Archival Review

The Archival Review

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Updated — 7/10/07

I know there was once a thread where we brought attention to results of using the spinner. I wasn't having much success digging through so I've thrown in the towel and decided to start it all from scratch {though I did find it later, courtesy of RhymeFairy, as I noted in this post}.

If you want to add your own contribution, by all means join in the fun.

What I'll be placing here will be those pieces I've come across that I believe deserve another reading. I'll also place no more than three on this thread on any one day.

Why do this? Well, for one thing, the number of poems I find to mention on my Wednesday review keeps growing and who's going to read any of those if there are five suggestions on one day? So this thread should provide the perfect solution; an easy to handle number of poems each day and a means to keep the backlog down of those interesting pieces I've found. And I'm not listing just those poems that I like, but those I think other Lit folk might enjoy. Further amplification of what I'm doing here can be found at this later post.

I've provided you a link to the poem, so if you want you can go to it and give it a vote and/or comment. I'm sure the poet would appreciate that.

7/7/07 & 7/10/07 — Following added:

That was a glorious year, 2004. There were a couple memorable challanges of which I am aware. With a couple of exceptions (appropriately noted on each first post) I've posted the results of these challanges as combined groups as follows:

Grab A Partner Challenge issued by irishcatsmeow begins at post #536.

Thanksgiving Challenge issued by Angeline begins at post #555, immediately following the Grab A Partner Challenge.


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A Walk in the Cemetery
by WickedEve ©

[...]


NOTE: Poet has pulled works from Lit; link removed.
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avalanche
by Icingsugar ©


ten little fingers closed
in comfort around a golden strand

a call and response
for need and nurture
a passive hand but an active eye

and a twitch, just mechanical
still just instinct,
a call and response

but so much like
a concerned frown
of knowing somehow

what is
and was
and could

that i trigger
a call and response
of my own
and let the avalanche well up
to flood my lungs with winter

active eyes
and ten little fingers
around golden strand
let go of comfort
in something more than
a call and response

to pull me back up
to save me again
keeping at bay
an ice age of what is
and was
and could

.............

Only
by Linbido ©


Don't be scared
by sudden explosion
of exploration in colour,
from gray to grasping
the edges of diversity.

Some say you can hear it
like a rustle beneath
whatever everyday noise
rings relentless.
More silent than heartbeats
the rush of your blood
and your innermost tranquil
hollering.

Some say you can sense
how persistence breaks
the barrier of oppression
in a million revolutions
everyday.

It's patches of life
humming in the wake
from hibernating slow,
finding it's pulse.

It's dandelions raising stems,
it's the crocus' lowered gaze
in a fresh green haven.

So don't be scared,
it's just
another year
breaking through,
seeping in.

And I know it's new,
but you will see
how much more
it all can be.

Anti Philosophy by No Bagles

No illucid imitation
will ever flash
such a blinding smile.

Lindsey can like no woman
no man
grin the plaster of walls
--- not in horror mind you,

but in desperate attempt
to not only fall to the floor
but to crawl across it
and kiss her feet.

As did I
and shared a Big Easy night
between Italian sheets
and real folds of pure inspiration.

Lindsey can like nothing mattered
adlib on a coin toss
and curve conversations,
while I curve arms around her waist
fingers around her divinity,
and lips around her earlobe.

What if ---
--- we are all a mistake
just ethereal spit,
a blob of seed dripping down
Valhalla's restroom wall ---
--- the undivine result
of an unknown deity's
premature ejaculation?

Not saying ---
--- just asking.
What if?

she says.

Not saying ---

I reply

--- just asking, what if
it is all good,
no worries,
a-ok,
cool,
take
your
pick,
and we need not ponder
silly things like that?

Her space curves
around my straight stance ---
--- Lindsey turns,
slips perspiration lubricated
in my arms.

Say it again,
I want to watch your face
when you do.

And I do.

Then again, that smile.

Only this time,
I am already closer
than swooning plaster
will ever be.







And a bonus poem.

Zoochology by No Bagles

canine contemplation:
a dogs knows better
remembers to sniff
before kissing butts

feline contemplation:
purr to the bipedal morons
and they bring food
leave quadropedal butt sniffing
morons alone

bovine contemplation:
moo

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Absorbing Invisibility
by Cordelia ©

I sit in camouflaged desire,
repressing fevered whirlwinds,
becoming shade as you require.

To dim the violent purple fire
dilute until it’s crystalline,
and wait in camouflaged desire.

Add grey to brazen red’s attire;
suppress her strut in softer skins,
in paler shades, as you require.

Hush the lute, and stow the lyre,
dampen strings on violins.
I’ll listen, and conceal desire.

I’ll paint with words that you inspire
disguised in shrouds of discipline
and faded, as your needs require.

Awaiting signals, I retire,
patient in the blues I’ve thinned.
I wait in camouflaged desire
a paler red than you require.



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Dear LeBroz this is a great thread! It's a pleasure to read some of these poets whose poems I had forgotten--Cordelia, Linbido and IcingSugar, No Bagels. Thank you for this gift.




misanthrope
by 2rivers ©

with use, windows wish to slam shut
freed from paint and caulk
they prefer their own solemnity
to be closed by choice, no obedience to mechanism
imposed by men with tools and factory

hold open for the birds and leaves of season
flake and gale, burglars and casual passers by

an onlooker sees silk and fingers
a couched woman of depth
smoky fringes, fetish tolerant
heart stitched golden weave
caged thunder, chambers of the beat
a true, ”certain type of unusual”

I got this one on my seventh spin--

why do they hide
by, Senna Jawa

it's been a long winter

where are all the poets gone?

supposedly there is God

in every and each of us

is God dormant like a bear?

it's been a long winter

you hear only pro-s

they write well like this:



She was a real lady

She was no whore

I gave it to her good

She begged for more



why are all the poets dormant?

only pro-s are awake

they sing like this:



My sad blue eyes got a 1st class ticket

And are going away from my

Girl, on this silver jet

I fasten my seat belt and cry

I can't live without my girl

I have to get her back

But the silver jet takes

My sad blue eyes away from her











Wlodzimierz Holsztynski ©

1989-12-14/15

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Facing that big six oh in a couple days, this resonated so well when I read it. Personally, I like whoever it was that said that sixty is the new forty.



And Forty-Nine?
by jthserra ©


And Forty-Nine?

“Men at forty
Learn to close softly
The doors to rooms they will not be
Coming back to.”

from “Men at Forty”
by Donald Justice​

It’s place I’ve been
grown comfortable in --
a little more each day
as cracks in driveways
and leaks under the sink
become a part of everyday.

Though I groan as I stand,
hand on back, straightening
too slowly for my age,
another hinge begins to squeak
and a carpet stain grows
a bit larger than yesterday.

Wrinkled stares mirror me,
gray-streaked reflections framed
in black, de-silvered edges,
dark blotches gradually creep
into vision, past even the most
gracious and forgiving eyes.

I step gently now, cautious
amid sudden aches and pains,
to yearn the quiet, calm evening,
the warm radiance of brick
as the last light fades at sunset,

and the chilly morning, the failing
furnace somehow endearing:
consistency in so much change
its tranquil hiss coolly calms me,
as I bang the door loudly --
so afraid of the silence.

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Tonight, before shredding the wrappings off the presents, we'll all eat a very hearty meal. Need all that energy for the wrapping shredding. Anyway, here's a mouth watering piece I mentioned a while back on my Wednesday review, but it tastes so good, thought I'd mention it again.


a good hamburger
by smithpeter ©

salt, pepper to taste.
take about 1 ½ pound of the best ground beef you can afford
mash it up in a bowl,
add one heel of stale bread crumb,
the kind you like the best. Rhy?
Pumpernickel.
add one half white chopped onion
weep your tasty tears
add one raw egg
continue mashing so it oozes between your fingers
no condoms allowed
mash it some more till you feel the fat crying
now throw it, baby
throw it on the grill
no indoor griddle or fry pan for this patty

the juice will run and flame
get a mouth that is open
apply your face

addendum: fresh tomatoes
caution: be careful if fisting


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normal jean said:

Leon,

the poem of Eve's which you just mentioned was one that inspired me to write several poems a while back. Until then, I was afraid ( for lack of a better word) to write about cemetaries and death, hell, death isnt scary, its just a change of scenery and WE showed me that!!

Eve has this wonderful way of using words, words that one doesnt hear every day. I think most of us could use a vocab refresher course and Eve would be the poet to go to for that particular inspiration/


and her choices of settings is one aspect of her writing that has always drawn me to her poetry. She never chooses the old, ordinary worn-out cliche places for poetry, you know what I mean? She brings poetry home, to your backyard and your grandparents houses and your weird neighbors become even stranger after you read Eve's work

and i mean that in the most wonderful way!!!

She always takes the reader someplace new and exciting. One of hers, I am probably getting the title wrong, but it is something like, The Dark Continent of South Carolina, well, I live in SC and she brought a sense of wonder to me that I never felt until I read that poem.

I guess you can tell, I am a huge Wicked Eve fan ( and a fan of her other incarnations as well.)

I hope you dont mind me posting like this, I just feel like Eve doesnt get the attention and recognition that she deserves, and that just isnt right. YOU are doing a great service to this poetry forum by posting these older poems, thank you, Leon.

and,

Dammit, ya'll

READ EVE!!

youwont regret it, I promise.

Click to expand...

When I read this a few days ago, I immediately copied and saved it.
I should print it out and frame it. No. No. A bumper sticker! Of course, I'll have to drive slowly around town so everyone has a chance to read it. I'm not even sure that the majority of the townsfolk can even read. I'll just have that radio guy read it during the freebie program--after he announces who has a give-away washer on the front lawn or a target practice deer that still has a leg and a half left.
Anyway, kisses.

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Okay, it's Christmas day so here's something I found that's ingenious in its simplicity and won't require a great deal of thinking.




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lolol! maybe it is the day, but this just cracks me up!!!!

hehehehe

okay back to the nog and snuggles

LeBroz said:

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Okay, it's Christmas day so here's something I found that's ingenious in its simplicity and won't require a great deal of thinking.



A Warning!
by Reltne ©

A WARNING!






Animal Crackers:
Do not eat
if seal is broken.


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Click to expand...

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Now here's an irreverent piece perfect for this time of year, from, guess who?!!



Angel On The Christmas Tree!
by Uncle Pervey ©

Have you ever took time to listen,
To an Angel on a Christmas tree?
She's got a few "serious" complaints,
And she can make you REALLY see!

The first thing I heard her ask was this,
"Why must I be the one up here?
It's a pretty painful position,
To have a tree jammed up your rear!"

"And let me tell you another thing,
These needles make my hemroids hurt!
And don't I look a terrible sight,
With a Pine tree inside my skirt?"

"Furthermore, I have to say, this sap,
Is making a rash on my ass!"
It was easy to see the Angel,
Was a very UNHAPPY Lass!

When I'd heard her complaints, I went out,
And bought a "Big Star" for my tree.
I hope all of you will do the same,
And set the Christmas Angels free!!




NOTE: And here's hoping your special someone was special good to you this Christmas season. And if you've not got that special someone, perhaps it's time to get that one who'll help make lifes' burdens disappear.


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I can't wait another day. This one's been eating away at me and just had to post it. Not exactly a holiday read, but it is very powerful.


And The Beat Goes On
by rarebreed21 ©

1 heartbeat, 2 heartbeats, 3 heartbeats 4,
You beat the heart till the heart beats no more…

In the still of a thick night my heart I pledged
undressed in love, all defenses fled.
You would protect me with blind devotion.
A choice made in the midst of emotion.

For years I waited for change to come.
For the pain and hurting to be done.
Apologies and tears to mend the bruises.
Heart eternally calloused, in the end love loses.

1 heartbeat, 2 heartbeats, 3 heartbeats 4,
You beat the heart till the heart beats no more.
Dying for love and for love shall I die.
Crying for mercy with bloodied eyes.

In the end was a beginning, the beginning was the end.
Love and trust devoted to a wolf in sheep’s skin.
Seduced by full moon eyes, star promised words.
Pain so intense cries for mercy can’t be heard.

Convinced I brought on this hellfire lashing.
Self worth drains with each days passing.
My fault, my problem, I caused all of this.
Tear dropping prayers for the next blow to miss.

1 heartbeat, 2 heartbeats, 3 heartbeats 4,
You beat the heart till the heart beats no more.
Dying for love and for love shall I die.
Crying for mercy with bloodied eyes.

My kitchen table coffin you drape with bouquets.
Explanations of stress filled, hard working days.
I should be more caring, try to understand.
Change isn’t easy, you’re doing the best you can.

It is patience that my type lacks.
That stirs your frustration, resulting in smacks.
Time runs thin, the end is near.
Endurance depleted, collapsed under fear.

1 heartbeat, 2 heartbeats, 3 heartbeats 4,
You beat the heart till the heart beats no more.
Dying for love and for love shall I die.
Crying for mercy with bloodied eyes.

Sanity no longer sanctuary, existence obsolete.
Battered by love, scarred by deceit.
A thousand deaths each day I die.
The broken wing sparrow unable to fly.

No faith in a world that has abandoned me.
A casualty of love’s lack of humanity.
In the midst of the chaos, mercy hides.
Wrapped in misery, buried in shame I reside.

1 heartbeat, 2 heartbeats, 3 heartbeats 4,
You beat the heart till the heart beats no more.
Dying for love and for love shall I die.
Crying for mercy with bloodied eyes.



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Personally, I prefer waking from a flying dream ~ the exhiliration that comes with it is the perfect waking experience.


a willow bending
by Maria2394 ©

I found a bag of babies
buried 'neath a tree
a grand and sweeping willow
near a stream

in a nightmare, wrapped in green
a cotton weave
of smoke and fog and gleem

an orange moon
rose and spoke
like God and snatched the bag away

in the nightmare
not the dream

I was helpless, willow swayed
bagged up hidden, stored away
like dusty bottles filled with change
he saved up for a rainy day



NOTE: Poet has pulled works from Lit; link removed.
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Almonds and Red Wine
by BooMerengue ©

I was ready to lie on my slab of white marble
when suddenly there stood such a very great marvel!

A wizard he was all dressed up in bright stars
and driving a traffic jam of little pink cars!

He looked at me slyly and said "Hey! Get up!
Don't give it all over til on these you have supped!"

And out of a cloudburst of rain all in splatters
appeared a display of all glittery platters!

Red wine bottles sparkled and flowed like big rivers
and almonds ~ some shelled and some cut up in slivers!

Oh, how they tempted my tongue and my tummy!
For red wine's my favorite; when chilled its so yummy!

And almonds galore, more than ever I've seen
in piles and in bowls and in big soup tureens!

So I stood and I feasted; then I ate even more
and I drank my red wine as I sat on the floor

And the Wizard he told me "Girl, don't ever give up!
An answer there is for what questions come up!"

Red wine and almonds danced all round my bed!
Almonds and red wine went straight to my head!

And see? He was right, for much better I feel!
Now it's almonds and red wine at all of my meals!


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Last time I mentioned this back in early November on my Wednesday review and there was only a link. Here you go with the actual piece; it's so unusual and sure's not maudlin!

And The Clock Went Tick
by Shady_Lady ©


She sat quite still in the gathering gloom
As she waited like a demon of impending doom
She watched the door for movements quick
And her heart started racing and the clock went tick

In a moment she steadied both her nerve and hand
Her mouth was dry, and round her chest a steel band
She had but a second to take her pick
And her throat constricted and the clock went tick

Her fingers tightened on the trigger so cold
Her resolve was firm and her thoughts were bold
Breathe in and hold she thought, that’s the trick
As she began to squeeze and the clock went tick

The moment passed and all was still once more
It was only the wind that had rattled the door
As she waited still ready, feeling a little sick
Her stomach churned and the clock went tick

The door opened wide and stood a man too proud
As she squeezed, two bangs and the noise so loud
Then she waited for the smoke to clear that was too thick
So she watched him intently and the clock went tick

And when she was sure her job was done
She left with care, calmly thinking, walk don’t run
As she passed the man she gave her head a flick
As if saying I care not for you and the clock went tick

As she peeled off the gloves and started the car
She smiled coldly as she thought so good, so far
And the house was still, from the body not a kick
As the blood pooled slowly and the clock went tick


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Here's another that just cannot wait; get your helping today in advance of Sunday evening's partying.


Annual Ghost
by Icingsugar ©



stacking yesterdays
in piles too high to handle
they lean sway fall

tumble topple over
me and all the now
I breathed in
just before
yesteryear
came crashing down

a sea to drown
the everything
that trails behind in

everything
I have ahead

and everything

just all

it's just another
spin on the same
familiar axis
and the new dawn
just a carbon copy
of the one
seven hours old

and still the panic
the illusion of closure
the delusion
of significance
closing in

just one more day
to set things straight
just one more spin
to lose the burdens
the load that the next
turn of seasons
should not deserve

I wish for comfort
for ease and decency
and a happy new year

free from this
annual ghost

that is all



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normal jean said:

Leon! ?


Did you actually get a maria poem from t eh spinner, or are you still in the "a"s ?

just curious. I dont think my work comes UP in spinners


anyway, thanks for posting one of my personal faves here. ( when I first wrote it, got a couple of pretty "tangy" feedbacks, (to be nice about it), accusing me of trying to write "like sp and anna".... hehe...the person wasnt even close, it was an actual dream and since that happened, I try to pay attention to my writing style more, and I dont think a willow bending resembles anything either of those poets ever wrote...do you?



hugs

maria

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I may start using the spinner after I've gone through all 34,000 poems here at Lit, which could start to happen in a couple of years or so. Just coming to the end of the nonerotic "A"s. Still have a ways to go. I'm also listing pieces I had links for on my Wednesday reviews, on the premise that most folks would more often be more interested in New Poems than a look back into the archives, especially when I would post multiple possibilities.

As for your poem, I was a bit puzzled by it at first. It seemed a bit dark and dissonant. I was saved by the comments, especially your explanation about the dream element. Then, everything fell into place, but it was still "pure" you.

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In recognition of her special day ~ an anniversary of some sort, perhaps ~ here's a bit of humor.


A Widow At Last
by WickedEve ©

[...]


2003
once again, to my ex, thanks for the inspiration.
and no, I will not be returning your socks.



NOTE: Poet has pulled works from Lit; link removed.

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Okay folks, yesterday was the final business day of the year and it fell on a Friday this year. What better time to relish this little piece.


Bad Friday
by smithpeter ©

at 4:30 I should be unlocking my car,
instead shoving "send" button,
stubborn fax attracting busy signals.

one reason to despise the Department Of Administration,
one place that does deserve all capitals in its acronym-
D.O.A.

A bell rings at the reception door,
sad man looking for work, résumé's galore
and fearful.
"you need the office on the corner"
he is truly gray in his reply, "been there,
done that, please hear my plea."
I have faxes to send and miles to drive before
I can write a poem about him and his ruffled
jeans and George Harrison work shirt shirk,
twin pockets, no epaulets, thank all gods for that.

you will succeed on Monday,
to be sure,
now release me as I genuinely
look unable to help and feeling
very very sorry
sad for you

Sometimes it is worth it to hear,
"thanks for listening" 20 minutes later,
when nothing is busy any longer.


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