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Old 10-06-2017, 08:28 PM   #1
Neonurotic
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Thumbs up The Poem Scrapbook Challenge

This is a challenge. You want it. It was requested. You know you want to do it. My challenges are ever so fun. Remember this one? How about this one? (OK, a 1-pager, but still fun). A few more challenges buzzing around here, some where, but I know no one has ever forgotten this one (I can still hear the PoBo calling me bastard for that one, however it was originally supposed to be 100 not 30).

But I digress. Let's get to the meat of this one, "The Poem Scrapbook Challenge". I've been here at Literotica off and on since I was 25, I am now 40. Wha? I know, right? Neo grew up here for sure and through that time, avatars and names have come and gone as they pleased. I've missed a quite of few of the ones who moved on, but I know they're not really gone. There are still pieces of them buried in the pages of PoBo and some of us have posted work on our Author's page. Their/our work is still there if they/we deleted an account (of course it's gone if they nuked it all by individual post deletion...which I have done and sorely regret). Gone, but not forgotten, right? We go back and read the old poems, be it someone else or maybe your own. It's good stuff sometimes not genius, but that's not what I'm talking about. I'm talking about the memories, poetry-style, pictures we can look at later.

So, the challenge here is two-fold:


ONE Fold, creating a poem scrapbook and I mean by book, more than one poem with some theme that ties your scrapbook together. This scrapbook must contain 10 poems, any style, any subject, accompanied with a photo or not, whatever and there is no deadline to get them done. Just get them written in a timely manner.

TWO Fold, you cannot ever delete poems you put in this thread. Do not put poems here that you may want to publish later. These are poems that you or someone else can go back and reminisce, learn from and admire your work.

• Each poem should be newly written by you, the Poem Scrapbook maker. This a "scrapbook" (10 poem series) of newly written poems.

• The title of your poems do not have to contain the word "scrapbook".

• Put each poem in its own post. A Poem Scrapbook is 10 individual posts (pages).

• Remember each poem needs to be tied together for it to be considered a book. Some cohesion please and thanks.

• And to keep this challenge going, you can have more than one Poem Scrapbook, just finish the previous before starting a new one.

• Let's keep it about the poems please. Any chattiness, commentary can be done at The General Commentary thread because let's face it, chit needs to be said, that's how PoBo likes to roll.

• The most important rule is to have fun!


GOOD LUCK!



ETA: 10/10/17 Clarification of each poem should be newly written by the poet/poetess. Then the word "scrapbook" doesn't have to be in the poem title(s)
unless you want it to.





* * Special note, nothing is ever absolute because shit happens. Please and thank you: If you really need to self-destruct, contact a forum mod to have your posts removed. I really don't want to see any blank or filler posts in place of a good poem.



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Old 10-07-2017, 10:46 PM   #2
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1

The world is all that is the case—
some parts are upper, others lower.
In some, existence is erased.
The world is all. That is the case
if you're elite or you're debased
enough to be your mother's lover.
The world: It's all that is the case.
Class-wise, you're upper or you're lower.




Die Welt ist alles, was der Fall ist.
Logische-Philosophische Abhandlung, Proposition 1
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Old 10-08-2017, 07:25 PM   #3
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2

He lived in solitude up north,
for abstinence was just his style.
He built a hut on a fjord
and lived in solitude. Up north
came Moore to visit him—pay court,
effectively, and to compile
thoughts thought in solitude up north
where abstinence was life and style.




My day passes between logic, whistling, going for walks, and being depressed.
Letters to Russell, Keynes, and Moore
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Old 10-08-2017, 10:33 PM   #4
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3: He must throw away the ladder

A metaphor. It's how we think
through concepts that are difficult.
Analogies can make things sink
in. Metaphors: They're how we think
and how we get our brains in sync,
how we, in fact, become adult,
by metaphors, which make us think
through concepts that are difficult.




Meine Sätze erläutern dadurch, dass sie der, welcher mich versteht,
am Ende als unsinnig erkennt, wenn er durch sie—auf ihnen—über sie
hinausgestiegen ist. (Er muss sozusagen die Leiter wegwerfen, nachdem er auf
ihr hinaufgestiegen ist.)
Logisch-philosophische Abhandlung, Proposition 6.54
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Old 10-09-2017, 01:19 PM   #5
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4: The Haidbauer Incident

One day it's algebra. The next,
a feline skeleton is traced—
some understand, some are perplexed.
Today, it's algebra, what's next
are subjects even more complex,
but discipline left him disgraced,
so no more algebra, nor texts,
nor skeletons. That's all erased.




I am to be an elementary-school teacher in a tiny village called Trattenbach.
Letter to Bertrand Russell
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Old 10-09-2017, 07:25 PM   #6
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5: Portrait of Margaret Stonborough-Wittgenstein

His sister's portrait, done by Klimt.
The background's abstract, like his thought—
so spare, so pure, but hard as flint
is Gretl's portrait, done by Klimt.
She did not like the pose, the crimp
of anxious hands, the hint she's fraught
in this her portrait, done by Klimt.
The background's abstract as her thoughts.




Gretl was acknowledged as the intellectual of the family, the one
who kept abreast of contemporary developments in the arts and sciences,
and the one most prepared to embrace new ideas and to challenge
the views of her elders.
Ludwig Wittgenstein: The Duty of Genius
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Old 10-10-2017, 09:01 PM   #7
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6: Marguerite Respinger

He sculpted her in terra cotta,
proposed, but it was not to be.
She once was his desiderata;
he sculpted her in terra cotta
but like a tragical sonata,
it ended on a minor key.
He sculpted her, in terra cotta.
Proposed. But it was not to be.




In Vienna often with Marguerite. Easter Sunday with her in Neuwaldegg.
For three hours we kissed each other a great deal and it was very nice.
Diary, 1930
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Old 10-11-2017, 01:07 AM   #8
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7: Haus Wittgenstein

She wanted a new house and asked
her brother to be architect.
The doorknobs took two years. At last,
she wanted her new house. She asked
him when he would be done. He laughed
and said, It needs to be correct.
Then, wanting her new house, she tasked
her brother: Be an architect!




[T]here can be no architecture where there is nothing to glorify.
Culture and Value
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Old 10-11-2017, 07:31 PM   #9
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8: Sonatina

We speak and play a kind of song;
imagination is its tune.
Our intellect then sings along,
for speech portrays a kind of song
that's sweet and sour and weak and strong
and one to which no one's immune.
So speak. And play the kind of song
imagination is—that tune.




Uttering a word is like striking a note on the keyboard of the imagination.
Philosophical Investigations, §6
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Old 10-11-2017, 08:48 PM   #10
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9: The Duty of Genius

It casts a spell upon us all,
confounding rationality.
We use philosophy to cull
the Truth from all that's in the spell,
to insulate our souls, compel
that logic's used in enquiries.
A spell is cast. To us befalls
its counter—rationality.




Philosophy is a battle against the bewitchment of our intelligence by means of language.
Philosophical Investigations, §109
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Old 10-11-2017, 09:09 PM   #11
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10: The Mystical

I am not dead. I cannot be,
for there's no "I" when I am not,
or so says my philosophy—
if one is dead, one cannot be.
Sometimes, this seems like sophistry,
a language-game that's run amok.
I am not dead. To you, maybe,
for there's no Ludwig where I'm not.





Death is not an event in life: we do not live to experience death.
If we take eternity to mean not infinite temporal duration but timelessness, then
eternal life belongs to those who live in the present. Our life has no end in just
the way in which our visual field has no limits.
Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus, Proposition 6.4311
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Old 11-01-2017, 06:45 AM   #12
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1-1

My dear friend who inspires me,
encourages and never brags,
but writes well (exponentially),
this dear friend who inspires me
and is known for formality,
whose poetry inspires me
unfortunately likes The Shaggs,
my dear friend who inspires me,
encourages and never brags.
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Old 11-27-2017, 11:37 PM   #13
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Scott Catalogue #1: 5¢ Benjamin Franklin, Red Brown (1847)

I always wonder about your hair,
thinning in front, but gracefully long
onto your shoulders.

Did you so charm les demoiselles de France
that they would deign to couple
with you, choosing charm

and status, brisk repartee as substitute
for a younger man's looks?
You give me hope, old man.

But as I am also old, and married,
I wonder what your Deborah thought
about you as you tarried.

.
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Old 11-28-2017, 10:06 PM   #14
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We first met in those heady days
of Beatles, in that joyous time
of youth when music could amaze,
delight us in those heady days
when I thought I knew all her ways,
but now she thinks my life some crime
that decimates those heady days
of Beatles in that joyous time.
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Old 11-28-2017, 10:54 PM   #15
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Scott Catalogue #2955: 32¢ Richard Nixon,
Lithograph with Engraving (1995)


A whole page of him.


........It's like a bad acid trip,
........in Technicolor.

.
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Old 11-29-2017, 04:57 AM   #16
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Creperie "framboise"

Hi Neo, congratulations on your idea for this comp and thanks! I only saw it last night during coffee time and I did these ten-poem series as one really, but trying to make each piece self-contained and without taking me far off from what I'm writing at the moment, i.e. my "LEMONIA PERFORCE" saga, therefore I submit it as part of it.

LEMONIA PERFORCE
ATHENS
WEDNESDAY MORNING
29/11/2017

CREPERIE "FRAMBOISE"

FRAMBOISE 1

Framboise, with your down and outs,
Framboise, with your underage whores,
Framboise, with my hopes and my doubts,
Framboise, with your usual bores.

Every night that I come for my coffee,
an occasional crepe to consume,
it's like winning again my old trophy:
My secure, "Cogito ergo sum".

Ergo sum, but I fucking don’t know,
if that's all that a man can expect,
if Descartes ever swam in this flow,
or if ever he could be correct.
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Old 11-29-2017, 04:59 AM   #17
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FRAMBOISE 2

I'm an atheist so, metaphysics
made no difference ever to me,
dialectics combined with physics,
ergo sum, better off by the sea.

To admire the bikinis in colour,
have as many as I can one-night stands,
with discretion, the best part of valour,
find a soul that this life understands.

No Descartes, Plato, or Aristotle,
could decide what to do with my tax,
I refill my consumed raki bottle,
justified in this by Karl Marx.
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Old 11-29-2017, 05:01 AM   #18
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FRAMBOISE 3

So, after all this life by the sea,
I came to Framboise to pay for crimes,
a hell that in those days I could not see,
because I was spellbound by happy times.

Those were indeed the days to be in Greece,
that party which had lasted forty years,
persuaded that nothing is amiss,
we have to face now our worst fears:

The country as a whole a framboise,
a raspberry that's rotting in the street,
abused and trampled on by all of us,
voting for right or left by hands and feet

Last edited by pelegrino : 11-29-2017 at 05:17 AM.
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Old 11-29-2017, 05:02 AM   #19
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FRAMBOISE 4

Outside this joint
the night falls chilly,
what is the point
of being so silly?

No one seeks honey,
the whores stand lazy,
earning no money,
their pimps get crazy.

No more is rocking
this empty square,
I could go walking,
but I don’t dare
.
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Old 11-29-2017, 05:03 AM   #20
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FRAMBOISE 5

I'm left with twenty years recollections,
without my will, to memory imposed,
I call them "my poetical collections",
unreadable, unworthy, half-composed.

A by-result of globalization,
could be that every "cogito" will cease,
which means that any realization,
will be defined as dangerous disease.

The time is running out for a solution,
the time is running out for Framboise,
the time is ripe for global revolution,
for anyone who thinks and then who does.
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Old 11-29-2017, 05:04 AM   #21
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FRAMBOISE 6

Framboise, planet Earth, chilly night,
dark bleak winter upon us is due,
our sole hope to retrieve reason's light,
in rebellion comes solid and true.

I can blame quite a few if I choose,
but my point should be not to despair,
we revolt cause there's nothing to lose,
all is lost, so there's no time to spare.

Politicians must go one and all,
take our future again in our hands,
for Democracy, this, the last call,
which I hope everyone understands.
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Old 11-29-2017, 05:06 AM   #22
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FRAMBOISE 7

It should be obvious that "Framboise",
is all and everything, plus all of us,
it could become again a creperie,
if we were free to make it also free.

But market forces this plan don’t condone,
Starbucks Café will build another clone,
Consumer Capitalism consumes itself,
consuming all of us, to our cries deaf.

And in the end,
the life we live,
is catching up.

We do offend,
we don’t forgive,
it's all big crap.
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Old 11-29-2017, 05:08 AM   #23
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FRAMBOISE 8

But I would like a future for my child,
as best as I am able to provide,
this basic human thought can make me wild,
observing our collective suicide.

I'm not alone the whole earth is behind me,
so, why the fuck we do not all revolt?
If you agree you do know where to find me,
and make a start correcting this big fault.

This fallacy that "god will save as all",
there is not after life without a life,
in philosophic terms, this, the last call,
or just make the bear dance by playing your fife.
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Old 11-29-2017, 05:09 AM   #24
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FRAMBOISE 9

This thing is all about Framboise,
a creperie in some Athenian street,
with whores and pimps, and secret deals, and fuzz,
and honest people whom by luck you meet.

Mikrokosmos that stands all on its own,
(nothing to do with Bartok's, if you ask),
it sucks my smile as it sucks my frown,
and gives me every night some new task.

Sign in to Facebook, do a few likes,
go to the bakery for a cheese pie,
I am one of them the system likes,
I'll be just quiet till the day I die.
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Old 11-29-2017, 05:11 AM   #25
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FRAMBOISE 10

Politically castrate but correct,
contend with this "Cogito ergo sum",
belonging to our universal sect,
but conscious also, this is my doom.

I feel so bored with all these fools around,
I might as well be watching paint drying,
I'll take a walk instead and stand my ground,
or else from boredom soon I will be crying.

The night has come slowly to an end,
I'm out watching for some new mirage,
I see no further that the next street bend,
but that's enough, good day, Framboise!
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