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A "Foreign" Challenge

Update

I'll post all submissions Monday, the 24th, in the morning Eastern Standard Time.

I'll also post participating poets for those who like to guess.

Comments are encouraged. I'll disclose poet identity and revisions, if any, on Sunday, the 23rd in the morning EST.
 
greenmountaineer said:
I'll post all submissions Monday, the 24th, in the morning Eastern Standard Time.

I'll also post participating poets for those who like to guess.

Comments are encouraged. I'll disclose poet identity and revisions, if any, on Sunday, the 23rd in the morning EST.
Click to expand...

:confused:
 
greenmountaineer said:
I'll post all submissions Monday, the 24th, in the morning Eastern Standard Time.

I'll also post participating poets for those who like to guess.

Comments are encouraged. I'll disclose poet identity and revisions, if any, on Sunday, the 23rd in the morning EST.
Click to expand...

That's going to make for some hasty revisions. :D
 
Here are the poets who participated. Some submitted more than one entry:

Always Hungry
Ashesh 9
greenmountaineer
Guilty Pleasure
legerdemer
Magnetron
pelegrino
UnderYourSpell

The poems follow.
 
#1 pelegrino

MARIE CELESTE

You are passing through my life, Marie Celeste,
To your whims I say goodbye and all the best!
You were just the light of this world, Marie Celeste,
All the stars illuminating and all the rest,
My mysterious haunted vessel, Marie Celeste,
testing little lamp lights green on the alco test,
To Lassithi tanti bacci, Marie Celeste,
Sing this song: "Amari Cazzi", if you’re depressed.

Sure, you were a little freaked out, Marie Celeste,
You were influenced by the movies of Far West,
You were just a little baby, Marie Celeste,
One of the beloved and cuddly, I should molest,
You desire me in your fanny, Marie Celeste,
so you were as sweet as honey and I was blessed,
I inhaled all your juices, Marie Celeste,
If I'm spared from your corruption, give me some rest.

How can I bid you farewell, Marie Celeste?
Times are not coming backwards to re-invest,
So much love passing between us, Marie Celeste,
Coitus of every rhyme, it was a jest,
Now the joke is done and over, Marie Celeste,
I just wish a poser life to every pest,
Every love is bound to hit you deep in the chest,
But…
Life's a bitch and then you die…
Marie Celeste.

Revision

MARIE CELESTE 3

You are passing through my life, Marie Celeste,
to your whims I say goodbye and all the best!
You were just the light of this world, Marie Celeste,
all the stars illuminating and all the rest,
my mysterious haunted vessel, Marie Celeste,
indicating lamp lights green on the alco test,
to Lassithi tanti bacci, Marie Celeste,
sing this song: "Amari Cazzi", if you’re depressed.

Sure, you were a little freaked out, Marie Celeste,
you were taken by the movies of Far Wild West,
you were just a little baby, Marie Celeste,
one that was so hot and naughty, I should molest,
you desire me in your fanny, Marie Celeste,
so, you were as sweet as honey and I was blessed,
I inhaled all your juices, Marie Celeste,
if I'm spared from your corruption, give me some rest.

How can I bid you farewell, Marie Celeste?
Times are not coming backwards to re-invest,
so much love passing between us, Marie Celeste,
coitus of every rhyme, it was a jest,
now the joke is done and over, Marie Celeste,
I just wish a poser life to every pest,
every love is bound to hit you deep in the chest,
But…
life's a bitch and then you die…
Marie Celeste.


Lassithi = Eastern Crete
Tanti bacci = many kisses, or, in Greek slang, many policemen
Amari cazzi = biter pricks
 
Last edited:
#2 Guily Pleasure

Barney in Barnet

So, I was takin’ the trouble ‘n strife
to the take-away for a good, spicy
Ruby Murray when we ‘appened
on a right barney. One of the guys
had a Quentin Crisp so the others.
fresh from the rub-a-dub and very
elephant’s trunk, took him for an oily rag,
a bit of a Alphonse and punched ‘im
right in the Ricky Gervasis. Wot you
might call “a hate lemon and lime”.
The fellah was no typewriter and made
to Bo’ney Bay across the frog ‘n toad.
It started to Cynthia Paine, a regular
cloud burst and the bullies turned
and ran fer cover. Our friend wiv da
Roy Hudd comin’ out ‘is garden ‘ose
sugar lumped into a nearby Joe Baxi
an’ we went an’ has the best biryani evah.

A title change, a few punctuation corrections and a translation for the mystified.

Fridee Night darn da Finchley Road

So, I was takin’ the trouble ‘n strife
to the take-away for a good ‘n spicy
Ruby Murray when we ‘appened
on a right barney. One of the guys
‘ad a Quentin Crisp so the others, [comma not period]
fresh from the rub-a-dub and very
elephant’s trunk, took ‘im for an oily rag,
a bit of a Alphonse and punched ‘im
right in the Ricky Gervais, wot you [sp mistake]
might call “a ‘ate lemon and lime”.
The fellah was no typewriter and made
to Bo’ney Bay across the frog ‘n toad.
It started to Cynthia Paine, a regular
cloud burst and the bullies turned
and ran fer cover. Our friend wiv da
Roy Hudd comin’ out ‘is garden ‘ose
sugar lumped into a nearby Joe Baxi
an’ we went an’ has the best biryani evah.

Translation

So, I was taking the wife
to the local take-out for a
curry when we came upon
a fight. One of the men
had a lisp so the others,
fresh from the pub and very
drunk, assumed he was gay,
a bit limp wristed and punched him
right in the face. What you
might call a hate crime.
The man was no fighter and tried
to run away across the road.
It started to rain, a real
downpour and the bullies turned
and ran for cover, our friend with the
blood coming out of his nose
jumped into a nearby taxi
.........etc.
 
Last edited:
#3 greenmountaineer

Índigo Chihuahua

My name Índigo Chihuahua,
muy macho, I no afraid bark
at my hombre give me treat
and take me my happy place

where, ¡Carumba! ¡Mierda!
¿Cómo se dice? Puppy Chow
he buy el supermercado
taste like mucha mierda

and smell like chica de hombre say
Oh look, Harry, Índigo go poo poo!
¡Concha! ¿Cómo se dice? Pussy!
Vamos Hombre or I bite chica leg.
 
Last edited:
#4 Asesh9

a Lady Rider wearing Jodhpurs
had a bizarre desire to be whipped
by a cruel Venus in Furs
she was straight as an arrow
not a Lesbo bone in her brain
like a Faqir on a Delhi-Agra
Express train.
she consulted a psychiatrist
a turbaned Dr. Singh
on his couch , lady did
proceed to sing
out her weird fantasy
the serious Doc in a stern voice
said " Lisa either enjoy same sex samosa
or stick to male Steak kebab: it's your choice!"
 
Last edited:
#5 Always Hungry

Domesticity

Oh heckaboo!
Is Sunday, an all day affair.
She botheration wit' she recipes
an' whoosh, dem chefs on TV.
Look watch how she does carry on
wit' buss-up-shut,
an' shops fuh' curry and married-man pork,
fuh bad mind's sake.

Revision

Oh heckaboo!
Is Sunday, an all day affair.
She botheration wit' she recipes
an' whoosh, dem chefs on TV.
Look watch how she does carry on
wit' buss-up-shut,
an' shop fuh' curry and married-man pork,
fuh bad mind's sake. Eh eh!
 
Last edited:
#6 Under Your Spell

Fleur fragrant blossom far beyond my reach
Romancing my senses la portails orgasmic.
Enthralled in her petals, the nectar adorn
Nearest thing to heaven. Oh ma petite
Come to me in all your naked glory, admirer
Hypnotique, lost in your beauty I quaff.
 
Last edited:
#7 Under Your Spell

I love what you are saying
when it is said in French.
I swoon for L' Escargot,
for petit pois I'll clench
buttocks round your Cote d'azure
and faux pas drives me wild
to take you up Champs-Élysées,
the Seine floods and I'm beguiled.
 
Last edited:
#8 greenmountaineer

Autochthon Permaculture


awasos leave many namas river go sleep

sweet tree sharp stick spear namas cook eat

tribe make smoke namas deep snow come eat

sweet tree dull stick fire make

many many night spirit gizos rise sky

sleep sleep wìkəwαm warm awasos hide


day spirit gizos smile high sky

snow melt sweet tree drip drip

make hole drop awasos dung

sweet tree stick pole bean squash corn seed

many namas river many many ice run

sweet tree sharp stick spear namas jump up

old brave old squaw children run

awasos come many namas river eat
 
Last edited:
#9 Guilty Pleasure

Small Sacrifice

Lu she love dem chilllun
more’n she love her own life.
When de masa lose he shirt
alonga da plantation
she knows dey get sole.
Her little ‘un, she not walking yet
but de two boys,
nine and six,
dey’s get good money.

Lu, she desp’rate
to take ‘em out
aimin’ north - Canada mebbe,
but da bounty men was good
and caught ‘em
dis sid’a Massachusetts.

Lu had ‘em hidin’
in a pig pen.
When she hear de men get close
she go to kill her babbies - all three
but she only got de littlest throat
screamin’ all da while.
She in jail now, crazy wild
and de boys?.
De Lawd knows where dey at.
 
Last edited:
#10 Magnetron

Pseudo Nazi Neo Paparazzi

Sieg Heil! Mister Pseudo Nazi
Neo Paparazzi goose steppin' it high
Watch the Fifth Reich Columnist proudly
shoot an open fist up to the sky

Shouting loud enough in his Holler-caust
to wake Israel and the Dachau dead
What's telling is that you'd try selling
tabloid fodder authored by a Stupid Head

Who'd part with their hard earned cash
for paper to line the kitty litter box?
Here's two cents for ya
Newsflash :
Gay bashing hate speech from hypocrites
really sucks the cocks

Hey, Dummkopf
Hitler took on the world;
he fucking lost
The world fought back at any cost
curled fingers around his one testicle
squeezed 'till it turned blue
shriveled and then fell off

Into the trash his only ball was tossed
where all you aborted fetus
skin head motherfuckers
who couldn't beat us
the first time around
belong

'cause you're a waste of Humanity
 
Last edited:
#11 legerdemer

Letter from Paris

What is it about her, that grande dame
with her weary smile and her je ne sais quoi,
her saucy hips of soft blond stone or her
marble décolletage enticing love birds
of all sorts to perch?

Her puddles reflect the sunlight filtered through
suspended cotton, and splash up her skirts.
Windows of antiquaires like eyes beguile,
fluttering letters signed by Cocteau, Flaubert,
Colette, and Hugo, and display Modigliani look-alikes.

I take you with me as we stroll through the Tuileries,
watching the knots of lovers or friends, and the lone wolf
—so debonair—casting his foxy eyes about for the comely waif.

I imagine your touch boiling against me as we walk,
arm-in-arm, to the clip-clop of heels on cobbles.
I muse on what might have been if we’d crossed paths before,
and how our fingers would tingle with the warmth.

Non, je ne regrette rien, though I still ponder the what ifs,
and pine sometimes that our imaginations were not more entwined,
a tighter weave over the doubts that hardly seemed to matter then.

Revision

Letter from a broad

What is it about Paris, that grande dame
with her weary smile and her je ne sais quoi,
her saucy hips of soft blond stone or her
marble décolletages enticing love birds
of all sorts to perch?

Her puddles reflect sunlight filtered through
floating cotton, and splash up her skirts.
Shop windows of antiquaires beguile and bat their eyes,
fluttering letters signed by Cocteau, Flaubert,
Colette, and Hugo, or display Modigliani look-alikes.

I take you with me as I stroll through the Tuileries,
watching the knots of friends and lovers,
and the occasional lone wolf—so debonair—
casting his eyes about for the comely waif.

I imagine your touch boiling against my skin as we walk,
arm-in-arm, to the clip-clop of heels on cobbles.
How our fingers tingled with the heat of the aftermath…
I muse on what might have been had we crossed paths before.

Non, je ne regrette rien, though I still ponder the what ifs,
and pine sometimes that our imaginations were not more entwined,
a tighter weave over the doubts that hardly seemed to matter then.
 
Last edited:
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