Harry's Fingers Raincoat thread

Desejo

Literotica Guru
Joined
Apr 15, 2011
Posts
627
in case any of you managed to miss these...there are thus far four inspired poems on this subject.

Tzara: in NPR Fingers and Raincoat

Tristesse2: in NPR: Fingers, raincoat, wonders

Remec: In all of a sudden passion suddenly: Raincoat and Fingers


Me: in all of a sudden passions suddenly: Fingers Raincoat

I'd link them here but I don't know how to do that between threads. If it's even possible.

Feel free to chime in, people. Let your...ahh.. Fingers do the walking.
 
*smiles* i really like this sort of thing - where diverse minds play with the same theme or phrase. it's always an interesting experience for me to see what's created ... like space being folded, or infinite universes, and... well, maybe that's a bit ott but you get my drift :cool:
 
in case any of you managed to miss these...there are thus far four inspired poems on this subject.

Tzara: in NPR Fingers and Raincoat

Tristesse2: in NPR: Fingers, raincoat, wonders

Remec: In all of a sudden passion suddenly: Raincoat and Fingers


Me: in all of a sudden passions suddenly: Fingers Raincoat

I'd link them here but I don't know how to do that between threads. If it's even possible.

Feel free to chime in, people. Let your...ahh.. Fingers do the walking.


Fixed it for you. Thanks for the tip, great reads. Sometimes challenges spontaneously arise here, one of the many wonders of the place.
 
the raincoat lay

face down
on grass that sang green joy to itself
blade to verdant blade
in a fingering of cloth
a memory
aligning with some vestige of hereditry
quite unattuned to animal remains
and the single leather shoe
exposed
and staring at the sky
 
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Raincoat Fingers

She didn’t take her raincoat when she left in the morning, as it was sunny—warm, for October—though we were promised rain later in the week. I liked that, as I thought it meant she would be back and I wanted her back so badly I ground my teeth thinking about it. Happily ground them, if that makes any sense.

I made myself some tea. The sun was still low through the windows and I put on an old vinyl recording of Vivaldi’s Four Seasons, skipping over Spring and Summer and going straight to Autumn. I wished I still smoked cigarettes.

Bad habit, but I really wanted one.

Her coat was shiny. Plastic, almost, or even actually plastic. Brightly colored, for sure, and it crinkled as I picked it up from where she’d left it on the couch.

When I hung it in the closet, I realized I didn’t like it much. To my fingers it didn’t feel like skin.

And I wanted skin.
 
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My fingers, your raincoat

My fingers, Your raincoat

It really does rain a lot here
I feel like an explorer
of a primeval city populated with banana slugs and giant ferns
between aromatic coffeehouses

On coffee plantations sometimes women use
banana leaves to keep off the rain
drops of water dripping off glossy waxy green
like a warm shower

I prefer this cooler rain
because I can take shelter here
under your raincoat
my fingers warm in your pockets.
 
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Okay, you asked for it Desejo; here I am preparing to drop my raincoat before you all, but only because you did ask and I am a sucker for pretty name.

Speaking of names, yes, you should all get comfortable; just beginning, I am. Where was I? Oh yes, names.

Do you look at the avatars names around the site and apply the mental image to each pseudonym? I do. Why is that? Are we doing them a disservice by assuming we know them from their writing and comments? Let me give you some examples.

I imagine 12 oh as an old college professor, maybe retired from Oxford where he still goes to read real books in the library occasionally with an introspective scowl on his face.

I see G.M. as a really big guy with an expression of sadness especially after that thing with the October challenge. I’m kind of worried about him and I don’t even know him.

Pandora really glitters, eyes, smile, and personality. Couldn't ask for a better boss although the pay checks are slow.

Chip, I don’t know. I see her as some undefined image walking that pier in the sunset. but, I get the feeling there is some deep thought behind her smiling words

Desejo – did you guys know that that is a Portuguese word meaning desire or wish? I imagine that she has the kindest eyes I have ever seen.

Then there is Tristess2 … Melancholy in French. I can see that. Stupid me, sought clarification from her in the review thread with a smartass remark then the fun began with Tzara.

I never thought too much about him; all I knew that he was a dandy and wrote some powerful (squared) poetry. But … Just prior to this slicky slicker slip as I was searching the Internet’s spidery web of sticky strands (that pull you further into the morass) while tracking down one of 12 Oh’s comments that led to Minimalism and Dadaism, I found Tzara by accident; makes you wonder if some strange force connects us all like the sticky spider www’s.

Now, the point I’m trying to make is, I tend to think about things more than may be healthy. While the majority of the poets here seem to concentrate on form and style, I look for meaning and connotation within the poem.
So when Tzara wrote:

…It was, at first, like
he was playing an instrument,
fingers delicate, though pressed
here and there on frets
I couldn’t quite see.

It seemed to be a comment about me and the first few submissions posted here. (Oh vanity)
Then…

..Then he came, and the squish
of fluid onto pavement
woke me.

Instantly this seemed to be a comment about all the other things I tried.

… I tried
to kick him in the balls,
but he ran..........................no idea

….I left his children in the street.

Dismissing my children (poems?) in the street (new poems forum?)
I’m sure I’m wrong. (However, I tend to agree)

Still waiting for a poem? I was hoping you’d give up by now … Fine, here you go.

Rain splattered intermittently on the battered yellow Mac
Where I endured varied inundations of precipitate attack
Gazing up to heaven pouring down, clouds that hid the sun
Raised a hand wet and cold fingers folded all save one.

.....This was just a fun write no meaning whatsoever....?Perhaps there's a lesson here after all?

So, hope you had as much fun as I did. It was nice to take my Dragon for a walk; he has been in his cage for much too long.

Harry
 
Desejo – did you guys know that that is a Portuguese word meaning desire or wish? I imagine that she has the kindest eyes I have ever seen.

Just to disabuse you of that notion - nice is an adjective that is very, very rarely used in conjunction with me. ;)

And I liked that little poem.
 
conveyed with poetry
she declined the offer
claiming it was a signifier
for mass perversion

reinforcing my conclusion
language is inadequate
it does not convey meaning or emotion
being a sort of semaphore

damn political correctness
it leaves so much unsaid
dismisses the silence between words
discards cadence and nuance

so now I communicate through gesture
such as smiles, frowns and glances
letting her consider the missing information
my open Mac and my saluting manhood
 
conveyed with poetry
she declined the offer
claiming it was a signifier
for mass perversion

reinforcing my conclusion
language is inadequate
it does not convey meaning or emotion
being a sort of semaphore

damn political correctness
it leaves so much unsaid
dismisses the silence between words
discards cadence and nuance

so now I communicate through gesture
such as smiles, frowns and glances
letting her consider the missing information
my open Mac and my saluting manhood

That last line is killer. Love this one.
 
Actually I love ALL of these.
Big thanks to Harry for exposing us all to fingers and raincoats.
 
No raincoat, dancing fingers

The roar of the monsoon arrives
blowing papers and orange peels wildly
in the red dust roaring like an unseen herd
stampeeding the town from the bush

Torrential unleashing as the sky bursts
open overbrimming calabashes in claps
entire rivers churning forth
falling from an impossible height

The children dance naked under the gutters
scrubbing their hair with shiny fingers
flip flops lost in flash puddles up to their ankles
Finally, finally, the rains.
 
That last line is killer. Love this one.

I could grow to like you. A whole lot!

Unfortunately I'm off to Madrid for a couple of weeks tomorrow so I'll have to wait until I get back to stalk you in my plastic mac.:(
 
Now, the point I’m trying to make is, I tend to think about things more than may be healthy. While the majority of the poets here seem to concentrate on form and style, I look for meaning and connotation within the poem.
continue with that, did you ever go to the supermarket and buy a styrofoam tray with saran wrap

no you went to buy meat

of course you probably want it in some kind of wrapper

milk is almost impossible
 
Okay, you asked for it Desejo; here I am preparing to drop my raincoat before you all, but only because you did ask and I am a sucker for pretty name.

Speaking of names, yes, you should all get comfortable; just beginning, I am. Where was I? Oh yes, names.

Do you look at the avatars names around the site and apply the mental image to each pseudonym? I do. Why is that? Are we doing them a disservice by assuming we know them from their writing and comments? Let me give you some examples.

I imagine 12 oh as an old college professor, maybe retired from Oxford where he still goes to read real books in the library occasionally with an introspective scowl on his face.

I see G.M. as a really big guy with an expression of sadness especially after that thing with the October challenge. I’m kind of worried about him and I don’t even know him.

Pandora really glitters, eyes, smile, and personality. Couldn't ask for a better boss although the pay checks are slow.

Chip, I don’t know. I see her as some undefined image walking that pier in the sunset. but, I get the feeling there is some deep thought behind her smiling words

Desejo – did you guys know that that is a Portuguese word meaning desire or wish? I imagine that she has the kindest eyes I have ever seen.

Then there is Tristess2 … Melancholy in French. I can see that. Stupid me, sought clarification from her in the review thread with a smartass remark then the fun began with Tzara.

I never thought too much about him; all I knew that he was a dandy and wrote some powerful (squared) poetry. But … Just prior to this slicky slicker slip as I was searching the Internet’s spidery web of sticky strands (that pull you further into the morass) while tracking down one of 12 Oh’s comments that led to Minimalism and Dadaism, I found Tzara by accident; makes you wonder if some strange force connects us all like the sticky spider www’s.

Now, the point I’m trying to make is, I tend to think about things more than may be healthy. While the majority of the poets here seem to concentrate on form and style, I look for meaning and connotation within the poem.
So when Tzara wrote:

…It was, at first, like
he was playing an instrument,
fingers delicate, though pressed
here and there on frets
I couldn’t quite see.

It seemed to be a comment about me and the first few submissions posted here. (Oh vanity)
Then…

..Then he came, and the squish
of fluid onto pavement
woke me.

Instantly this seemed to be a comment about all the other things I tried.

… I tried
to kick him in the balls,
but he ran..........................no idea

….I left his children in the street.

Dismissing my children (poems?) in the street (new poems forum?)
I’m sure I’m wrong. (However, I tend to agree)

Still waiting for a poem? I was hoping you’d give up by now … Fine, here you go.

Rain splattered intermittently on the battered yellow Mac
Where I endured varied inundations of precipitate attack
Gazing up to heaven pouring down, clouds that hid the sun
Raised a hand wet and cold fingers folded all save one.

.....This was just a fun write no meaning whatsoever....?Perhaps there's a lesson here after all?

So, hope you had as much fun as I did. It was nice to take my Dragon for a walk; he has been in his cage for much too long.

Harry

This is like a poetry year book! Thanks, Harry. :kiss::rose:
 
>>>welcome<<<

Stick around Dora, really wanting some feedback on my next one. I'm guessing it will drop Wendesday. Have mixed feelings about it.
 
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looking for something else i found this. made me smile

Okay, you asked for it Desejo; here I am preparing to drop my raincoat before you all, but only because you did ask and I am a sucker for pretty name.

Speaking of names, yes, you should all get comfortable; just beginning, I am. Where was I? Oh yes, names.

Do you look at the avatars names around the site and apply the mental image to each pseudonym? I do. Why is that? Are we doing them a disservice by assuming we know them from their writing and comments? Let me give you some examples.

I imagine 12 oh as an old college professor, maybe retired from Oxford where he still goes to read real books in the library occasionally with an introspective scowl on his face.

I see G.M. as a really big guy with an expression of sadness especially after that thing with the October challenge. I’m kind of worried about him and I don’t even know him.

Pandora really glitters, eyes, smile, and personality. Couldn't ask for a better boss although the pay checks are slow.

Chip, I don’t know. I see her as some undefined image walking that pier in the sunset. but, I get the feeling there is some deep thought behind her smiling words

Desejo – did you guys know that that is a Portuguese word meaning desire or wish? I imagine that she has the kindest eyes I have ever seen.

Then there is Tristess2 … Melancholy in French. I can see that. Stupid me, sought clarification from her in the review thread with a smartass remark then the fun began with Tzara.

I never thought too much about him; all I knew that he was a dandy and wrote some powerful (squared) poetry. But … Just prior to this slicky slicker slip as I was searching the Internet’s spidery web of sticky strands (that pull you further into the morass) while tracking down one of 12 Oh’s comments that led to Minimalism and Dadaism, I found Tzara by accident; makes you wonder if some strange force connects us all like the sticky spider www’s.

Now, the point I’m trying to make is, I tend to think about things more than may be healthy. While the majority of the poets here seem to concentrate on form and style, I look for meaning and connotation within the poem.
So when Tzara wrote:

…It was, at first, like
he was playing an instrument,
fingers delicate, though pressed
here and there on frets
I couldn’t quite see.

It seemed to be a comment about me and the first few submissions posted here. (Oh vanity)
Then…

..Then he came, and the squish
of fluid onto pavement
woke me.

Instantly this seemed to be a comment about all the other things I tried.

… I tried
to kick him in the balls,
but he ran..........................no idea

….I left his children in the street.

Dismissing my children (poems?) in the street (new poems forum?)
I’m sure I’m wrong. (However, I tend to agree)

Still waiting for a poem? I was hoping you’d give up by now … Fine, here you go.

Rain splattered intermittently on the battered yellow Mac
Where I endured varied inundations of precipitate attack
Gazing up to heaven pouring down, clouds that hid the sun
Raised a hand wet and cold fingers folded all save one.

.....This was just a fun write no meaning whatsoever....?Perhaps there's a lesson here after all?

So, hope you had as much fun as I did. It was nice to take my Dragon for a walk; he has been in his cage for much too long.

Harry
early days :cool:
 
The rain was still light
Enough for people to roll down a window
Hand him some change
or the occasional bill
He took it all with thanks and
Gave a blessing to each
He couldn't afford pride
Or any of the other six
Deadlies, like he couldn't afford
To get sick, so put his poncho on
Actually a garbage bag with
Holes cut for head and arms
Ten to a box at the dollar store
Cheaper and better than
The rain ponchos they also sold
And kept at his work of looking
Pathetic but determined
Which was both easier and harder
Than it looked when all the change
His hands received was as close
To human contact as he got
These days in his never ending
Shuffle from spot to spot
Looking for fingers waving at
Him from car windows
Because people felt safer
And more generous when
They were dry and cool
While he two stepped through
Traffic, heat and rain
Long enough to get that bottle
That kept the voices at bay
 
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