochee cried dismayed,
Don’t step on me and squash me flat,
you’d really spoil my day.
A passing iamb heard the shout
and rushed to her defence,
then brandishing a metre stick
declared in present tense,
Avast, desist, break-off I say,
stand back a pace, right now
refuse and dactyls I will loose,
with anapests, I vow.
The spondee was outnumbered
and he knew when he was beat,
so slowly turned upon his heel
then lumbered in retreat.
The trochee and the iamb
then observed how they were matched;
a perfect mating couple,
so their mutual itch they scratched.
Apples by Delta definitely belongs here -
Quote:
Apples
I picked up the fallen apple
and placed it in my pinny
to munch on later
under the family tree.
When I felt Dad's whiskers
rub against my face,
I softened so
and peeled away some
of its skin.
When Mum was raving mad
she withdrew all her love
and I bit off chunks
till I gnawed through
to the core.
When I grew up,
I passed the old seeds
to my daughter
who said don't worry,
she had a half eaten apple
of her own.
This, most certainly, deserves to be here...
Quote:
Originally Posted by Delta40
'Four fine people with songs in their chests' by Silas Thorne
There's four fine people with songs in their chests:
The first man, on the stairs,
open-throats a Spanish hymn,
pacing it back and forth to the roof
but wishing it further.
The second man stumbles,
blues chords tangling in a white beard.
With his arms down low,
he's looking for the key to the storeroom.
The third fine person has long legs
and a purple dress,
and she hums past a song
as I let out my breath.
Oh wow, cool, thanks Jack of Hearts!
Here's one of my favorites among the poems I've read recently. By hallaig. :
The Secret of Fire
You come to meet me
through the rain.
I am talking animatedly,
but thinking all the time
it is like being beside a flame,
and when you are gone,
passed through the weather
to burn miles from here,
I sit in this damp place
with its light green as lichen
like some primitive man
with only water
and the memory of fire,
wondering whether out there
metaphors still roam the earth
to describe
how much I love you.
wet sand by Jerrybaldy
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I am digging for the wet sand
To build a castle
In pain with the grains beneath my nails
Ice cream stains on my vest
Unbroken heart held
In my pigeon chest
The sea is calling me
Jerry
I run toes stubbing rocks
Frightening fish
The bed falls away
And there’s mum
There’s dad
Waving
Hello mum
Hello dad
You are like them both
But further away
I can see the cliffs
I can see the sky
More and more blue
Between me and you
Soon a dolphin will take me back
I will hold on to its fin
That castle will not build itself
You look like you belong there
Together waving at me
I have drifted past the piers end
You should be proud
I am my own man
Your shouts are drowned
By seagulls cries
I dive to the depths
In Scooby doo trunks
Where sunlight cannot reach
To find wet sand to build a castle
Grasped in my small hand
I rise like a hopeful bubble
And burst into open ocean air
Seagulls lend me wings
To cumulinimbus
Here in the sky
My trunks dripping water
Back to the seas
I suck on an icecream
And wave goodbye.
The Fifth Circle
By Hawkman
My inner sword is hard and sharp,
folded steel
tempered in fire,
under duress.
When I engage in battle
all my energy
is concentrated in the cut,
I do not slash.
I can cut you with my hand,
by thinking—
I can cut you
with a wooden stick
Hear me, my enemy,
my love,
victory is achieved
without drawing the sword.
I am the river
and the waterwheel.
The Death of Etan Patz by PrinceMyshkin
A spider drops
from a web
slung across the corner
of a basement room,
and scurries away.
'Unswallowed' by JerryBaldy
Its all too beautiful
To mean nothing
Erectile tissue
Pre come
The angels that flap their wings
As your labia
Blossom
The spermatazoa
Unswallowed
That will make little Charlie
And make us whole
Its all too beautiful
Pass me tissues
I love yous
Only the gods up above
Could have gave us so much love
Turn me on
Tell me how you masturbated
Your fingers
Were the holy ghost
Come walk with me in daffodils
Lets screw amidst the yellow
There is more to life
The poet writing you words
The artist painting your pastels
The office creep
Massaging your ego
They all want to do you
It’s a great sunset
I could sell tickets
Gods are dead
It’s a lonely rock
Ruled by
some f uckers c ock.
Thank you Silas. You never can tell what will end up here :)
This indeed is beautiful, and so sad. I've been following the whole Etan Patz case as of late.. reading everything on it.. for some reason I am so torn over this boy and the crime that occurred so many years ago, and also intrigued by the case...Quote:
Originally Posted by Jack of Hearts
Thanks for sharing, Jack. And thanks for writing, Prince.
Thank you, PoeticPassions. One of the scariest things about that episode is that we all share something of Pedro Hernandez' make-up andQuote:
Originally Posted by PoeticPassions
we each of us have been or might yet be an Etan Patz.
P.S. I noticed in your profile that one of your favourite books is Tender is the Night, as it is one of mine, but I very seldom see mention of it. When I picked up William Styron's Lie Down in Darkness years ago, I was struck by a metric similarity in the title with title of the Fitzgerakd novel though I can't remember any parallels in the novel itself - although I thought it fine.
'To L' by DocHeart
I promise you there is a future;
Not evident behind my smoke, perhaps,
But every bit as real as fragrant skin
Which patiently awaits undressing.
Inside its veins flows a magic fluid
Which can light up your cities
If you drink it; And if you bathe in it,
The itching of a hundred yesterdays dies.
It's all in white now; look, it has wings.
A far cry from the devil you imagined.
Why don't we take it to bed with us
I can kiss it. You can drink it.
Quote:
Originally Posted by PrinceMyshkin
Yes, it is true what you say about Etan and about Pedro.... I guess it is difficult for us as human beings to accept a crime without a clear motive... The absurdity in it, or the senselessness...
And yes, I have not yet encountered someone who notes Tender as one of their favorite novels. I have read several Fitzgerald works and tend to think that Tender is the best (I've read it twice... but the two readings presented quite a different experience). What is it about the novel that you love?
I haven't read Lie Down in Darkness, but you are right about the metric similarity of the title... I wonder if the author was aware of it.
'of emptiness and light' by firefangled
how glorious
to be made
of small things,
the light passes
through us,
even in the shade
we shine, we glow
silently to eyes,
so made of waves,
like fields of grass,
the finest soil,
and those in which
the oceans rise.
'The Moon and the Tree' by DocHeart
"I'm tired," sighed the moon,
Pale and waning,
And leant to the right
To rest its back
On dark branches
That reached up
To receive it.
"Rest here," cooed the tree,
"I've doused my leaves
In the rare moisture
Of eyes that see your golden skin
And cry."
'City of Mind' by firefangled
Some day there will be a city,
the moonlight will bring
while we are sleeping.
There children are parents,
strong and wise, and you
will watch them make worlds.
Their energy will be yours
from many years, flowing back,
a reflection you may refuse,
but you’ll feel it is your own
sweet youth, which never left,
but was borrowed for awhile.
In this city, I will be with you,
a husband, and we will walk,
along a path or beach or street
with great beauty. Clouds will
shade our eyes, as a pure rain
falls on flowers no one picks,
because they are everywhere,
and everyone simply is in love.
Man firefangled is god... I mean good*** :D :D :D
His work is nothing short of fantastic.
J
What a poem! Fire! I fell in love with it!!!!
Quote:
Originally Posted by Jack of Hearts
Congratulations, Doc, it's wonderful!
Quote:
Originally Posted by Jack of Hearts
This poem is breathtaking! excellent!
It is by DieterM:
Morning in 127 BPM
… with boom boom boom,
progressive instants hammer out
of little plastic balls
in ears smelling of citrus,
synthetic cadences beating the day,
percussing streets and houses
while my feet move on and on,
the morning freshness bearing
promises of smould’ring hours to come,
and cars, unheard, slow down, accelerate,
and on I walk and on and on,
reality framed into one hundred
and twenty seven fragments every minute,
while sentences and pictures
swirl around the think tank,
bumping into one another,
Spain is burning, how to barbecue a pizza,
and those 8,000 from Peugeot
soon to be unemployed,
and have I put my keys into the bag?,
and boom boom boom, I march,
light, shadow, light,
a city portion flickers by
in boom boom boom three steps,
I cross two handsome men,
unsmiling, yet their pectorals
under taut shirts put me
in a state of pure euphoria,
a couple, hand in hand, walks by,
leaving a wafting trail of
CK eternities playing with Givenchy,
and boom boom boom,
the road is long but
distance insubstantial
while the music blares…
(One of our best loved poets)
You stood arched, seeking balance,
by green supermarket bins,
veined hands caught, as if, in quicksand.
I thought of a tree, heavily bent,
needles scattered over rock,
roots at the mercy of uncommitted soil;
of an eyeless street lamp forcing its leg
into the concrete, and around it -
meanders of dried pee and scattered glass;
of August's second full moon in a blue halo:
its shades, I mused, like your features:
worn out, fading.
I wished a mighty draft would come and -
in a whirl - seam shut the sight.
Dear Delta, thank you! It is so kind of you.
Sorry to double park you in the favourites aisle. This one of yours has that indiscernible quality (its just as well or we would all be nailing it), that we all strive to capture. Hence, I cannot say what you captured or how you captured it, but with certainty, you captured this reader. I can say that it has harvest imagery, a longing and yearning, loss, a nostalgia and maybe most imortantly it manages the voodoo of having a sum greater than its eight line parts.
Here is how its done:
After The Crop
Don't go: late summer's soughs
linger in the hoary olive groves
in Kidron Valley,
silvery leaves blacken fast
as the moon takes over.
Do you hear? Now the gate
to the oil press house creaks open.
In autumn I'll anoint you king.
Gosh, thanks Jerry! (I wish this capacity of capturing could happen to me more often! ah)
ah.... i love all the 3 of them in beauty the are washed to be shone .....