Oh, I like this. You are so darn good at what you do. Thanks for setting the example for me.Quote:
Originally Posted by ampoule
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Oh, I like this. You are so darn good at what you do. Thanks for setting the example for me.Quote:
Originally Posted by ampoule
I agree with Granny, and will add this: Amp, you always come up with THE most creative way to write about the topic. It's a constant delight to see in what unusual manner you will interpret the theme. Thanks! :)
As in poetry so in life; as in life, so in poetry it is a rare pleasure to encounter heart and mind that work so well together!Quote:
Originally Posted by ampoule
Thank you Cdn. It is great fun for me.Quote:
Originally Posted by CdnReader
What do you say we mix it up a little and visit the 'other side'?
AVARICE
The mind has its own hand
to do its work for it,
legs that take it
to strange camps.
The mind knows no limit
to its power. It razes
half the world, day and night,
at any real or fancied slight.
Ten thousand of the choicest
virgins, the blackest
caviar, grapes
of an almost unimaginable sweetness
--all these, the mind lays out before itself,
and takes them at a single bite.
J. Newman Sudden Proclamations © 1992
Wow!!
I have been remiss in coming here. Granny, Cdn, MH, Ampoule, Prince, Pen and Poppy all of these are so individual and I loved reading them. You've got Patience and Charity covered. Jerry that was a break from your usual style, I liked it very much.
I'm not that fast lately with a poem, but let's see if I can do Avarice before it changes.
She watched me as I made my trips,
along the stones I had placed,
from the guest house to the car —
she must have known the loss for me,
seventy species of flowers and herbs,
on once neglected ground tended now for years,
an oasis or a rainbow's end of color,
fragrance that would die when I was gone.
In the distance their house lurked cold
with stone and steel pushing back the red oaks,
dogwoods, like intruders or spectators,
the chimney towering like a snorkel seeking better air.
She craned her neck, nervously accounting
each simple item, ordered me to leave the
varnished stump that had been my bed table,
then must have pondered my rejection,
gave her head a toss that she had won her game.
When I had packed up my books and clothes,
my office, and tools with which I lived majestically
as I could, with a heavy heart, I looked my last around
and then at her, whose eyes were, for a moment,
cast down. I smiled sadly for her, being part of his estate,
knowing I would make another home, another place,
but she would remain here, would remain here snared in plunder.
is like the flash that allows one to see into an interesting, complex mind!Quote:
Originally Posted by firefangled
I take all of you just for myself
I could never share that part.
There is no room for anyone else
to know what I feel and
experience.
Its just for me and me alone,
don't ever think I will apportion.
Yes, if I am greedy, so be it.
It's a sin I will gladly
commit.
For this, my son, I suggest you say 12 Hail Granny's andQuote:
Originally Posted by Poppy
Let my fishies go!
AVARICE, Greed, the thing that made the Native Americans a "Vanishing Race." I think I have a poem for that, yes.
Full Circle
It is truly ironic
that the lifestyle my people fought to preserve,
and the palefaces fought to destroy,
a simple lifestyle of dependence on Nature
for our food, clothing, and shelter;
of knowing which plants were good for food;
which plants were good for medicine;
of kinship with the animals
our Brothers,
killing only for food and wasting nothing;
of the bond within the tribe,
trusting fellow tribesmen without question;
putting your own life and the lives of loved ones
in the hands of others, without fear,
has become almost a religion
among many whites today.
As I sit here on the Sacred Rocks
above the rushing falls few non-Indians could ever find,
the full moon rises behind me,
casting velvet shadows that flow among the stones.
It has been over a century,
but time has finally come full circle.
DL Harris
© 6/12/99
Very good poems everyone.
Prince! You are so funny! :)Quote:
Originally Posted by PrinceMyshkin
Native Americans are far from vanishing from my neck of the woods, though they are economically subjugated, to a frightening extent.
Avarice
shoulder folds that hint at
recognizable armor,
creased clothing of domestic stags
butting bent brows wrinkled like
their dollar tip.
I like this one, IP! I can almost see the old miser, in his out-of-fashion clothing, having ordered the cheapest thing on the menu, complained, weedled extras out of the waiter/waitress, and then screwing up his face as he must part with his payment and that dollar, a whole dollar mind you and for what? he thinks, as he puts it on the table and has to jerk his fingers loose as he stalks red-faced away...Quote:
Originally Posted by Il Penseroso
Pen
http://i94.photobucket.com/albums/l1...s/ThumbsUp.gif
I did very much like the strong taut poem by IP, and I love this vignette of yours, Pen! Brilliant bit of characterization!Quote:
Originally Posted by Pendragon
Thanks Pen and Prince. Now if only I didn't find myself and some folks around me a bit in that depiction of avarice, I'd feel a little more comfortable with the poem.
More
More
More for me
I really need more
I shall never have enough
Stack it here, stack it there
On the desk or under the chair
The shelf is full, spilled on the floor
I can still walk through it so give me more
What's that I hear, a knock at my door
I cannot get to it so I'll just ignore
The outstretched hand in need
Curse their incessant greed
I just don't have enough
They don't need more
More than me
More
Another update on the words we have written poems about. I think this has been so interesting. I hope others have and I hope others will join us.
Avarice (Ampoule)
Charity (Ampoule)
Gratitude (Ampoule)
Heart (CdnReader)
Home (firefangled)
Homecoming (Pendragon)
Independence (Ampoule)
Laconic (Adolescent09)
Oriental(ism) (Il Penseroso)
Passion (Debrasue)
Patience (Poppy)
Penance (firefangled)
Romance (Zargon)
Seasons (CdnReader)
Sinful Desires (PrinceMyshkin)
Soliloquy (Symphony)
Teach (Ampoule)
Tranquility (stephofthenight)
Trust (Bii)
Vacant (Jon1jt)
Someone, anyone, new word please!
Considering the very lovely poem you posted on the 'Pylon poetry' thread, perhaps:
Childhood
Novelty
Ecclesiastes 1:9:What has been will be again,
what has been done will be done again;
there is nothing new under the sun.
What is the new
but the old rediscovered as if for the first time!
All that is old
is new in the voluntary heart!
And all that is new
is jaded and tired and despised
in the heart that knows only
the first person singular!
Between the “I” and the ”you”
of the universe
there is nothing but the emptiness of space,
the anti-matter
of unlove
waiting, as always,
for the bravest of hearts.
Good choice. I hope you will share a poem here also.Quote:
Originally Posted by TheFifthElement
&^%$*#@ [deleted] [censored] [doubly deleted] [editted] [deleted] [deleted] [deleted] [deleted] [deleted]!!!!!Quote:
Originally Posted by ampoule
DON'T DO THAT! We could have handled two words! At first I thought 'novelty' was your offering for 'childhood'. Please repost it. It was great!Quote:
Originally Posted by PrinceMyshkin
For the word was Childhood, I believe?
TRANSFORMATION #2
The snowflake skies were bright with cold;
the porch sprouted icicle fangs, the roads grew slick.
Strangely, the old man didn’t feel quite so old;
life bubbled inside him; something seemed to remold
him—the years fell away. (Now, that’s quite a trick!)
The snowflake skies were bright with cold
and his boots skidded, frantic for a foothold,
but he laughed at his grandson, hidden behind the Buick.
Strangely, the old man didn’t feel quite so old.
He ducked a well-aimed snowball and didn’t scold.
Instead he fired one back yelling, “You’re on, Rick!”
The snowflake skies were bright with cold
as they snowball fought their way back to the threshold,
laughing wildly at each other’s antics.
Strangely, the old man didn’t feel quite so old,
grabbing his grandson in thin arms to enfold
him in a hug that belied the fact that he was old and sick.
The snowflake skies were bright with cold—
strangely, the old man didn’t feel quite as old…
Dale Harris
©4/4/98
And the word was also Novelty.
ANNIVERSARY
The call that came in was particularly annoying.
It was a tip, anonymous,
of course, on a shipment of bootleg alcohol.
And, as usual, no one else here at the Agency
could go. Still, it could be a lead on the gang we were after,
so I tried hard to forget that it was also our anniversary…
It was always like this on our anniversary,
some stupid, problematic, annoying
little tip that would send me scurrying out after
vague, anonymous
persons. But my job here at the Agency
wasn’t for the soft. There was an alcoholic
slumped by the curb, dreaming his alcohol-
induced dreams. The poor man probably didn’t even know what “anniversary”
meant. We had had a problem with these guys ever since the Agency’s
fiasco at Waco. Tonight, I found it extremely annoying.
He was just a bum, an anonymous
bit of stagnated humanity, but the way he jumped after
I yelled was comical. He fled as if he expected me to chase after
him. I laughed. Stupid, lousy alcoholics!
Because of them I had to track down these shadowy, anonymous
crooks on the night of my anniversary!
Not only that, but this was the sixth year in a row that this annoying
problem had occurred! Blast the AFT Agency!
The vacant warehouse wasn’t all that far from the Agency,
in a rundown neighborhood that you wanted to avoid after
dark. From somewhere inside an exhaust fan made an annoying
racket. One thing for sure, the place reeked of alcohol.
I thought of Laura. Some anniversary!
Well, I hoped the anonymous
tipster was right. There was a shape against the wall; unfocused, anonymous.
“Get your hands up!” I shouted. He was calm. “You from the Agency?”
“I said, put your…” “We’ve got unfinished business, copper. It’s our anniversary”
His face was suddenly visible. Still the same, after
seven years. His clothing was that of the old alcoholic.
He grinned in a way that I’d always found to be very annoying.
It’s annoying, really, writing the paperwork on these anonymous
homicides. But it’s Agency regulations, even on old alcoholics.
And after I write up Big Louie, here, maybe I can finally keep my anniversary!
Dale Harris
© 5/21/00
Some, it seems, are born old
or never acquire the knack
of being foolish and young!
And some, it seems, have both
in good measure.
Yesterday, my daughter, 37,
her lover, 24, and my next to youngest
grand-daughter, going on 6, discovered
the school playground
across the way from me, entered
and went climbing on everything
they could find, then
one of them proposed a game of tag
and 37, 24 and going-on-6 were soon chasing each other
around and around, laughing
their fool heads off and you couldn’t have told
37 from 24 from going-on-6!
A quickie that comes to mind- I've had many spaghetti kisses
You little necked choochy butt,
With spaghetti on your face
Gum in your hair
Mud between your toes
And sticky sucker fingers
It’s time for a bath.
I’ll draw up the warm water with
Lots of bubbles and too many tub toys.
You can leave sand on the bottom
And a ring around the tub.
Once the water has turned cold on the floor
And you are clean and dry,
We’ll find your Spiderman pajamas
And think all the thinks you can think.
Quote:
Originally Posted by motherhubbard
But did he think the thinks
you thought he’d think
or maybe he’d thunk them all before?
And anyway how many thinks
can a little thinker think
while you are mopping up the floor?
Prince...how very very delightful!Quote:
Originally Posted by PrinceMyshkin
Awwww...that is really really sweet! And Prince's reply is darn cute too!Quote:
Originally Posted by motherhubbard
prince it is very good. I can see them with rosy cheeks running and happy. It made me think of this which I have posted before-
I didn’t want to hear to them when
they said it would happen over night,
in the blink of an eye.
A week ago today I watched you play tag,
running and reaching with childish abandon-
free, uninhibited.
Today you applied eye shadow and lip gloss,
flipping your hair in the mirror
for hours.
What are you doing?
Go outside and run in the wind,
make a mud pie, get dirty!
There’s time and more time to be old,
but today is short and fading.
Take this minute and make it last.
Face the sky and spin.
You are young, but not for too long,
There’s no need to rush
I love it Pen. Children keep us young. Playing is a child's work but it is our reward.Quote:
Originally Posted by Pendragon
I'll comment on novelty later.
Pen, Childhood was so sweet and reminded me of the scene in the Godfather where Vito and his grandchild were playing in the tomatoes. Very nice.
Quote:
Originally Posted by PrinceMyshkin
This especially rang true.
Such a genuine life picture of losing (or is it finding) ourselves during a moment with how we used to play. Wonderful!
It was Sunday night; they had been dancing slow,
in some Chapel St. dive, maybe feeling a highball —
my father had just come home from two years in Fiji,
and with her face burning from whiskey and waiting,
she was pressing into him, arms around his neck,
perfume and heat rising with his breathing.
There would have been no guilty hesitation later,
they would have ravaged each other like animals
and then lingered for hours in the chimerical sweetness
of touching, the light of nakedness pouring into dilated eyes.
They would have smiled like sleepy children and then slept
in the twisted singularity of forgetting they were two.
There are no photos of where I was waiting that evening,
but some say I made the choice knowing both of them —
that his hearing was growing lost with his lullabies,
and he would carry unknown for his life the incessant
shock and recoil of the guns aiming into his spot of light.
I knew, they say, and regardless went to her tenderness
that would petrify in the harsh desert of his fatherless anger,
I wanted to arrive, captured in the tangled web of Rome,
where they played out their duty in a different kind of story
than I can now write, and that would have served them better.
And though I can imagine remembering the music of their dance,
I am lost forever between that waltz and early Monday morning.
This is mine, I think, the words
in their rows, like an ear of corn,
unique, and of course the screen with titles:
The Garden, Fortress, Love Poem.
Then I read a book of poems
by a “courageous writer,” “slicing
through the arbitrary,” “a writer
of astounding novelty.” Page
after page with gardens, and love,
fortresses of syntax and form.
How alike we are to use the same words
over and over and mean so many different things.
^^^ I love this, FF. The anthropology of language looks at WHY we choose the words we do.... both in speech and in writing. Not to mention wondering whether we can or how we can think of things if we don't know the "words" that go with them. This aspect of humanity is utterly fascinating, I think.
You're so right. All we do is continue to rework the same words into different orders, different formats. But what does it all MEAN? :D
.
play
play house, drink pretend tea
climb in the tent, hide and go seek
read a book, tell a story
snuggle
run outside, sing a silly song
push each other on the swing
share a pizza
giggle
a three-year-old pretending to be grown
and a grown-up pretending to be three
.
cdn/16may06
.
P.S. Amp.... Loved your "More" under the theme of avarice. Well done!
Thank you Cdn. Makin that little ball was fun. It reminds me of a Friendship Ball I got once that was full of very special treats and I was very greedy and did not share. :(Quote:
Originally Posted by CdnReader
I like your play poem. Pretending is such fun.
hey guys, whats the new word?
Hey Steph! Good to see you. The word is CHILDHOOD.Quote:
Originally Posted by stephofthenight
Summer
We don’t need no stinking shoes
Or toys to keep us happy
We just need an empty field
And trash to mark the bases
A watermelon patch in dark of night
And salt to add more flavor
Under the street light we’ll eat the hearts
And hope the farmer don’t catch us
A cotton field that’s tall enough
To hide our heads from the seeker
A neighbor lady who likes to tell
Stories of ghosts and undertakers
Give us a shovel and we’ll dig a pool
Cause someone has new flooring
We’ll use the old to line our pool
And we’ll swim till our toes are swiveled
Tomorrow will be another day
And we’ll find a new game to play
And when we grow old and think
Of these things we’ll smile and not
Remember of the toys we wanted
Granny, I adore this. How did you know about my childhood? ;) Well, some of it anyway. Mmmmm....watermelon hearts. I used to steal them from my husband's watermelon. He knew I could not be trusted but he would always go into the TV room after slicing his watermelon leaving the other half for my temptation....and I was weak and never prayed for strength.
How lovely how this flows out like one long breath of exaltation!Quote:
Originally Posted by Granny5
“Hope,” it was said,
“is the childhood of the world.”
I passed mine by the other day
on Villeneuve Street in Montreal
where it always waits for me.
The neighbourhood kids were still out there
playing sidewalk handball, roiller-skating,
Norma Dishell and Lionel Segal
and the Dalfen boys with their intriguing
older sisters, seldom seen,
but fantasized about in their young
womanhood, and Barney
Furstenfeld, Muriel and Harriet
Atkins and of course
the Garfinkle boys assisting their father
in the grocery. Blonde Jews!
Calm, soft-spoken, vigorous-bodied Jews!
I never knew what to make of them
but I loved going there
on errands for my Mom.
I make a point of driving by that block
whenever I can, to revisit my childhood
and wave fondly at it as I drive by...