007 Challenge

Week 8, Poem 2

You have really been working hard in this challenge, PoetEdge. Great to see you digging in deep! The last poem was moving. Thank you.

Cal. Y. Pygia said:

Breasts are so beautiful
And cunts so hideous
Men’s feelings for women
Are ambiguous;
That’s why men prefer
Anal to vaginal
Intercourse
And shemales to females,
If the truth is to be told.

Click to expand...

Soft. Is anything so soft and so powerful
I marvel, stroking her with the back of my finger
as she sleeps. This magic pouch
that will clench to hold a single finger
or bloom wide, how I love it as if it contained
her curiosity, her vocabulary. I fill my lungs
with musk and tenderly watch her vagina
swell its sails but she is not the vessel,
she is the sea. To taste her is to taste the world's waters
that have poured together and mixed all the earth's flavor.
To love her is to voyage without packing or tape
but to push naked into the next becoming and burn
to ashes.

If the truth is to be told the eyes see only what they expect.
If the truth is to be told your poor cut cock
robbed of its sensitivity
cannot love the vagina. It cannot love without its sheath.
It cannot love, now, without violence: the hard grip
and the smell of shit. And you cannot see
what it cannot love.

wk 1 day 5

JOHN

I can't believe
It's been decades
Since I sat
for ten minutes
in silence.

There were thousands
of others around me
speakers and mics on a stage

A concert with no performer

It seemed the whole
of New York
was holding its breath

There wasn't even a horn
beep, or a deranged
street person shouting
through that six hundred seconds.

Perfect silence
Like the rest between notes
but this song was over.

Two gulls were circling above me
my eyes turned them to doves

I was seventeen
but it was in that silent moment
that I realized my childhood was over

Because I grew up with you
learned guitar from you
wrote lyrics because of you

When I teach writing
I use Come Together
for the for the effortless wordplay

He say, one and one and one is three
got to be good looking cause he's so hard to see.

I fell in love with words
because of you

I realized that one person
could change the world
because of you

And though after you were
murdered, you became everyone's
favorite

You were always mine

I met you once
in Central Park.
Saw you, really
I waved and said hello
and you smiled
and waved back.

Though I wanted to talk
to you. Tell you all the
times you had gotten me
through. Tell you how
you touched me,
challenged me,
lifted me,
I didn't want to intrude

You lived in New York
because you said
people don't
bother you here,

The irony of that
was not lost
when I heard the news
that day, oh boy.

As the last seconds
of the vigil ticked
down, I was still dry-eyed
But then from the speakers
a piano, that I knew was a white
baby grand, sustain
pedal down, c major,
c seven, F, c major, c seven
F,

Imagine there's no heaven...

And I broke down.
You were the first
person that I did not know
personally
whose death made me weep

You wer my JFK, Bobby
and Martin.

This is getting too sad
and though you never
hesistated to share your
pain with us,

you knew when
to lighten up.

So John, I know that if
I asked how this dreamer
can find his way
You might answer
as you answered the
reporter on your return to England

"How did you find America?"

"Turn left at Greenland."

Love that last one PoetEdge.

Week 8, Poem 4

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Week 8, Poem 5

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Week 8, Poem 6

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PandoraGlitters said:

Soft. Is anything so soft and so powerful
I marvel, stroking her with the back of my finger
as she sleeps. This magic pouch
that will clench to hold a single finger
or bloom wide, how I love it as if it contained
her curiosity, her vocabulary. I fill my lungs
with musk and tenderly watch her vagina
swell its sails but she is not the vessel,
she is the sea. To taste her is to taste the world's waters
that have poured together and mixed all the earth's flavor.
To love her is to voyage without packing or tape
but to push naked into the next becoming and burn
to ashes.

If the truth is to be told the eyes see only what they expect.
If the truth is to be told your poor cut cock
robbed of its sensitivity
cannot love the vagina. It cannot love without its sheath.
It cannot love, now, without violence: the hard grip
and the smell of shit. And you cannot see
what it cannot love.

Click to expand...

When Lost at Sea(I Oft Dreamt of Port)


Follow the warpwise spring line,
crooked from your navel onto mine,

press your belly, your rope burned belly,
upon the salve of mine,

and along your hip, feel my ship
come home to safely passage

Week 8, Poem 7

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Week 9, Poem 1

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Week 9, Poem 2

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Week 9, Poem 3

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Week 9, Poem 4

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Week 9, Poem 5

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Week 9, Poem 6 (late)

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Week 9, Poem 7 (late)

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PandoraGlitters said:

Perfectly random is never
expected, especially when it streaks or clusters.
In two hundred random kisses, ten in a row
may fall on my breast as if he meant it
but perhaps it was just a streak like the three
green lights or the eight coin tosses all heads
staring up through the ceiling at God. Why not?
Why shouldn't a logarithm
suffice for a deity in a pinch or maybe something
close to love.

My android, you do not need a name.
When I name you it is only phonemes.
You are the machine that seeks my root:
digital prayers on wind spun wheels
over the flesh of the made
who was also your maker.

Click to expand...

I love this poem, PG. Really. I think its fundamentals are really, really good.

Perhaps I'm wrong here and either don't understand your purpose or don't understand the mathematical reference, but "logarithm" in L8 grates on me.

I might say something like "Why shouldn't happenstance" for the line. You seem to me to be using "logarithm" as a kind of catch-all technical term. How it seems to me, anyway.

Senna Jawa would undoubtedly be able to comment better on this, given his background. Fool might, as well, as he is, I think, an engineer. Or EO, whom I think has a PhD in Geophysics.

Anyway, that point sounds wrong to me. May not to others.

Nice poem, as I said.

Others with more mathematical backgrounds might comment differently. And this is just me, anyway.

Whatever. Nice poem.

Tzara said:

I love this poem, PG. Really. I think its fundamentals are really, really good.

Perhaps I'm wrong here and either don't understand your purpose or don't understand the mathematical reference, but "logarithm" in L8 grates on me.

I might say something like "Why shouldn't happenstance" for the line. You seem to me to be using "logarithm" as a kind of catch-all technical term. How it seems to me, anyway.

Senna Jawa would undoubtedly be able to comment better on this, given his background. Fool might, as well, as he is, I think, an engineer. Or EO, whom I think has a PhD in Geophysics.

Anyway, that point sounds wrong to me. May not to others.

Nice poem, as I said.

Others with more mathematical backgrounds might comment differently. And this is just me, anyway.

Whatever. Nice poem.

Click to expand...

Thanks, Tzara. I was trying to get to a connection I had while thinking about Benford's law. I suppose logarithm isn't the right word, but I'll mess with it some. To substitute that with Benford's Law seems too specific, somehow. Thank you for reading and commenting. Always wonderful to hear from you and to read your poems when I am fortunate enough to see them posted.

D.

Week 10, Poem 1

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Week 10, Poem 2

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Week 10, Poem 3

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Week 10, Poem 4

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1

Prada Marfa

shoes, desire, and select handbags
wrapped in warm adobe
centered in the texas waste
south and west of somewhere

where style is cheap whiskey
and a '67 pickup with blistered paint
and the door to elegance won't open
even with a .38

2

Purity

settled in the empty sands
east of el paso, before the early sun
could damage her pale and pristine skin
just her tony lama snakeskin boots remained
when I laid her on the blanket
and we left those on for once, but

when afterwards I finally got them off
I found the cotton terry socks

being a perfectionist
I started over from the top

3

Apology to Gretel

I left a trail of crumbs
for you to find your way to me
through the clotted underbrush
that grows up about our lives

but strongly scented with my love
in time the trail attracted rats
and was irreparably lost
for even rats eat love