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Old 06-24-2004, 02:48 AM   #26
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is pensive in


At the funeral home
grandma threw herself on your coffin.
Maybe you weren't named right.
Death was confused, should have come
for her, for any of the old ones.
She pounded her head on the brass,
sobbing. The men had to pull her off,
and I felt nothing.

The reader feels a sense of foreboding because numbness
in the face of death can lead to guilt and trauma later

In verse two the poet reveals that it is her sister
who died, but verse three provides tangential relief
from the tension of the scene

It was cold in the synagogue,
I think, and the Rabbi said we
are all children of Israel, but Daddy
paid him after the burial and he left
for the train to New York.

But then--metaphorically--like the refrain of a blues lyric

I felt nothing anyway.

and finally

They said I cried then, just the once,
but the blessing of not feeling
is a gift in hardship, and now
when I finger that frayed black grosgrain,
I still feel nothing

Though the poet asserts that "not feeling is a gift in
hardship" there can be an aeful price to pay for that
in future years.

ANNASWIRLS dashes off something more timely with
imagine if he did

three fighter jets
return to Andrews
low over our little patch
of grass and sunflowers

my brain races to figure what flies out of Andrews--are
they F-15 strike eagles? maybe...if they were over Akron Ohio they would
be F-16 Super Hornets but whatever

toddler covers ears
to block out thunder,
looks up to find this
intimidating show of power
flying in perfect formation

clings to my leg in panic
"I'm scared Mommy, scared!"
and he does not even know
what they can do

Anna wrote this on a whim to capture a moment I think


Catastrophe's Purity

paints a simple picture of a girl (I think) creating
small beauty in a landscape of ugliness

I only saw your hands
as the wind blew your clean,
white curtains around
seeming bleached and new
against the dingy,
yellow painted brick of your
second floor apartment.
The molding is covered in filth
above the splintery window frame
but you
your hands and
the crisp pages of your notebook
are clean
and good.

the poem is over-adjectived (sic) and thus fails to be
a dramatic work--preferring instead to tell a simple

I want to leave love notes
on your fire escape,
daisies on your window sill.
I want to sleep naked
on your sweet-smelling sheets
and trace pictures of nothing
on your skin
I want to just breathe
not think and just feel
all the good fresh clean newness
of you.

Later we’ll sit
and tell stories
my fingers will comb through
your hair
I’ll read the crisp pages of
your notebook
that you wrote
while I wrote about you.


dcpoet44 submits a simple stroke poem Orgasm
which says in essence "I came, I stroked, I cummed"

he has more doggerel with Sex The Way I Like It


Tanoshii KoNeko's Just the Ones that Matter
doesn't come across quite right when analysed from an occidental perspective.
I have the impression (but cannot be sure) that Tanoshii
is writing English as a second language.

Take this verse

the tears on your cheeks
they don't look sad when you smile
diamonds on your face
if i were to touch one
i would capture it
but only for one fragile moment
then it would disappear

doesn't it cry out to be split into a number of haiku--much as a large, rough
diamond is split into smaller pieces to be polished to perfection

written in the english style it strikes me as awkwardly phrased

again.......this verse

have you ever seen
in a field of pure snow
a single bloom raising its face towards the frail sun?
i am that flower
you are that sun
no matter the odds
me in that field
and you up above

seems to scream



quietpoly quite intrigues me with Purpose

The first three triplets (of four) are so pedestrian I hold out no hope
of grace but then

verse four

let's take it from the top

In my mind
the world extends
beyond the physical.

You are there.
We have a boy and a girl.
Life is perfect.

The kids play
in mud and water.
and happily, we watch them grow.

In reality
There is nothing.
I survive like cactus with no purpose.

Look at that verse four

I wanted to scream WHOA--HOLD UP - WTF is happening here
--this is so orderly--that last verse is not supposed to happen--
it's not fair


there is NOTHING

quite alarmingly good I think - we are wrenched to the roots with this appalling conclusion
--in some belief systems cactus actually DOES have a purpose...BUT

and like the poet's sobriquet the poem has a relentless
quietude--which makes it even more alarming


poly is less alarming in Out....!!!

I wish I could forget
the way I feel when
I am with you

is just too literal and prosy

I wish it were a lie
that it would fade
your face in my mind

this verse is awkward--the second ,it> has to go for a start

I wish I didn't compare
every man with you;
see you in every face.

People -- plain and boring;
Sane and easy.
Why can't you be like them?

Why be obstinate
unavailable, opaque?
Why not be with me?

too prosy--a quiet rant

finally--with THIS verse I thought I was in with a chance

If I wanted and you know it
I could have my way
with anyone, anywhere

but the next verse scotched that

Yet, for some reason
I can't participate
in the damn parade

and it goes on in that vein

these are notes for a poem--not a poem per se

you have to wring, wrench and wrestle this sucker down and make
it behave poly


hippiedude's The Attack
reminds me of stuff I used to write int he late 60s--powered by 5mg dexedrine and about 10 beers--
each with a dollop of lime cordial (the dex blocks the
receptor sites that the alcohol needs to induce drunkenness --so--if
you can take the extrapyramidal
symptomatology [convulsive tongue extending--jaw clamping,
sexual dysfunction--massive arousal but zero erection

then you can keep writing

I did like

"Roguish tendrils war like nations"--wish I'd seen that
carried forward.


Jasperman contributes Fate


Dienara contributes another quasi-stroke poem with
Just for Tonight

I've got the sequence more or less memorized now

plateau phase
resolution phase
refractory period


and not to be out done Uncle Pervey jizzes a
Premature Ejavulation
into the lists

a typical high point in the poem

A premature ejaculation is bad,
It can make the both of you feel real sad

merci mon oncle - I'll try to remember that

(as it says elsewhere on the board - erotica is the toughest thing to write
[though the easiest to actually do - what is God telling us there???]

Pervey picks up the tempo though in Taiwanese Lady

She was a lovely Taiwanese Lady,
She was small just like a child.
She had a figure that would stop the Gods,
Her sex acts would drive me wild!

no shit Uncle - are you a merchant seamen or
do you go there to buy 133MHZ front side bus motherboards ???


and yet another apparent fuck poem from Wicked Eve--actually
filed late the day before Minute Maid

but it's actually not

Eve is using a citrus fruit as a proxy server

He tilts back his head.
It spills over, streams down,
rolls with the sweat,
leaving clean-skin streaks
in the dirt.

On wooden post,
glass curves perspire.
Sundressed girl is fresh
and sweet.

He wants to leave her
on the tree, to squeeze
till she drips down her sugar limbs
into his mouth.

He dips his tongue,
satisfies his thirst.
Refreshing lemonade girl.


more poetry bulletins as they happen throughout the day
--stay tuned[b][size=3]

“Men are afraid that women will laugh at them and women are afraid that men will kill them.” — Margaret Atwood

The problem with sex in the movies is that the popcorn usually spills.

Last edited by JCSTREET : 06-24-2004 at 12:50 PM.
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Old 06-24-2004, 01:54 PM   #27
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carlieBear aka JC is utterly enchanted with



it is just so fine - small and perfectly formed like my (slap) sorry.......

by WickedEve ©

Byrd spins her lady's cinnamon
sun skin around spindles
of thought, winding it
into daydreams,

till images unravel
in a rumorous breath.

Byrd pales beneath scandalous
sky, twining threads of river
walk and hush house.

She draws and twists
perversions and little deaths
onto spools of suspicion.

77 N. Washington St
Boston MA 02114

and adds Broken Blinds

and Alien in the dark

Eve you are the ninth wonder of the world.


BLUERAINS practises economy in

the traveler (senryu)

the traveler (senryu)
by bluerains ©

skyriders tatoo
P-51 mustang bird
etched inside his mind

I prefer the third <t> in tattoo - I see tatoo in chatrooms all
the time - it's also a military ceremony which is one of the better
places to catch scots earing kilts

the P-51 MUSTANG is a fine
aircraft it could
dash to 487
miles per hour at
25 thousand feet, carry
two 1000 pounders or
10 five-inch rockets and
had six .50 caliber machine guns to
deter villains

suck the stick back into the belly at the bottom of a dive and you'll
get a rather quick inventory of your internal organs


There's always one poem in each wodge of reviews which
impels one to take a personal break and get in touch
with their inner whatsit, and

good old SEATTLERAIN provides signal lubricity with

compromised (c)

last night
he finally gave permission
to bring you into my mind,
through compromise,

he brought you as a gift,
a gift he wanted to watch from the side
being opened slow,
low on my knees, hand through denim
smile and lip bite,
unzip, lift and tumble free

for light kiss tease and breathe in
between, until your muscles weak,
you to knees while he greets


those naughty voyeur boys - makes ya tingle don't it?

James Brown demands:
"take it to the bridge"

six eyes close
lift and jump in together
landing tangled,

collapsed and floating down
our collective stream


LIAR weighs in with Definition


Drawing flowers on page 418
in the phonebook
where everyone's name is Gray,
to brighten up their day

Karin likes that word
It means that what I do matters
even if you can't measure it,
so you should damn well
treasure it.

Because Karin knows
that when a child smiles,
and someone notice,
a fading ripple
domino chain reaction
will make us all glow,

(should line 3 of the ultimate verse read <notices> with an <s>

nice touch of irony re. <holistically> LIAR


one has to return to ANGELINE

for the fine job she does with I'm Needy

I'm Needy

by Angeline ©

Who knows what I need?
Arms that wrap and stay.
Repose. One night without
somebody's crisis hammering
into my imagination. I need

a good read, to fall into a book,
a fiction world, and swim
through laughter, reinvent
families that don't die, but
go on picnics instead.

I need to write a good poem,
really good, precise but evocative,
so my words envelop you, reader,
like a bouquet of wildflowers,
make your senses drown in beauty.

I need some publisher to read
this poem and say MY GOD,
that woman sweats talent,
so I'll offer her a contract
and my country house, a place

where she can take the longest
green walk without becoming
winded, daydream, come home
and make perfect tea, and need
nothing, not even herself.

but while the poet begins sensibly - desiring only that which
is meet she becomes venal as the idea takes root LOL

a contract and a country house - hmmm

woont we all like one


LADYCIBELLE jolted me with

perfect...even in death

about a stillborn child

there is no love like a mother's love and I dwell on that too
little when I sigh at the ringing of the hone when I know it;s
mom on the line

see also She won't cry


DREAMSWEET contributes Another Secret Trip

careful of spelling - pentunia should be petunia I think and

is dispell REALLY spelled with two <ls> or is it dispel
--not sure--I'm caught on the crux of brit vs US spelling
because I've worked in both languages so someone help me out here


TARA BLACKWOOD is a diarist in

the wails of witch hazel

a rich videotape of morning vignettes -
folks out and about on their lawful occasions--caught in the
camera's eye--frozen for a moment we
see their caught faces and then
hear their talk, laughter, joshing, earnest

before dawn: (c)

jogger call
(from Cross Plains) —
strange sounds
from the banks.
in the shadows
a scrambler
from knees down,
like his muddy hands
have been busy.

(behind Hardeman’s car lot):

the (behind Hardeman's............
personalizes it - brings it into our own
experience - just change the names - slap on a bit of
mutatis mutandis and it's OUR town too

and squealing rubber,
speeding cars mass.
choking wheel dust,
air tanks
and chains,
heavy machinery.

over donuts and coffee
(from Fancy’s diner):

there's that bracketed comment again--they always do that in community
newspapers - give these little plugs tot eh locals

rubber suits
and bubbles.
dragging the bottom,
stones and bottles,
a tire.
whipping weeds
at water’s edge.
already drifted

(graciously supplied by Sheriff Pugh’s wife):

so down home

last night’s ball scores
over catfish
and creamed corn.
a dirty joke,
sporadic laughter,
blueberry pie.
another day,
bright and sunny, made
for swimming.

last night
(under a patch of witch hazel flowers):

high-pitched wails
become part of the night wind,
cross the river, disappear
into the ears
of dogs.

Why isn't this woman a columnist for the Chi Tribune?? (does that paper
still exist?? - 100s don't)


MISS OATLASH contributes a standard paean
to a lost lover

and does it with lots of singsong iambic tetrameter thrown in

Tears of Desire


The drops that fall upon your breast
Are not for you to grieve.
Know only that my heart’s on fire.
The tears I cry are of desire


Eleanora Day wields a sure pen in
Dark Continent

She restores my faith in the poem as life revealed and unrevealed

and suggests to me

that women ultimately have more perspective on love because
it is more basic to their nature
than is the case for men, I
particularly like

I should have closed the book
left you there in your garden

with your beer and car keys,
but how could I? That plaintive
sound, you weeping like a child,
and your mouth twisted to a plea,
I don't do well alone and us.

cuz I've been there--the little boy with the little
curl saying "Puleeze give me one more chance
Winifred (sob) you'll love me so much you won't be able
to put me down (simper)

but the poem starts out so differently--not easily
giving up its essence at the get-go

I traveled there, diving
into your continent, traversing
you like a bee on a petal, sipping
your secrets like a hummingbird,
tiny but buzzing into the nectar

I thought she'd maybe gone to Upper Volta
with the Peace Corps--but not so

believing that no one has known
these truths. The night you cried
in the kitchen your face hung
in my arms, painted like sorrow.
Who else knew these depths

nested within you? Jets of black
curled contrails, crept over flesh,
centered but loose in the skin. I am
an unwilling participant in a dream
built word by word crying Save me

through a thousand tears,
and each crystal a snowflake
agonized into a story.

It's good Eleanora - deft handling of metaphor
sweet handling of a complex subject


I'll be handling TATHAGATA'S Anam Cara
later in the day--I just GOTTA take a break now


“Men are afraid that women will laugh at them and women are afraid that men will kill them.” — Margaret Atwood

The problem with sex in the movies is that the popcorn usually spills.
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Old 06-24-2004, 06:17 PM   #28
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Join Date: Apr 2004
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It's a long road getting thru this stuff today--endless hours--hope I do not flag nor fail before the end

tungtied2u blows me away TOTALLY with
Nearing Departure

it's a road poem and I've been there 100 times--or--say 19 times

the big rippling in the gut feeling of setting out sometime after midnight in a car that may or may not make it but
the feeling is ruthless and relentless--nor wind nor sleet nor rain
nor hail nor cops nor g/fs nor wives nor fuck all
is gonna stay this driver from his appointed drive

and the crawling eels in the belly--will she be with another man--will she
even be there
will she let me in when i am tired and hungry and horny
what will be at the end of that
all night]white line fever

I have done this in

65 chevy
67 chrysler
65 ford 6 stick shift through the mountains vis
Susanville CA
1989 volkswagen Golf - 16 valve--fuel injection 128 mph top end
rally suspension--wide wheels--a screaming in the night car
1995 ford escrot
1962 buick
rented cars such as honda civics
and austin minis
and chevies
and plymouth sateliite sebrings

always the siren song of a yrielding girl under the kmoon at the end
of the drive
booxe fucking breakfast

Dawn drive to you
Silhouetted skies
High beams hit highway
Tears cloud my eyes

Drawing nearer
Moving apart
You’ve grown up
It’s breaking my heart

Clear mountain’s crest
Spy the lay of the land
Your future before me
Out of my hands

Drawing nearer
Yet further apart
Someone else
Now holds your heart

Father’s day weekend
Absent phone call or card
Aware you’re leaving
Leaving me scarred

Time's turning wheels
Drive us apart
Our chapter is over
For you a new start

THAT thin line of dawn over the hills--the hope it fosters

and it's her day off WAAAAAAAAAAAGH

biting shots off the neck of a vodka bottle in youth

pedal to the metal, hammer down, horsing it, (where was Tara when I needed her) - wrong incarnation

in later age sucking back a Coors light every hunnerd miles

and in late age--sucking back just those half liter bottle of spring water

how are the mighty fallen

I know this poem--know it well and .........


and We interrupt this program


yeah--now I worry about gas prices and whether I'll blow the head of the 401 cube if I horse it


wildvixen's poem is all the letters and phone msgs I got in the 60s and
70s WTF I do already but here it is

by wildvixen ©
You came into my life like a thief in the dark.
Stealing my heart, my love, my lust for life...everything
You came, you conquered, you left.
I am laying here naked waiting, wanting.
Take me, tie me up, and hold me down.
Like a thief in the night you took what you want... ME.


tell you what! this poem never changes--it should be inscribed on the Doric or
whatever pillars at the gates of the Library of Congress

it is the endless refrain since ancient Sumeria--as embodied in Joan Baez"

"Diamonds and Rust"

"where are ya callin' from? a booth int he midwest"

those late night tracks you play--often with booze or wed or coke or horse or whatever

makes one cry

I try not to cry too much when reviewing because it blots everywhere


by wildvixen ©
The first time I saw you
I knew you were different
The way you play with me
Makes me want to tell you
To grab me and take me away
I want to touch you all the time
I get flustered with each word
I turn red with the heat of passion
You are my obsession, my addiction
I don't want to stop
When I look into your eyes I melt
I burn inside, with each touch
I just want to devour every inch of you
All day, all night, all the time.

I find myself frantically pawing through my old love letters (they go back to the late 60s
to figure where I've seen these words before


RANDI GRAIL agonizes over the writing of poems when out and abroad--again--on one's lawful occasions
in bars, boites, saloons, restaurants, diners, steambaths, coffee shops, taverns

About a poem that sucks
by Randi Grail ©
left it spoiled rotten
written on a roll of click clack receipt paper
a poem - sort of
ungraceful bic stain blue scribble
not quite worth the oxygen and carbs
spoiled in burning fuel to tension
and making that writing motion
immediately - a sour taste
stuck to my fingertips
so impossible to resist
the impulse nagged
and I raised them to my tongue
to taste the dissonance of words
gone embarrassingly wrong
telling all - showing nothing
brown nosing every dead end rhyme
caressing every passe cliché
spilling out a mockery of soul
not me - not you - not real
still I couldn't help but feel
that yes I did I wrote I tried
it's not my fault
not entirely my blame
and since I gave it a shot
no real shame
that the poem died
hello sucky poem,
thanks for letting me write
read and be repulsed
impeccability is for the immortal
and so bloody boring


yeah randi it's a long road

the enlisted men used to bitch and moan liek this and you knew the old adage--that--when the men stop bitching
the officers are in trouble

(was that a pineapple that just rolled unner ma bed)

but it's a funny and endearing poem that mirrors all of us that holds us
in its grasp because randi recites a truism--how often that initial thrust of
violent muse is cast aside on the killing floor of the writing itself

I salute you Randi Grail

About a poem that sucks


JasperMan offers Fate


Hannasavanaatdapiano keeps it simple with

by HannaSavanaatdapiana ©

By HannaSavanaatdapiana (c) 2004

From whence the daisy spreads
its wings, to whom
its elegance exposed,

to what
end this sudden
surge of white, this

yellow motley heart


I question "motley"

a short poem like this needs to be torqued onto the axle just right

every word has to stand up and be counted

motley is patchwork of many colors....but

can poetic licence forgive this--maybe it can


A faded rose
by LadyCibelle ©
A sunny summer morning,
A steamy August night,
Began with love and hopefulness;
And ended with shock and fright.
As we awoke and we found out
About the day before,
The shock set in; the grief began
And we felt it more and more -
The anger at those who caused this,
And at those who didn't care.
Still felt by some, it hasn't stopped
Because this isn't fair.
How different would our world be
Had this event not occurred.
The shock we never would have felt,
The crying never heard.
If this rose hadn't faded,
If this rose hadn't died,
Would we still all be happy,
And would we not have cried?
Or had she lived, would things be worse -
Not for us, but for her?
Her death horrific, yet merciful,
A blessing for the girl.
We haven't quite figured it out,
But one day we will know.
Without a doubt we'll all find out
And in our knowledge, grow

http://www.literotica.com/stories/ne....php?type=poem]A faded rose[/url]

I'm not really qualified to review poems that rhyme because they remind of those
books which one can't sell now to used
book stores for
more than a nickel they have
names like
THE GOLDEN TREAUSY and contain all those sentimental
poems from Victorian times that
pioneer hausfraus clutched so fondly
to their brsts
as their beset husbands
clearing trees, killing bears, killing
Indians and drinking stone jugs of whiskey at the
annual levee
eschewed them

but this poet--LAdyCibelle has talked also of a lost child so I will follow her and see
what she does with this art that is almost
within her grasp


BARUSHKO--that Soviet bawhstad submits the
theory that water is both dynamic and static

by Barushko ©
WATER 700403

By BARUSHKO © 2004

The water is never
still it
moves, yet
it remains
always in the same place, you
find it there yet
it moves


hear it when
day's work is done, trees
felled, boats a-beach, the
fire burned low, wind rising, the
trees . . .


down by the rocks it is
still there, it
has not moved yet
it is still


back int he bad old days Barushko was tryin' to kill me and I was trying to kill him

but we both got over it


quietpoly slightly disappoints me with another missive which ends well, I
was hoping the ultimate verse would once again
redolate of dry wit but it doesn't
in this one she is quiescent and warm

far Away

Timeless, warm --
call it what you may.
Nothing can replace
the love of those now so far away.

I fear for her former mastery of irony--has it withered on da vine????


hanna whatever shows us how it starts


By HannaSavanaatdapiana (c) 2004

First an apple
from a vendor's cart
then the lace
from a lady's heart

I admire his/her economy


Hand Job
by SoundsErotica ©
I like to think of you
going there alone
quiet and stripped to the bone

lost in the lurid mind
and then surprised
by my external warmth

your hand joined by mine
explores the impromptu sculpture
gently brought to life


Soundserotica successully pulls off an HJ poem without
fucking it up

Hand Job
by SoundsErotica ©
I like to think of you
going there alone
quiet and stripped to the bone

lost in the lurid mind
and then surprised
by my external warmth

your hand joined by mine
explores the impromptu sculpture
gently brought to life

yeah--a little Grace there


“Men are afraid that women will laugh at them and women are afraid that men will kill them.” — Margaret Atwood

The problem with sex in the movies is that the popcorn usually spills.
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Old 06-25-2004, 05:27 AM   #29
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Join Date: Apr 2004
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Posts: 1,721


A WEE SECRET FOREWORD--I find this poem unbelievably good--
way complesx and award-winning--byond my capacity to really review fulsomely

As I proceeded with the reviews I began to get the "not enough
memory available to complete this operation" messages and this
stalled me from proceeding

Since I have a stonking 768 screaming megs of RAM I knew this
could not be so and assumed the computer had broken into

Turns out that the NOTEPAD review file had become too large
and that the solution was to open a second notepad file to
move on (phew--sweating here) - it took a bloody long time and a lot
of cat kicking to resolve this issue


Tathagata's poem Anam Cara

deserves special treatment--not just because of the poet's
fine handling of the subject, but also because Ireland is
an unknown country to Americans--totally obliterated by a sentimental
romanticisim that pays no court whatsoever to reality

and yet - as of all things irish--ambiguity heaps on ambiguity--since
much of this romanticism has--in fact--a sound base

the Irish are nothing like the English at all and I say this
having lived (on and off) about 25 years on the island of
ireland--mostly in the North but with frequent--sometimes constant--trips to
the South

Carliebear's provenance:

Ireland: 25 years
England: 7.75 years
Bermuda 2.25 years
Canada: 26.25 years

I was 61 on March 18 this year

I grope for analogies to explain to Americans how the island has split
politically - I sometimes say--New Mexico is a secular state within the
United States. Old Mexico is an ancient republic that bears
little similarity to the US at all--different language, different culture, different history

Those of irish ancestry in the States (Australia has some of this too) have
an almost obsessive desire to explore and assert their Irish ancestry--often in
a highly anti=british way - as a registered anglophobe who found living among the
English totally intolerable at any cost (the southern english that is) I would
be expected to be a fellow traveler in that regard but there are

In fact, at worst, the irish can be petty, larcenous and lying--they
can totally infuriate with ambiguity - to give the english their due they
brought two great benefits to Ireland--lasting architecture and civil

as we look at Ireland in the 2000s we see a people whose cable and
satellite channels include a huge dose of English BBC,
commercial ITV english TV and UTV (Ulster television network)
--thus they are bombarded with English images and their is
high cross fertilization betwixt the cultures

similarly--all technical standards in the Ireland slavishly
hue to English standards.


I'm including this here because nearly 20% of Americans claim some form of Irish ancestry and they are really in yer face about it--
because they've filtered out all the shit and retain only the neat stuff

In fact--once Britain gave ireland partial independence (that grew to full independence over time)
in 1921 - the Irish immediately set to killing and maiming each other--
the Irish Civil war )1921-1923 APPROX EH{ showed the irish much more willing to kill ther fathers and brothers than the
English had been - the english had merely been casual, smarmy, condescending and patronising--but
the irish (as they still occasionally do today) were tribal
killers, clan killers (you find this in Albania as well--this blood feudness)

yet the adorable little tykes are worlds apart from the english

in the lilt of their accents
in the brooding minor keys of their music
in the loveliness of their literature
in their social graces

ironically it is the ENGLISh who can't handle their liquor--preferring when
drunk to glass people--that means smashing those 20oz pint
glasses on the bar and then ramming them into people's eyes

that's not a known sanction in Ireland--against irritating people--they merely sing a lot when pissed and
always have a polite word to say to ladies and children as they move aside to let you pass

so that's the background

this is the poem and in final preface may I say that I gave wrong
info about carrickfergus castle in a previous post

i actually described DUNLUCE castle which lies about 20 miles to the
North up the beautiful ANTRIM coast line

so here's the real dope

Carrickfergus was a thriving town when Belfast was a sandbank.
When Henry II was king of England, the Norman John de Courcy
had overthrown the kings of the north of Ireland and established
his rule from Carlingford Lough up the east coast as far as Fair Head.
In 1180 he built a massive keep to guard the approach to Belfast Lough
at Carrickfergus - the first real Irish castle.

In the early 17th century, Carrickfergus was the only place
in the north where English was spoken; Gaelic was still the
language of Ulster.

COURSE--as we groupies well know

carrick = castle and
Fergus was a guy

so titwuz his castle and keep


here's the poem

Anam Cara

by Tathagata ©

By the cliffs of Carrickfergus,
where salty spray is forced
upon you
like the wafer,

"Take it, my beloved son,
and your sins are absolved."

I blaspheme, steam breath
in a quick, cold wind,
and stumble off
for a poet's pint.

I recall meeting you there
by jigsaw towers, boulders tossed,
built up with dreams and myths....

(another realm,
or just another life?)

Your hair like a sunset,
plums and hibiscus, already bruised,
and I was there
to make it better.

Wasn't I ?

We summoned giants, teased
banshees, till the wails echoed
like a prayer
Keening for it's own demise.

But I with my whiskey and love for you
feared naught,
for your hand in mine
set my powers free.

And the waves beckon in Innisfree
with sea shell grins
and sand-rumbling laughs that mocks
my love.

"Come", it calls, opening
to me as you used to......

Ah. my love,
anam cara.....
I knew I'd eat pain and death
(my daily bread,
an undercurrent,
a Low pipe drone).....

I went willingly.

But this farce, this wall
of shadows,
this puppet show:

Pagan masks, bleached
and unbelieving
to hide the fear of knowledge.

Come on!
Here...Right Fucking Here!

The cliffs stare back.....
care-worn observers
of the tragic tale.

And I get no takers.

They are content to leave me
with your faded memory,
ghost kisses,thistle fluff,
( a wisp
of your hair
brushing my cheek,)
your cries of passion
there in crashing waves.

They watch from afar
as I'm enveloped, staggered
with sharpened memories

They are evil,
after all.
Thanks to Tara for her help, and guidance, and her poets ear.


What to call the Republic and the North

Regularly posters get flamed for calling the Republic of Ireland,
Eire [ED. PRONOUNCE AIR-A] or Southern Ireland. This is seen
by some as pandering to the British as the British Media insist
on using the terms Eire or Southern Ireland, as a way of differentiating
between the North (the part inside the UK) and the Republic.
If you don't wish to offend use the term Republic of Ireland
when refering to the 26 counties.

In a similar vein use Northern Ireland when referring to the
part inside the UK as Ulster consists of nine counties, three
of which are in the Republic.

The Constitution of Ireland (Bunreacht na hEireann) states
in Article 4.

The name of the State is Eire, or in the English language, Ireland


The total island of Ireland has 32 counties,
26 are in the Republic of Ireland and the remaining 6
are in the North of Ireland. The island is historically
divided into the four provinces of Leinster, Munster, Connacht
and Ulster. The province of Ulster has 9 counties, of which
6 are in Northern Ireland.

Northern Ireland is part of the United Kingdom, and the remaining
26 counties make up the Republic of Ireland


to me this is a classic poem

it goes beyond the normal round i here and seeks new heights

beyond what i can essay alone

I think Tathagata has broken through the wall and given us
something that will last more than one generation--that could be
taught in college 30 years hence

it's really beyond me to say more--I am not an academic and my reviews
are indiscliplined and arbitrary--even careless

“Men are afraid that women will laugh at them and women are afraid that men will kill them.” — Margaret Atwood

The problem with sex in the movies is that the popcorn usually spills.
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Old 06-25-2004, 08:07 AM   #30
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Friday, June 25, 2004

Wel it’s deja vu all over again--I did new poem reviews here on Fridays for over a year. So as Liar heads off into the delights of midsummer here I go again--

dcpoet44 offers up an overflowing fistful of poems today--six of them. I suggest you read them all because taken together they form a heartfelt treatise on love lost and survived. I did though have a few favorites:

Let the Critics Follow is a roadmap to reading dc’s poetry. It’s clear and well-stated, and toward the end becomes almost prayerlike, reminding me here of the 23rd Psalm.

My pen is my bodyguard.
It always protects me
Even though
My shield is down,
It makes me tough as hell
When the line is set on fire
As a fiery lead on
For the critics to follow
When reaching the end
As I explode off the page.

When You Need Someone takes the reader through a maelstrom of emotions, from pain to the flowering of trust reborn.

But the love
You leave behind
Shatters into pieces
As if a window blown
In by a storm
Leaving you empty and cold.
You pound your fists
Upon the pillow
Saying never again.
Then a knock comes upon your door-
You want to say go away
But the pain lifts you up
Until you fall into the arms of a friend

Your Eyes is a lovely appeal from poet to readers, asking us to feel with him and, in doing so, help him escape the pain. I think this one was my favorite of his submissions today.

i open myself
to you in ways
that will give the best effect
when your thumbs rest
on the beats of my heart.

darkcootie, whose poem I much prefer to her name, lol, is a new poet who has written the breathless sacred and prophane, which I think should be profane, but I’m not quibbling. It’s an evocative erotic ride of a poem that made me, anyway, a fly on the wall next to loving that here is indeed both spiritual and rife with human need.

the smell of your
hair moves me. i come
towards you and pull you near
me, your mouth finds mine and
i breathe you in, breathe in
your soul. your life.

J.B. Shelton has posted about a dozen poems here at Lit, but is new to me. I
absolutely loved her Teacher (for Edward Francisco). Personally, I’d have edited it down a bit (that’s just me), but the twisting narrative flow of this piece and its sharp observation are absolutely arresting. It’s a must read imho.

Bloomed this past Thanksgiving Thursday,
a ritual I hate for many reasons.
I stirred mashed potatoes into
pasty soup,
Grandmother fussing,
“You’re mother worked so hard to make that
for you. Don’t be so disrespectful.”


You stood there, grinning,
reminding me Southerners love
their dysfunction, and they keep
their secrets hidden
I know she doesn’t care about
tater-coated fingers but that her
dead husband liked
sweet young things,
not her.

LadyCibelle offers a starkly powerful account of what sounds to be a rape in Lost Wanderer. It is painful to read (as she warns the reader it was for her to write), and is presented so simply and unadorned that we can’t help but be deeply moved. You’re still here, LC, and not lost among this circle of poets who feel with you.

he touched me over and over.
told me I would soon die.
told me I was a "whore".
but why?

in a way, I did die.
in a way, I am still here.

FeralSoul is another new poet to Lit who has two new poems posted today, both on the D/s theme.

At Your Service moves with erotic urgency, as hard and unrelenting as the act it descibes.

Grab me
Throw me down
Take command
It’s what I crave
It’s what I need
To give in to your demands
Be rough
Be cruel
I want you to take charge
I want to feel
All you can give
Show me who you are

flyguy69 wrote a wow of a poem in Sacred Space, a beautifully flowing, imaginative piece from a seeker of ancient wisdom. Read it.

Someone’s hand did this
Maybe more than someone
Arranged a circle of
on a broad flat rock sloping into the lake
Some no bigger than my fist
Square jawed
Jagged countenanced
Others two feet across
Too heavy for me to lift
Bald from a thousand years of thought

tarablackwood22 is, as anyone who reads her poems here knows, a poetry powerhouse. And yes she does it again in leaning on cars and fences, a poem that merges the desire to return to childhood with the knowing recognition of grownup fear of strangers. Ah, but Tara finds a way to go back, have her moment in lost time, and return--pensive--to the other side. This is a wonderful piece full of evocative images and sense delights that will take you there and back.

hanging winter fruit
waiting for children
to pick and lick.

boy on a swing
plays pretend
with its empty neighbor,
pulling the chain,
talking of pain.

I missed you.
where have you been
for so long?

I need
to sit next to him
as a child —

feet dangling,
answer his longing,
be its untangling.

but I’m grown.

And then there’sToward A Word, who has written a breathtakingly funny piece in The New JaguarX17. It’s like a sales pitch gone mad through some looking glass. Would that they could do this--we could chip in and buy one.

Purchase one, and you will become sexy too.
Beautiful women you've never met will fall hopelessly in love with you.
Maria in Accounting, the shapely haughty wench, will get down on her knees for you.
She will exist only to worship you, to please you.
You will be her God.
Jaguar Guarantees It.

There are other new poems posted today that may also appeal to you--these are simply the ones that caught my eye. Please read them all if you can, vote, and send feedback or comment. We love it when you do.

Have a wonderful, poetical weekend everyone.



Last edited by Angeline : 06-25-2004 at 08:20 AM.
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Old 06-26-2004, 07:43 AM   #31
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There are many good poems today (I've been reading), and it's not my review day but................

I can't not recommend this poem:

Risia Skye's far away in fantasy is here instead of say Atlantic Monthy or New Yorker and god only knows why. I know I drool with poetic fervor whenever this woman posts a new poem, but read it and you'll see what I mean. I can't think of a better teacher for how to combine narrative and imagery and say it in a voice with such smooth control, well it's like buttah baby.

Just do yourself a favor and read every poem this woman writes. Really.

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Old 06-26-2004, 08:37 AM   #32
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Sidney Koan
Reltne, this poem is more fun than a limerick.You made me get all "beavis and butthead" for a second with my "huh...heh..heh..heh, I get it".

Best Friend
This poem has some very interesting lines, "Intensely bright describes the day". That one, right there really pulled me into this poem. "Illuminated to the soul" and "enveloped by radiance" seemed a bit forced on the imagery for me, but you finish the first verse strong with "overrun with by the full spectrum of the sun" <overrun is one word by the way>. The next two verses are solid and you finish with a bang with the final verse. It's just those two lines in the beginning that really bother me. It's like "heeeeeey, check this phat poem out...blaaaah, blah, blah... Oh yeah, I remembered I'm a good poem...hell, I'm a fucking great poem!" 4

far away in fantasy
now, this is what I'm talking about. The prodigal poet, Risia, graces us with her presence and shows us how a poem is supposed to be done. Most people who live this feeling make a rant and throw it into some sort of "poetic" form<meaning fragments of thought in various line length and verses> without imagery or really poetry even. She, however does this thing up right. If you have something to talk about to someone else, this is the way you turn it into a poem. Listen up, poets, these are pearls I'm givin' ya, peaaaaaarls!5

Have Your Fingers Danced?
As someone who has written a few poems with similar flavor, I find it interesting that this one lands on my critique day. okay, down to it... There is supposed to be passion in this poem according to the context, some sort of intensly sexual experience, and everytime you add a singsong rhyme/assonance to that it makes me feel like I want to have a fake orgasm. It's exactly like that. "oh ohhh ohhh, yeah baby this is great stuff" *rolls eyes" Dude, you have a particular voice that could do some great stuff, don't ruin the true emotion of the thing by using the incorrect tool. You have a pretty good grasp of meter, I think you should use rhyme and assonance within this poem but not in pseudo"couplet" form. That's what breaks this poem for me. I'm not sure if some of the word choices match the quill to parchment feel of this poem, either, but then, mine never did either. However, now, by reading your poem, I see what everyone was saying. So you've helped me with my poetry too, thanks.

First of all YUMYUM!!!
Secondly comes the pain. *laughing* K, it's always "..." or ".", never any other combination. On your "and oh beneath" line, I implore you to use commas before and after beneath and possibly and exclamation point after "oh" even. Read it aloud and you just slip right over that line, the way you wrote it, with a sighing break, or something equally delicious in that line it just pulls the emotional intensity right from the reader and further into the delcious meat of your poem. "and Ohhh, beneath,/A fountain" See what I mean, a little bit?
K, you have a list of words "drinking, sucking, slurping, gorging" that was a perfect spot to throw in some poetic tool, like assonance, meter, but I think alliteration would have been even more delicious, especially if you matched the words with "skin" from the previous line. Then when you got down to your next word list, you could use alliteration again, and using that tool in those two places it would give added structure to your poem. I'm not fond of your word choice of "mature", yes a word is necessary in front of juices or it would feel cliche, but "mature" feels forced and obvious to me. I love "unapologetic of/ stains and transgressions" there is such an internal meter to those two lines, that I'm giddy with the imagery and the way it feels on my tongue.<ooh look, ma, double entendre!>"Sins of the flesh" yeah it works, but it wasn't an original phrase, and I think you copped out by using it, lazybones! And, "consumation" I believe only has one "m".
Blah blah blah, tell me to go to hell cause I fucking loved this poem. Right up my erotic alley. *smirk*

escape from misery
Ohhh how I love a bit of ecumenical poetry.

"you are no longer owned, reeling,
kneeling at her altar,
mouth open
to her communion of pain."

this poem is solid, and to be a bit punny this was the best offering of verses. I'd like to see the word "of" removed from the last line of it, even so. I'm a little questioning on your choice of line breaks. They feel like they should break in other parts to me, when I read it out loud. For instance,this to me
"and if you do not answer
she gives chase, anoints
with whiskey, whips
cracking savage
in bloody blurs, thorns
sharp and yawning."
should be this...
"and if you do not answer
she gives chase
anoints with whiskey,
whips cracking savage
in bloody blurs,
thorns sharp
and yawning."
but then when I do that, I see other things I want to change, like "savage" to "savagely", making the adverb grammatically correct and throwing in a bit of rhyme to your whiskey... and even moving your "wh" alliteration on to the next line, smooothly. 4

Your Truth of Me
I was a little nervous when I opened this poem as I'd read your first post and realized it was obvious rhyme. I was pleasantly suprised to see the real you peeking out at me, unfettered by obvious structure. You have some really great lines in this poem, that weave a particular imagery or feeling that I'm just drawn to in their context. "walking around that wide angled street", "Passing over whole countries of emotion", "as a pretty pink girl/attracting pretty pink/girl cuddly touchy things"<loved that>"Truth of a woman/filled with blue/and black things/chasing that brutual love" <ok, don't know if brutual is a typo, if it is, shame shame, if it isn't I threw the words brutal and mutual together for me, and if that isn't an interesting editorial comment I don't know what is, aaaaand, if you had said "wise-ing" back in your list of ing words, your new made up word of "brutual"-and yes I will be stealing that- would work better> Ripped apart at the seams is such a blinding piece of cliche and the other words in your poem are hurt and emotionally scarred because you paired this tawdry little phrase with such perfectly chosen original word pairings. *smile* I think there are a few places that get a bit boring, but your gems shine through. A little inconsistent in that context but I loved thinking I was getting to know you a little bit better by reading this.

guilt and games
quick quick poem, the structure rocks me. Yeah yeah, I know you poets are saying"if it was rhyming couplets she'd have a cow and burn us at the stake" yep, yep, I would, but it's not, it's delicious. Once again "brutual" makes its appearance in the poems today. It's my new favorite word, unless of course, it's still a typo, and then disregard my obvious appreciation for misspelling.

questions in the dark
simply interesting and rife with imagery and longing, and the low soft laughter of all of us who've been there. The miles davis part gives this poem a smooth slow sexy feeling that wouldn't have been there without that particular reference, I think.

checkered twilight
I liked it, but it feels different from what I usually get from you. I like the other stuff too, but this seems clipped, and yet still fluid. It's short on words and long on perspective. It makes me wonder what's going on with you, and yet tells me at the same time. Interesting, anhellina.

beyond the rain
yep, it's a poem, and yet I can't seem to figure out why, other than all the poetic imagery and the structure. I love all the little eye candy, but for the hell of me I can't figure out what this poem is about, and yet, I still like it. Someone enlighten me. OR I should say to the author. Clarity might be something you can work on, however, I've been at this since 6:30am, and I might just be punchy.

Always Wanting More
An erotic poem without cliche, containing such originality and clarity of imagery, seriously, how could I pass that up? The key to this poem's intensity is attention to contextual detail. "little split nail scratches", "when shoulders press/legs in layers". There is some subtle use of alliteration and assonance, and one particular spot where it's all jumbled together but you still feel it "begging for reality to replace/the sweating, needing release". Only one phrase was a little cliche and so obvious in this poem and that was, shit, lemme find it... "moaning quietly". Cut that out, and I would have given it a five.

reaching through water
Change "me and you" to "you and me" and other than that little nothing bit, I loved this poem. Oh it's sweet the way sweet should be, hot, summery and reminding me of my youth.

young at heart
If anything calls for the continuity of jumprope rhyme, it's this poem, and yet it fizzles at the end. Someone doesn't know how to double dutch properly.

a poem for a dancer
slice of life with a too true story that doesn't read like you've heard it before. Other than using the word "stripper" to describe the girl and get his point across, I thought it was a pretty good poem.
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Old 06-27-2004, 02:32 PM   #33
Posts: n/a
Sunday, June 27, 2004

Nearly 30 poems on the New Poems list for me to read and/or mention this Sunday. Today had a goodish turn out for poetry. A few 'new-to-me' poets looked to be mixed with the familiar nicknames of Literotica's Poetry Feedback & Discussion forum, who include: OpheliaQuieroz, Lord DragonsWing, lil_fire, and SweetWildMan .

~ The follow poems piqued my interests ~

~ ~ ~
Sunday's New Poems list is topped off with Wheelers are deals by RazzRajen, whic is a cryptic write with interesting word choices and phrasing.
The clouds wheeled and
scudded in lazy trails
as embers coursed over
pristine flesh
Alabaster she was
dusky His own
Together a nice happnestance
blue devilled and yolks
...He ate ...
again and again.
she Fed him
Angeline brought us Birdman—a very fine piece inspired by a soul-swinging jazz Icarus . Ange, every jazz great you write about that I don't recognize, I do a 'look-up'. Thanks for this poem and my edjamacation in da blooz, hunny-pie.
It's all blues. You get blown
every which way, but some people
just don't seem to comprehend
that even this desecration
is spirit, produces infinite beauty.

Mr McShann said
you see the blues is not about feelin bad:
it's a way to get feelin good,
and Papa Jo said
Jazz is our religion,

which makes Bird a martyr.
Sacred, sacred.
~ ~ ~
Postcard from Boca do Inferno by OpheliaQuieroz, a new poet delivers a poem with a great title, and intriguing style.
I should have
suckled him
until my breasts were dry and wrinkled
and then returned the favour
draining him
spent and shrivelled
his spendings
slime upon my tongue
I should have

but I didn’t
why would I?
I have your poetry
dry upon my tongue

does this surprise you?
I thought not
~ ~ ~
echoes_s 'submits' this beauty unseenOoO I see you, darlin'.
high-riding on waves
never-ending, ebbing
and rising
lapping the shore
with lusty moaning, rolling back
into a higher wave.

mind screaming, soar
bursting forth,
complete pressured explosion
giving madness
handing everything over
to You.
~ ~ ~
On another thread someone had asked how to write good erotica, Amante II by Eleanora Day is a fine example. It has all the right elements said in a complimentary voice.
Now again the night is sentinal.
Curtains flicker their small nods,
approving us as we complete

the darkness, blooming in the first
brush of lips, smooth petals, winged,
unfolding to grasp the taste.

Stars glow in our mouths, falling rising
chest in restless flutter. We are birds,
roused from the nest, awakening
~ ~ ~
steve porter "remembers" missouri
as i turn into the heat of the day
into this hot and passionless swell
i ride these waves to you missouri

i am burning up the midwestern plains
these waves that blaze scorched wheat
that lead me to the beat of your heart
~ ~ ~
JCSTREET's Miles is easily one of my favorite reads of the day with the blazing beat and delivery.
takes me to the place where
I would be, up
there in lotusland, up
there in some unplumbed
space, some

fantasy of ‘ere days when
fish were jumpin’, yeah
they were

and the livin’ was fat and large and
~ ~ ~
a treason of roses by lipsticksunset1984 The poem is a complete story in one compact image. Great work.
she wears a gray suit to church,
tugging the skirt down
after she sits.

she looks
in green hunger,
with eyes that named the rain,
at young maidens
and their gifted bouquets,
turns home,
not forgetting to close
the top button of her coat.
~ ~ ~
Lastly, toungetied2u laments liquid gold—a shiny emotional piece.
Like liquid fire tears fell

from the hole pierced in my heart

sweet heat
like molten gold
shimmering with desire

a longing
thought extinguished long ago
~ ~ ~

That's it folks. Hit the New List, read, vote, and comment on the poems that interest you as I have done with the forementioned poems.

Until next Sunday—I'm out to enjoy the sunny day (twice in a row!)

- neo

Last edited by neonurotic : 06-27-2004 at 02:35 PM.
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Old 06-30-2004, 09:05 AM   #34
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Wed 30th

Why I Write - echoes_s

unheard in the shadows,
a corner away,
head hidden,
not even to
open my mouth,
to cry out…
or whisper
An explanation I'm sure many of us share as to why we write.
The voice of a small shy child who doesn't want attention ,just
to be acknowledged and heard.
A beautiful, simple, whispered poem

It Means Nothing - Amelia_Peach

Written in , I believe, a song format tells the tail of love gone wrong.
Of being used and discarded and the pain it brings.
It has a goth feel to it

We moved on
Past the rows of dead
You wanted me
It meant nothing to you
She follows with another tale of heartbreak and doubt


hello - liar

I've decided
to follow you
down paths unknown
up slippery stairs
to hell, to stars
and make believe
a pledge of love and intervention.
interspaced are " embraces" which make clear this is for the persons own good
a guardian angel, a selfless act, and a wonderful read.
written in a sleek no frills style it cuts to chase and leaves the reader feeling the determination that is proclaimed.

Creed - Sir_Nathan

A loving tribute to a reluctant Submissive.
Shows the tenderness and guidance a true Master provides
A very nice piece.

Cries of the Carousel - doormouse

I loved this nostalgic look at childhood and the way everything cycles.

with pleading eyes
I look up from her waist
then turn to watch
the one I named Prancer
We all had the favorite horse...
A great read that brought a smile to my face.

flowers - RISING STAR

My only complaint is the " How do u see me now?"
perhaps a mistake because "you" is spelled out in the rest of the poem.
otherwise it's a lover questioning what is real and what is felt and why it can't just be simple.
questions we'd all like answered at some time in our lives.

he follows up with to-yester-day

Inside my tears destroy my dreams
Speaking in silence,inside I scream
Another day,another chance to spirtually grow
But I cant get past the tear stains on my window!!
Something we can all relate to

Ok breakfast break and I'll be back
Gate gate pāragate pārasamgate bodhi svāhā

Nothing is better than Something

“The thing I like about Irish whiskey is that the more you drink the smoother it goes down. Of course that's probably true of antifreeze as well, but illusion is nearly all we have.”
― Robert B. Parker, Valediction

"You'd be worth the burn"

"I've been exchanging sad songs with Tath and now I want to kill myself."

- Fata Morgana
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Old 06-30-2004, 09:57 AM   #35
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Here's half of Wednesday's harvest:

annaswirls returns from her three-day escapade in the woods with three poems, and I'm sure she has a bagful, courtesy of her loving trees and streams.

circular symbiosis absolutely floored me....anna shows her incredible versatility with a style that is different from her usual, more lyrical in language and flow. Here's a sample:

they forward me instructions from the splash zone
as I fold distractions into leaf boats
sending them down stream one by one.
"Away! Away with you!"
all bay bound until we are alone

Anna's other two offerings are equally impressive. Make sure to take a walk with her inwaiting for Sophie , and read her almost haikuishbutterfly .

Upon second reading, I am editing, to add how impressed I am with anna's waiting for Sophie , which is mentioned and linked above. The breadth of her skills never ceases to amaze me. In spots, it is almost unrecognizable as her writing, something really new, yet totally stunning just the same!

Cordelia is a poet whose work always thrills me, and today is no exception. She offersWaiting Room , a gorgeous poem of form and flow:

I sigh in spectrums under-toned,
with passions held in color-fast
while rapture waits in time I’ve loaned Read it all!!

Angeline gives us her beautiful Summer Sonnet , which melted me last night on the 'passion thread'. It is a MUST READ for everyone, too wonderful to split and quote here.

She also gives us Metapoetics , her answer to Liar's bout of temporary insanity.

is the act of thinking about thinking
thoughts that spiral like shells whorl,
or multiply like a mirror in a mirror.

JCStreet we get the graceful Cape Horner , so typical of the smooth flow that mesmerizes me every time I see his verse:

under a spar and a grey-murked
woodcut, beaten
pewter, pieces of

cabins now

our lifeboats only
the soughing rigging

hippiedude is a recently-arrived poet here, and one who has already gifted us with poetry of a maturity and scope that cannot be found in many places. Today he gives us A message from 2525 , a humorous look at a future that has swallowed us with electronics.

What ever you do, never,
never, obscillerate the spinthrick.

It should be read in its entirety.

Go down to New Orleans with
steve porter , one of my favorite contibutors here, and witness acts of kindness in i was just another faceless tourist :

when i give you a dollar i witness
the way you surrender it with love to
that shuffling soul on the sad street
because she needs it more than you

And for those of you who did not peek in on Liar's
moment of madness, here's what it was all about: Epiphany :

words about
on words about
words about
on words

Read it!....and think.

neonurotic gives us another innuendo-filled beauty, as only he can, in
Snake in the grass .

I can't even snip it so you get the effect!.You have to read it! Go!

Everyone's favorite philospher and funnyman,

Tathagata takes a Delta bluesman to the East in the short and sweetDelta Dharma .

So many new poets have joined us lately, and today brings offerings from many, all worth reading:

A moment by SnoopDog

Our Pleasure by jolena73

under investigation by Rising Star

Thirty-Day Trial Period by dcpoet44



Last edited by tarablackwood22 : 06-30-2004 at 10:26 AM.
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Old 06-30-2004, 10:57 AM   #36
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Tathagata is offline
Join Date: Feb 2004
Location: Massahoozits
Posts: 24,436
Wed 30th part 2

The Fever -dcpoet

I'm not exactly sure what it's about but it does have some nice imagery

Here I find you
Hot upon my forehead.
These words that sit here
Is like beads of sweat
To illuminate in the light.

Dreams of Beauty and Evil -seasparks

Takes us on a trip through the myriad dreams and fantasies that sleep can provide
Some nice images.

I Needed That -dreamsweet

I love this verse:

A guarantee of more
than the blasting boredom
of the same patch of sky
out my wood-frame window,
the same wood-panel wall,
the same five trees,
the same scattered clouds,
while a strength of voice
leaves welts in my heart.
a powerful poem about life and boredom and escape
as always she makes you feel the walls closing in
a great read

I Will Love You Always - The Sandman

A true romantic The Sandman always writes of love and loss ,the eternal and the fading.
this poem is no exception

Some where a lucky woman is being showered with lines like this

will forever remember the scent of your hair,
The way it played through my fingers.

The broken smile, a hint of mischief behind it,
As I tickled the tip of your nipple, gazing into your eyes.
Nice to know there is still love like this in the world

Hyperbatic -Lauren Hynde

I am not even remotely qualified to attempt this poem
I know that Hyperbatic refers to the changing of word orders ..
But, like a man listening to jazz, i can appreciate the music but can't even grasp the complexities
It has some stunning images:

Through the walls, the reptilian whispers
and poison;
through the waters, the eagles with floating and fulgent bones
and the tall trees of intimate seas
below the oceans and coral islands
with lit florescence
of neon and anemones.
How do you critique something that makes you see and feel something beyond your grasp?
Lauren's work is always a revelation
Read it
That is all I can say without stumbling all over myself

last night I dreamt of Christ lipsticksunset1984

One of my favorite new poets
This poem echoes the questions asked in " The Last Temptation of Christ"
Jesus was a man was he not?
Lipstick reveals some of the doubt and anger he must have had
some wonderful writing:

the dark side of my mystery, masked
by glorious anecdotes, self-doubt
shielded in miracles.


escape from holiness
and handcuffs, right hands.
exquisite women to oil me.
to be MY savior.
I am partial to the spiritual side of things so I'd say this is a must read.
but judge for yourself

My Island -Teenage Venus

Invites us behind the mask to see what lurks there.
A treasure and a hell where she lives her life
She uses a rhyme scheme that works quite well
a very interesting read

Fiona - Randi Grail

another one of my new favorite poets
This is the tale of abuse, it's heartbreaking and yet beautiful
a poem of substance
It's a difficult subject written from the point of view of children perhaps Fiona's friends:

hey mister, say it
say it once again
all those powerful pretty little lies
that makes the pretty little
giggly things in their
summer short pretty little things
swoon and flutter beneath your voice
another must read

Become Routine -dreamsweet

dreamsweet shows us what goes on inside when we smile for the camera...or someone smiles for us.
A melancholy look at hopes and reality

another by dreamsweet

Want To Believe
continues the theme of isolation and heartache

The Middle Finger -dcpoet

shows that the middle finger can be a good thing
and that I should get stuck in traffic more often

Thoughts of You - RISING STAR

a love poem that, perhaps, is a little over the top but still very sweet in it's intentions

Did I Remember? - LadyCibelle

Love is in the air I guess
Another ode to love and romance and some where some lucky man is getting these words

Always and Forever 4eversex

could have used a few breaks here and there to give it some structure but, all in all, a moving poem about love and heartache

A Sigh - Hung Mightily

if it had of been shorter it might have worked but starting every sentence with the same word with no breaks...just doesn't work
The thoughts are nice and it's a good idea but it needs something to break it up a bit

The Diet - the brothers cum

A very clever rhyming poem that reminds me of Shel Silverstein
There's some talent involved in this

Mother Goose meets Jenny Craig
Great rhymes, and well thought out
Read it

Sadie Hawkin's Day

She Who Must Be Obeyed Old King Cole - Uncle Pervy

More Mother Goose satires from our resident pervy poet.
always good for a smile

I took the approach of listing every poem.
Anything that is submitted should be read and judged on it's own.
I would never Not mention any poet or poem
Different poets and styles speak to different people in different ways.
all poetry has merit
all poetry takes courage to post.
I'm not skilled enough to dissect them and criticize punctuation or word choice or syntax etc
so i don't
I go on emotional content.
what it makes me feel or see or think.
I hope this was satisfactory to all

and I hope Syn is back next week
Gate gate pāragate pārasamgate bodhi svāhā

Nothing is better than Something

“The thing I like about Irish whiskey is that the more you drink the smoother it goes down. Of course that's probably true of antifreeze as well, but illusion is nearly all we have.”
― Robert B. Parker, Valediction

"You'd be worth the burn"

"I've been exchanging sad songs with Tath and now I want to kill myself."

- Fata Morgana
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Old 07-02-2004, 02:07 PM   #37
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JCSTREET is offline
Join Date: Apr 2004
Location: Tailwaters of Lake Ontario
Posts: 1,721



i would have started late on Wednesday to capture poems posted too late
for that day's reviews. However the New Poems list only
starts July 1.

Uncle Pervey clocks in with Tarzan
to prove he's still alive and dicking.

ANNASWIRLS restores sanity with 204 bones
which I don't understand (not like me but there has to
come a time)

individual piece of the pair
always one

like 204 bones that lie
waiting to be reconstructed
before floating soaking sinking
into the below

I cannot find you


I Do understand under bird feeder
in which anna once more expressed her love of nature--her macro lens clarity
in exposing the things of the earth

showing gratitude
with a flash of red
maybe blue tail feather flit of
wing, roots push up from under grass
in search for a better view


Anna has a passel of other poems in the line-up today


TATHAGATA delights with sharp, bright images inGypsy

Third eye open...
on the gypsy next door.

Her wanderlust enshrouds her,
like a swarm of green-vested changelings,
pulling her apron strings,
planting landscapes,
in her neglected mind.

She's quiet,
church mouse,
muted transplant,
hushed, in bent submission.
A mourning dove edging around her square of earth...

(and more)

"shifts her bottomless mongol eyes"

and drops in "third eye" and "chakra" to give the occult an


ALAYA's Avatarati
has a haiku-like feel


my hands
my pants

By the window
Singing: a bird


ALAYA also gives us Real

I want the scent of your skin
on my hands and lips
I want the taste of your sex
on the tip of my tongue
I want all that's real about you
deep inside me


LIAR's top fuel dragster singes my nostrils with nitro as it powers
out of the gate with Eroticism By Proxy

You know as well as I do
that we both started this
by sifting through an avatar collection,
the entire population
of Metown and Youville.

Discarding citizens
like unmatching shirts.

So whose rolling eyes
and heaving cleavage
am I looking into?

Just to curveball this conversation...
...my current poker face poker hand
was chosen with haste and not care.

But for what it's worth...
...say hi to Martin.

But gently, between closed lips,
smile and bow geisha style.

Extend a hand and he is yours
to delight, deflower, navigate,


He is nervous, yes, but brave.

Do you need a soundtrack
for your chaperone excuses?

Let me bring out Milton,
the two inch midget virtuoso
on the world's smallest violin.

He slurrs out solos until
his fingers bleed and even
the chattering pixies downstairs
shut up and listen,

swoon and swarm
this realm with delightful titter.

So that Manny the misogynist
clamps his nail bitten hands
to ears that wouldn't
pay heed to reason anyway,

and hums in juvenilia,
to this preposterous display
of beauty.


He'd love to wind you up,
only to go down on you,
to slither his forked tongue
for all it's worth, to tickle
your ovaries,

and taste
the bitter and the heat
of a woman scorned.


but it all comes down to mouthwork at the end--that salve
for all the world's wounds.

it's EROTISM by the way but the correct spelling is
only seen in titles of coffee table books from
upmarket publishers and learned papers from the
American College of Sexual Medicine (TRAVESTISM) is
another word like that


I'm a sucker for TARA BLACKWOOD'S work so I should prolly recuse myself
rather than review it in case I have a hidden agenda

(Surely you jest carlieBear)


tara brings usone day in December

trembling in the closing arms
of winter,
so many hands
to clothe your numbness, warm you
as they dab the frost from your cheeks
and forehead, branding you
with their cuddling love.

the hour of ice,
the final snow
before the frightening dogs of December
call you home
with their muscular barks, howling
from incessant hunger, cold
and selfish in their lust.

they plant a stone for you,
white marble, to bear
your name and numbers,
but now
is your moment of warmth and glory
as the flesh ropes of your daughters
and their daughters, remarkable forest
of your seed,
wrap you like flaming vines
and lower you gently down.


verse one is the scene setter - the buildup

verse two is where the muscle is

"frightening dogs of December/call you home/
with their muscular barks"

the first six lines of verse three don't work for me--
there's a disconnect as the style goes into journalese

but the verse soars later with a brilliant metaphor
(that could yet be slightly more finely tuned)


CHAMPAGNE1982 writes Wind's Fingers

Meadows larksong lifted in the morning light,
as the dew lifts from the clover,
shaded beneath the wildrose in bloom

is the verse I like best


DRAGONESSSLAVE twinges my guilt buttons with
Forever Until

“Come on,” you said, “it’ll be ok.”
The truth is blinded by what you say.
“Nothing’ll happen,” you said, “just agree.”
I gave into it, not able to see.
You took my most sacred gift.
Expecting me to easily make that shift.

After awhile, I was sick of your games,
I decided to end it and placed all the blames.
You came crawling back on your hands and knees,
And blindly, I took you back, wanting only to please.
Things went well, but then became dim.
You took advantage of me once again


I have known SO many women like the one in the
poem--hope I'm over it now



is a bittersweet paean to a lover

Who carries your secrets
carefully as weeping children?
Who holds them close, loves you
even when their fingers are jagged,
even when they cut and hurt?

Who listens to the whisper of your truth?
Who forgives the stumble of your lies?

(an excerpt)


i have never come to terms with the modern tendency
to substitute the transitive verb TO LAY for the
intransitive verb TO LIE

it transports me to the casual discourse of waitresses at
Mel's Diner - which rather shatters the sanctity of the
work - making it break up and dissolve in my mind
as paper petals in a roiling creek

When I was younger people from the wrong side of the tracks spoke
that way--signalling their class with the plangency of
a battle pennant

but now it's come uptown


SEATTLERAIN however does not sin in this regard
with power of suggestion

lemon oil and verbena
for cool and breathe
almond accents slide between
for this longest night

skin on skin
location, inconsequential
as our host approves
all angles

accute, obtuse
we are turned over and again
in this extended darkness

disoriented by gravity
blurred in the essence
and circulation
cut to non-essential pieces

head hangs upside down
re-discovering lost pieces of
mother of pearl
and silver circles
hiding under the bed

would the host approve?


I especially like the last verse--it is just so true - how an
energetic swiving session can gradually push you
off the bed till your head bumps on the carpet and you
revel in the discovery of lost change and heirlooms

one <c> in acute Seattle, before you send it out somewhere


WICKEDEVE was clearly thinking ambivalently of me when she
wrote A Widow At LAst

Agnes made a sock puppet
from one of Carl's over-the-calves.
It was wicked to paint its mouth
lipstick red.

She slouched it across from Oprah
in the bulk of his chair.
Agnes likes Oprah;
Carl was a Springer man.

She considered darning the hole in its head,
but then it would have seemed
less like Carl.

and Dust Colony


especially the hole in its head part

a clever little ditty I warrant


IRISHCATSMEOW truly delights with Fair Country
which should give flashes of deja vu to some

Funnel cakes
Tempting. Beckoning.
Who knew fried dough
Could be so mouth-watering?

The Cage of Rage
Taunts. Maligns.
Swoosh! Down he goes.
His words gurgling as he drowns.

See the great bull
Massive. Potent.
His sperm for sale.
He doesn’t reap the benefits.

The horses of the carousel
Stately. Magical.
Going round and round.
Reclaiming innocence again and again.

The bearded woman
Lost. Wistful.
No longer allowed.
Now pushes a broom while no one stares.

Chainsaw art in 75 minutes
Chiseled. Magnificent.
A tree trunk and a power tool
Create the unexpected.

House of Fun
Surprises. Anticipation.
He didn’t know when he looked in the mirror
He would see countless reflections.

Talent show
Varied. Mediocre.
Where else can a young baton twirler
Compete with a grandma who whistles a polka?

Blue ribbons
Honor. Glory.
Does anyone wonder
Where they will be ten years from now?


LIL_FIRE writes No More
an innocent love poem


ANGELINE gives us Continental Divide

It's the West in your voice.
I understand

though I've lived always in crowds,
never escaping schtetl life,
even two generations later
in America, promise handed down
from brave young grandfathers
journeying past the edge
of another culture
until they transformed
to proper old European Yenkees
in fine suits with vests, hats.

(and more)

touch of copy editing required Anna on Schtetl and swin e.g.

it's an interesting red which somehow brings to mind E L Doctorow
a chronicler of such times

RANDI GRAIL brings the world of welding up close and personal
with Weld

In a private static charged hell
copper plate contrast
cesium burns,
sprinkled with acid rain.

Carried linear
on 60 hertz pulsar carriers
to send white pain,
almost eclectic,

sparkling through dermic illusions
that I cannot escape.

searching absolution,
inquisition's glowing iron.
To scream shock waves,
oscillator spikes
of pure energy.

Piercing as noise,
to clarity,
to signal.

And I pray,


clean this polluted
neuron web.

Strip me to the bone,
rebuild again.

Burned clean,
welded anew,
I will insert
my Phoenix heart,

electrocuted back to rhythm,
wrapped in gossamer
and cotton wool.

To resume it's duties,
once again.


(it's only a 50 Hertz pulsar carrier in the United Kingdom
for some reason--that reduces the root mean squared value of
alternating current--but Brits? go figure)

anyway--I haven't done enough welding to get my head totally
into this idyll but it's interesting--and my 1962 Buick might soon need some
of that


The Mutt introduces a world of pain that brings deep
psychic pleasure to those who adore mutilation and
mayhem with Jungle Lord in Chains

The Jungle Lord lay naked on the floor,
His wrists and ankles bound by sturdy chain,
The Queen of Opar slithered through the door,
Stepped on his palm and smiled down at his pain.

"Today," she said, "Today I make you scream."
"Lay on, he gamely answered, "Do your worst."
I will, my little monkey," laughed the Queen,
"The question is, which tactic to use first?"

"Hot wax or whips to scar your tender skin?"
"Perhaps a rod to violate your bung?"
"I think this is the spot I shall begin."
She reached between his legs where his balls hung.

She weighed them like ripe fruit in her small hand,
She stroked their roundness, tugged their wispy hairs,
"How wasteful, though, to have my slave unmanned,
Before I have a chance to taste his wares."

His cock, so long and thick, began to stir,
And her small mouth stretched wide to take it in,
As it grew hard and jutted up at her,
And blue veins rose beneath its pebbled skin.

Its purpled arrowhead swelled large and hot,
A fat strawberry, ready to be plucked,
She took his full length deep into her throat,
And clawed his hard, flat belly as she sucked.

The savage bucked and writhed and tried to fight,
His captor as she milked him of his load,
She felt the skin around his balls grow tight,
His cock grow hot and ready to explode.

She pulled her mouth away just as he spent,
A milky arc of jism in the air,
And every time she stroked his shaft he sent,
Fresh jets of white to streak her ebon hair.

And from the Jungle Lord there came a roar,
The prison tower echoed with his screams,
And then he collapsed back on the cold, stone floor,
His savage mind awash with passion dreams.

The Queen of Opar laughed with wicked glee,
And, cat-like, licked the jism from his chest,
"I told you that today you'd scream for me,
Although it's screams of pain that I like best."

She stood then, with her fists upon her hips,
Ground her spiked heel into his palm once more,
Smiled down at him and licked her wanton lips,
Blew him a kiss, then vanished through the door.

The Jungle Lord knew morning would bring pain,
The prospect held for him no trace of fear,
Her whip would lash him like a driving rain,
It was the very thing that drew him here.

He loved his Lady Jane so very much,
His nights with her brought tender, gentle bliss,
But, jungle bred, he craved a harsher touch,
A savage Queen, with venom in her kiss.

quite specalized really--but a change from Gorean at least

Lady Christabel's Maieutica
reminds me of stuff I was writing in 1967 when I was immortal

there's often a tendency among beginning (and sometimes not so
beginning) poets to emulate a classical style for
non-classical pursuits in a non-classical age


“Men are afraid that women will laugh at them and women are afraid that men will kill them.” — Margaret Atwood

The problem with sex in the movies is that the popcorn usually spills.

Last edited by JCSTREET : 07-02-2004 at 02:10 PM.
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Old 07-02-2004, 07:11 PM   #38
now with 17% more class
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Liar is offline
Join Date: Dec 2003
Location: 8th floor
Posts: 41,649
New Poems - Friday July 02

A little less than 40-ish poems today, and a slight headache. I hope my reviews still makes some kind of sense. Here we go...


dirtied thoughts by Mia Moore ©
I never had green fingers, and after reading this, I'm eternally envious of those who have.
sweet alyssium, you have no clue
what lies beneath you, waiting
and caladium, such a bulbous fool
can't see a thing
buried among the hollyhock
roots and catnip seeds

calico breakfast - turning roadkill into a food chain buffet with words


The Dance by subtledecadence ©
Solemn, wistful and carefully scripted poetry.


Buzz About Bea by WickedEve
The buzz on the street boiled town to it's focal point. A lean treat with an impressive richness.
crushing flowers
wild skin
Bea dipped
in honeyed sin

a buzz over
secrets billowed, breezes
baring indiscretion.


Amante IV by Eleanora Day
Deliciously erotic without being overcooked. This new name continues to impress.
The waiting mouth
wants taking, deliberately biting
the plum, the fruit of night,
tasting texture, hearing tones
of breath, anticipation
of fingertips trailing skin,

Locked - another sensual offering, but less juicy and more...snuggly?


estate sale by annaswirls ©
annaswirls paints a clear and sharp picture in this poem, both visual and emotional, telling a story by proxy of little things, like pencils.
she searches drawers for a pencil sharpener
finding only cheap pocket knives,
a plastic handled potato peeler,
rusted carrot shredders,
tarnished letter openers

only dull edges left to make a point


Oyster by darkmaas ©
Oysters, beards, walruses and Paul? A delightful curveball of a poem. Spot on how a slightly tipsy getting-there conversation can turn wonderfully bizarre, and how that is the way it should be.


Sun King by Angeline ©
One of the most commonly used rules of thumb in programming is something called KISS (Keep It Simple, Stupid). It can apply to poetry too sometimes. Here is a love poem that communicates the right emotions much more efficiently than any superlative stacked poem behemoth.

Mesozoic Mama - Dinosaurs are way cool. And Jurassic Park is all around us, as every other parent can tell.


Dirge of Orpheus by alaya ©
A neat tug o war between ancient ideas and modern notions from another fresh poet. Large subjects are handles with wit, warmth and writing skill.
Wingless ciphers
With bellies full of mundane pangs
Croak skyward Freudian abortions

lámina negra de la noche - seductively worded stanzas breathing of myth and legend


invasion by lipsticksunset1984 ©
The prize for today's most uncompromising erotica goes to lipsticksunset1984. This is a straight on plea to be worshipped, aspect by aspect. And by gods, it works.
thin and hard, child
of genes and gyms,
curving out below waist
to perfect womanhood,
made for babies
and the bodies of their fathers.


Complicated Diversions by Amelia_Peach ©
Crisp darkness with a strong flair of goth-gloom. This poem has a myriad of little hooks and memorable lines.
It was too simple to understand
I realised
The thing that I am
Is merely who I choose
Looked at my hands
Saw that I had aged
Given a blanket sewn of


Holy Place by lostandfounder ©
Another upcoming and continually improving poet. Here is a scenery that speaks of old magic and modern ignorance. Without turning too many gears and resorting to dramatics he manages to make this really creepy.


A Lullaby by doormouse ©
I watched this poem evolve and take shape on a thread here in the forum, and the result is really great. A touching testimony of loss, written with love.


Has the quality of poetry here gone up lately? I mean, even the less good offerings today was worth a read. I just couldn't make myself review them all here, or I'd explode.

Now, if you excuse me, I'll just go lay down for a while.

stuf...mor stuf
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Old 07-03-2004, 07:58 AM   #39
sarcasduck ruffleslut
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perks is offline
Join Date: May 2001
Posts: 41,267
new poems 7-3-4

oh, for anyone that wonders, I totally ignored the thermometers for the most part, so if it looks like you got a 50 percent, don't worry about it, just read my review, and you'll know how I feel.

peach by MWG
as for your poem. Loved it. The use of that long first line is perfectly read outloud. The reiteration of "head back" made me want to do it, and your overall imagery is spot on. I enjoyed the read, thanks.

NeoPetal 1 by WickedEve
ohhhhh, that brings me back to my riding days. Your poem feels so freeing to me, freeing and windswept, like hair without a helmet that needs a bottle of "tail & mane" just to get the knots out.

Bruja Sunset by WickedEve
Um, I don't know what "sagy" is. sage-y? saggy? I'm thinking sagy. It confuses me, like is this a greenish tinge, and she's creating a word to get it through, or is it a typo of the saggy sort? If it is a made up word, it's unworkable, in the context of the poem. If it is a typo, shame shame no your name. OTher than that. This poem is fucking spectacular. Your "dying light" was such a marker for me. Of course I thought about "rage against..." Whether this was intentional or not really doesn't matter, it gives a certain perspective. Oh, and I really love your use of "pumpkin" as a sunset descriptor. I'm now thining that it is "sage-y" because those two flavors offset each other, and if that's the case... maybe you could have said "sagebrush backbone"?

Heaven's Control Room by hippiedude
I just like this guy's thought patterns. I can't resist his poetry. I'd streamline a few more words to help with the fluidity of the poem. <"the" in the last line of the first verse, "the" before angels in the first line of the second verse, and the "the" at the end of the second line in the second verse, however when I do that the whole line needs to be reworked, but it looks so silly just standing there all alone dangling off the side of the poem. But the poet was right not to start the third line with it. Maybe "earth's trajectory course around the sun" instead?>
But really, who cares in light of the context. IT reads to me like winning the playoffs and going on to the championships. Great perspective, hippiedude.

The Introvert by dcpoet44
I was expecting an acrostic with your use of capitals. I don't know how many times I tried to read the word that was written there, and then realized that it wasn't.
That being said, I love the first part. After "becomes a trademark" I'm lost. The clarity is missing without punctuation, with use of capitalized single word lines. I don't know what I'm reading, or where I'm supposed to breath, so the poem feels like it just doesn't end but drifts away and you don't even realize it's over, but suddenly it is. "the only way to be heard is through observation" I might have to quote that line. It's a really wise insight.

Monument by dcpoet44
this poem rocks me right when entering it. The imagery envoked from "Her life
Read like an epitaph
From seventeen on."
is touching, tugging even. I kept this line with me throughout the reading of the poem, I'd thought originally that you were actually by a "monument" instead of a gravestone. The implications of seventeen and relating it to some old historical monument is incredible, that's where my mind wanted to go, thinking this poem was giving youth and and personality to history. It very well may have done that, but I believe it's about losing a young girl and crying at her grave. This is also good imagery for that, just not as layered as the other would be, maybe I'm inspired to write that, maybe someone else is. Either way, good poem, it made me think.

Take Five by Castis
I like this poem. I didn't even hate "fruits of passion" It somehow fits. This is a dark poem, with bits that are decidedly erotic, well they spoke to my *cough* um... poetic sensibilities. Read this poem, and tell me what you think.

23,485,933. . . 23,485,934. . . by Reltne
This poem shows how a title can be directional frosting.

Iambic Please by Angeline
If I hadn't read your title, I wouldn't have felt the appropriate meter. I would have known that it was supposed to be implemented, because of the length of line and the breaks of them, but the first couple of lines throw me off. It doesn't feel as smooth as iambic is supposed to. "daDUM daDUM daDUM daDUM daDUM[da]." For some reason, I can't fit your poem to that.
the gem of your poem is here
"to hear the rumbling tumble of your joy
lilting as water sparkled on the sea,"
there is a fluidity there that, not to mention imagery and emotion that I find choppy in other parts of your poem.

Cyber-Space Doc Savage! by Uncle Pervey
hello again uncle pervey.
Since you insist on rhyming, I'm going to ignore the fact that I hate that particular structure and dissect this poem for you anyway. Lucky, lucky you. *rolls eyes at myself*
Okay, you have great titles. Cyber-Space Doc Savage just comes out and bites you on the eyeballs and makes you interested. There is no need for the exclamation point, it's superfluous. You write in couplet form, and yet you don't use that as your structure, which of course is acceptable, but I think it breaks down your personal visibility of the meter you employ.
In the first verse...

"Doc Savage" is the name I use,
The image that I see.
When I see a cyber-mirror,
Reflecting right back at me!

If you put them side by side in the couplet form they read

"Doc Savage" is the name I use, the image that I see.
When I see a cyber-mirror, reflecting right back at me!

When we do this, we realize that your punctuation is off, because you write in sentences. There should be a semicolon between "use" and "the" in the first line, instead of a comma, a comma after I see, and I don't understand what is so interjectory about the two lines that requires an exclamation point at the end of it. Now, look at the meter. You start of strong with the first line, but if you read it within the given meter. You see accents on the syllables, and when we get to the second line, it's glaringly obvious that the word "right" is also superfluous, in content and within your meter. So, to fix it up...

"Doc Savage" is the name I use; the image that I see,
When I see a cyber-mirror, reflecting back at me.

take out "a" and "all" from the next verse.
The third verse is so forced. The word "true" destroys your meter, but by the time we get to the second line in your "couplet" It doesn't matter anyway, because you've changed the meter completely, just to make the rhyme work. I'm betting you struggled with this part.
In the the next "they're" is better than "they are", and remove just from the last line of the verse.
I can't even figure out how to rearrange the next verse. I can just say that there is meter in both lines of the "couplet" However, they don't match each other.
The final verse has a line that is redundant to the previous verse, and again the meter is off.

I've caved to the fact that you will forever write rhyme, I'd love to see you pair it with some meter and streamline your punctuation.

Did I tell you... by Tammi
tammi, tammi, tammi...

Do you realize that there isn't one line in this poem that isn't a recycled phrase? Putting them all together in the form you chose is interesting. Yes, it is a functional poem, it works, but those things have been said so many times, in exactly the same way, although not the same structure, that it almost feels plagiaristic. Of course, I know it isn't, but when reading this poem it does give you a sense of the deja vous. Suggestion, possibly take each line of this poem and rewrite it in a way that makes the point but uses imagery to portray the feeling instead of stating the exact feeling straight out? That might be an interesting plan of attack and I'd love to see what you come up with.
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Old 07-04-2004, 06:50 PM   #40
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4:th of July

Stepping in for neonurotic, who is...I don't quite remember what it was he was up to today. Hope he's having fun though.

23 new poems today, pretty good, considering a big US holiday and all. Fireworks and stuff tonight I assume? Well, there was some rockets going off in the poem pile too.


I kind of like Uncle Pervey. He doesn't try to be some deep, suffering/jazzy/political/whatever poetry artist. He writes humorous smut in poetry form, for the sheer fun of it. But he is actually best when he puts those rhyming bones in use doing something other than smut.
Pull It Out Fast! and Kilroy Was Here! made me grin. And I think that was the idea.


Lipsticksunset1984 impresses with heat, a poem that creeps under my skin. It described heat (and we talk about weather here, nothing else) in a way the doesn't make me sweat, but makes me feel the sun burn at my skin.
dogs’ tongues dripped
and dried,
cats clawed and killed
for shade.

worms withered.

men who had cried
over the same deaths
drew knives
over parking spaces.

Jay-sus, that's sharp penning.


JCSTREET gives us Stillness, which actually contains two poems - the serene 'Stillness' and the bitter-sweet wistful 'Putting In Time', two poems with quite different direction, but that works very well together.
aftermath of need the
mathematics of morning after
but soft,
velvet-struck skin, sun-low
afternoons, wet


In Independence Daze, Reltne takes on the whole concept of independence versus relativity and holistics in a few effective lines. Too short to quote here, go read it.


Middleagepoet knows me very well. Or at least he captured a feeling that I have far too often. Venting the Capital tells the story, quite illustrative and written with a wonderfully eloquent flow, I might add, of a brain freeze.
Like a breath, an exhalation escaping
my humid currents in a whisper, a moan, a sigh
each inane word slithers from me in confusion.
A vaporous haze settles over me, clouding me
as I gray into complete incoherence.


Influence by dcpoet44 shows that this poet knows poetry, both it's charm and it's mechanisms.
impact is every thing
to the poet
leaving a line
to feast on.

So true.


janus6988's Recipe for Love is short, true and oh so cute. Read and smile.


And last but not least, today's poems were not bad, but this one takes all the others and makes them her bitch. champagne1982 gets a big fat E for Sonate (ad libitum) a violin, and if there is a god, there should be a big fat H there too before this day is over. It is heartfelt, sensual, musical, powerful poetry at it's best. And still not one to retort to highbrow dictionary masturbation, but just telling it straight out, without never missing one note.
cantible -
coax the rising pitch from my mellow song
artfully disguising that it's you
who stirs my heart
to seek these notes.

The best one I've read from Carrie, which is to say alot, and probably one of my top five reads on Lit ever.


Right, that was it, now go write some more, poets.

stuf...mor stuf

Last edited by Liar : 07-04-2004 at 06:59 PM.
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Old 07-04-2004, 09:31 PM   #41
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Liar left off a very good offering, from one my favourite poets. It's a ride worth taking.

Arrivals, Departures
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Old 07-05-2004, 01:46 PM   #42
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Monday, July 05 Reviews

Firstly, much thanks to Liar for stepping up and doing reviews for me yesterday while I was away, at the beach this, US 4th July Holiday weekend—where I earned a nice sunburn in return.

Since Liar did Sunday for me I decided to pick up Monday as there seems to be a hole for reviewers now that Jim sadly vacated the space. I am even sadder replacement, but I saw many excellent poems today that deserved to be recognized.

~ ~ ~

My recommendations for today, begin with Liar. He earned his first 'E' from the editor with Interim Denizens Congrats on the 'E', but even more, for writing such a fine poem as this preview:
Aimless she roamed
Istanbul to Reykjavik
trying to make sense of flux.

History and myth intersections
Fireflies, lanterns, st Elmo's Fire,
dancing, shifting Aurora Borealis,

Now and again
the diversity
and impact overwhelmed.
WickedEve brings us two stunners, NeoPetal 2
Scapes toxic morph
into numbing mills, those
dread polymer towers, humming
till they bean jump the soil,
the silicone walls,

quivering for Thaddeus,
suspended. Pleasure gel oozes
down scales, pulsates:

oh ah mmm
whisper drone.
And the second, A Fanned Affair This whole write is just that. It does have and old southern appeal—slick enough to pass as sweet to put in my iced-tea ^_~

Dear Jane, and the drivel that comes after,
blur between folds of accordion paper.
I pleated Joshua's goodbye
till it was worthy of stirring my air.

His delayed departure delights me.
I summon Tammy into the heat of my room
Angeline also presents two beauties, July 4th, Some Other Year and Wildwood Crest. The latter could easily be a prose poem, as it such a great slice of life.

The boardwalk was shutting down,
ferris wheel turned off, so all
that green neon was blinking out
until we saw just beach and waves
rolling in the moonlight.

We crossed the sand, the boards,
then back to the rooming house.
Ricky had the first-floor single
and a motorcycle.
Tristesse graced the New Poems list with a poetic trine. Luna and Loons are clear images, in fact, illustrated poems without actual illustrations. Also, Tess presents an erotic poem with such class, Sunday morning
This arm sinew and black hairs
muscle and tanned skin
lies casually across my hip
from behind
darker for the contrast
the hand falls limp
and open covering me
offering modesty
undulation, is new Lit and shows promise of excellent writing with two short poetic musings: well hidden and in the afterglow
sitting with you in the afterglow
smoking calmly
one of your pretentious clove cigarillos
i watch you inhale
watching me
your hair mussed
and in your eyes
five minutes of quiet
before you smile contentedly
and tell me
we need cat food
Toward A Word submits burning dim, poem right off the Animal Planet tv station or Animal Kingdom program. All meaning, wild and hot beasty stuff.
mostly, he paces

when he sleeps, he dreams of grasslands
crouched in anticipation
whisk of amber fronds
against lean muscular flanks
muscles tensing
the attack
the breathless chase

she comes to visit
to console
to torment
Eleanora Day presents the 5th in her erotic and intimate series with Amante V
Too late to be up, mi dulce.
Too early, with the moon
full in the night, hanging
in blind omniscence. Distant
birdcalls approach. Dawn
stretches in cool mist
to lick the Earth's face clean
~ ~ ~

The Mutt submits Ghosts of Smoke which many will recognize as an excellent set of perfect tens.

~ ~ ~
Albert's Occiput by Middleagepoet, reminds me of my A&P class—I can almost smell the formaldehyde in this vivid poem:
It was there, we all knew it:
the bleached white shined
as if waxed, the black sutures
dividing it excited us even more,
like shadowy passages into gray.

The skull reeked with obnoxious possibility,
silently facing the back wall,
a testament to some ancient genius,
honored out of shear brilliance
to spend eternity on a dusty shelf
Uncle Pervey shares with us a few poems tday, but I thought his non-erotic poem Trucker's Paradise! particularly good—a very fun piece. It reminds me of a scene at my favorite corner Tav (right next to my favorite coffee shop, of course )
They all stop in there for a taste,
They have a little drink or two.
And maybe just a little,
Of companionship too.
Sometimes they will drink too much,
And they'll kid around and tell some lies,
At that little place outside of town,
Called "Trucker's Paradise."
~ ~ ~

That's it folks, there are plenty of poems out there still left to discover so go read, vote, and leave feedback on the New Poems

- neo

Last edited by neonurotic : 07-05-2004 at 02:49 PM.
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Old 07-08-2004, 01:01 AM   #43
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sorry so late

I'm on my way!

the first to catch my eye was violets n' blue by bluerains.

I love the repeating words beginning and ending the stanzas.

Here's a taste
fragrance awakens
forest nymph with
visions of tall pines
and running in the wind
chasing ecstacy
Syndra's smut

Last edited by Syndra Lynn : 07-08-2004 at 01:28 AM.
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Old 07-08-2004, 01:28 AM   #44
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I'm back with reviews

Avatara by the Mutt is a purple poem, but it posted today and I love it.


Mango Tree Memory by Teenage Venus is a tasty and thought provoking treat. I enjoyed it a lot!

Bats swaying, swinging. Singing songs
Of Laden trees. Peach-golden glowing
Spheres of sweetest nectar filled.
Foretelling mellow mango moons.
African Sunday sounds.

denis hale is always interesting, occasionally amazing and never average. Off the 101 Near Rockaway is just damn good.

and that rusted zipperhead,
locked like a swollen
purple tongue
in a zig zag seizure seam
of snarling teeth

sticks out

Those are my picks today. I'll admit my head is in a much different place than when I usually review poetry so perhaps you are surprised by my choices. Perhaps not.

Either way, read all the New Poems , make your own picks, let us know which ones you thought ruled.

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Old 07-08-2004, 09:28 PM   #45
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premature purple posters whoo hooo!

yeah yeah I know it is all my fault but I am glad! I got to read these wonderful poems closely and have the honor of reviewing them in parts!

mountain majesty
by perks ©

Talented Perks takes through "antiseptic hallways" of what I am guessing is a retirement home, and imagines what she would see
So, I closed my eyes and imagined
if I lost myself where would I look
if I couldn?t remember beauty who would remind me
if I was without comfort
what would I want to see?
she brings us a intuitive, empathetic view of the lives of those in near sensory deprivation and brings in the beauty of imagination. This is a beautiful poem, thank you Perks!

Lavendar Spike
by *Catbabe* ©

Man, I want to post the whole poem, it is just so beautiful. I am a minimmalist and I wanted every single of these words exactly where they were, they were all necessary. Within the description were REASONS why this needed to be painted, the message, the story...I felt seduced by the beautiful image that led to thefinal event, to the happening, to the people who lived in this scene so beautifully painted.


From here, I can see,
the willow fronds caress the grass
as the wind plays through the branches,
gold finches flick puddle water with their wings,
and you, laying on our rock, beside the pond,
surrounded, by spikes of lavender.

I am taking this one as a purple poem--

violets'n blue
by bluerains ©

You know, I have never been a fairy or waltzin kind of girl, but this poem gave me reason to think twice. Very lovely images!

memories of
Apalachian lass waltzing under
shades of emerald

~collaboration with my friend John~

Okay so The Mutt scooped me on Tara's hat, I got something for him in purple tomorrow

I might have to roll up the newspaper and swat his wet little nose


(I don't know you to joke like this, but playing honestly I just cannot stop myself)

Mutt has quite an opinion about Ms. Tara's AV and he is not afraid to tell it! Wow some hot stuff here--

For those of you who do not go to the boards, you might need a visual to get the full effect-- go check out Tara's AV to see the inspiration of this cleverly titled poem.

by The Mutt ©

Purple slash
on black fedora,
on my bedroom floor,
tossed at a bedpost,
Is that my shirt?
It never looked so good on me.

Okay I think I missed some purple ones in there whose titles do not seem so purpley. I will go hunting...

Amazing job you guys, I was in awe reading the poems this morning.

Lauren has quite a job!

Today is a good day to read all the
New Poems
comment and vote--

be back in a flash, a purple flash!

I am of no concern. I am a messenger, I do not exist.

Last edited by SeattleRain : 07-12-2004 at 02:11 PM.
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Old 07-08-2004, 09:45 PM   #46
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fawnie has two "dark" poems today, dark magic and dark secrets. I am taking dark secrets as it was a title-- please let me know about the other, okay?

dark secrets
by fawnie ©

you know the first time I read this, I did not even catch all of the titles swirled into this poem! Very tricky! And dreamy.


I have been sighing a lot lately, you darn poets making me all soft and warm inside....


time whistles
content with her musings,
moments well spent
climbing sapphire hills.

crystal gazing,
with violet wing,
and her violet cast shadow,
the purple hawk's view.

Lavendar Trumpet
by Angeline ©

His swans have gone from Coole, flown years away
from splashing to the lake, measuring poet's time,
his prime, the rhythm of that world. Ireland they say
I often say that I respect work because I respect the ability to follow form so beautifully, well this poem I love and respect just because of its beauty, and this almost lightness... I love the line breaks, they made me smile and this poem just made me feel comfortable-- sometimes form poems make me nervuos waiting for the next line repeat to come! Thanks Angeline for another wonderful example.

And PLEASE let me know, anyone, if I missed a purple poem, okay? If I missed yours it means nothing more than I missed it, I will be reviewing every one, they sure deserve it!

I am of no concern. I am a messenger, I do not exist.
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Old 07-09-2004, 03:12 PM   #47
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8th July 2004

Hi, everyone. I'm sorry for keeping you all waiting, for so long, but I've been having a very busy time, with only a few days to go before summer vacation. Anyway, here are my picks out of yesterday's new poems.

There were seventy poems posted yesterday, and this day in particular gave me some perspective about some issues that had been bothering me about this thread.

I heard more than once people complaining about a supposed clique and how you must be in it to get mentioned here. Having been a member of this community for the entire duration of the several incarnations this thread had, I know this isn't true, but the complains made me take a good look at how the reviews and recommendations are being done, and I noticed several patterns:

- the sheer number of poems being recommended has been getting bigger and bigger, to the point that sometimes it feels like there is no reason to make any special mentions; there have been occasions when I call up the recommendations and the complete new poetry list side by side and find little difference, except the complete list is less scary.
- while there is usually a fair number of new (unknown to us) poets being mentioned, most of the recommended poems are by people from within this community;
- hardly any poems by the regulars are not mentioned by the reviewers.

These things were pointed out to me by occasional posters from outside the fold as evidence of the existence of the clique, and did make me wonder about the way the thread evolved during the last year or so; it is never a matter of having to be a part of the group to be mentioned, of course, but I have wondered if being a part of the group doesn't automatically guarantee a mention. That, I have noticed: sub-standard poems by friends getting praise, shifting the balance of the board in a much fluff-esque direction than it once was (and I'm not even going to mention the legendary ruthlessness of UP et al.)

These impressions may very well all be incorrect, but I needed to mention it, so that all reviewers can think about the way they have handled the job and decide by themselves if those who complain have any reason to do it.

OK, I'm saying all this, because I know what some lurkers from outside the fold will think when they see my recommendations. They will see I mentioned a lot of poems (it will seem like a lot, even though they only make up for 25% of the list - 25% still is a lot); they will see that the overwhelming majority of those mentioned are from regular posters here. Yes, there were some poems by regular posters that I did not mention, but most of them I did.

The truth is I am even deliberately harsher when I read poems by people I know, because I'm aware of their potential and am not impressed with the ordinary - even when that same poem could have been praise-worthy if coming from elsewhere.

Still, poems like Taco Bell Don Juan, by neonurotic; mountain majesty, by perks; and angle and view, deja vu, by Maria2394, while not the best these poets have ever written, are simply too artful, poignant and compelling to go by unnoticed.

Angeline is one of those whose work is constantly mentioned, but then again, she is one of those whose work is constantly improving. The two latest are all the proof you'll need: Seaside Midsummer, and

Lavendar Trumpet by Angeline ©

His swans have gone from Coole, flown years away
from splashing to the lake, measuring poet's time,
his prime, the rhythm of that world. Ireland they say

was beauty terrible, a history where sorrow lay
ruined in hearts, bled in the land, bred in his rhyme,
his swans have gone from Coole, flown years away.

Commanding flap, their trumpet fading to the gray,
the purpled mist of dusk or dawn, past tower, chime,
his prime, the rhythm of that world. Ireland they say

wears scars like tarnished jewels that fueled his day
in anguish slouching toward a vision of the crime:
His swans have gone from Coole, flown years away,

loss blown like love and seedlings, nothing but to pray
for daughter and schoolchildren, years that climb,
his prime, the rhythm of that world. Ireland they say

can't heal, but even tattered, aged, he raged in sway
of nation spun into the bone of hills and wild thyme.
His swans have gone from Coole, flown years away,
his prime, the rhythm of that world. Ireland they say.

Two poems that I hesitated to mention were Seduction of sleep, by linger; and another dream deferred, by RisiaSkye. They are both powerful and poignant pieces of writing and justified my recommendation solely by the way they read together.

when the trees are full, by eagleyez, was probably my favourite read of the day, with its dreamscape lightness reminding me of my favourite Iberian and Latin-American poets.

when the trees are full
and thunder heads
push up against the dreamers
bluest ocean,

i wonder if the
lightening of
a bemusing youth
will carry me landward again.


Blamethrower, by Liar, is another of those quick, make-no-prisoners type of poems that people like him, Linbido, denis hale and perks have made me fall in love with. A great read.

Steve Porter also has earned my recommendation with two poems that are unmistakably his, with extraordinary metaphors and well balanced images: i am hiding in the alley, and dharma drunk and desperate.

The award for hottest, most sensual poem of the day would be a tough one to call. I think it would all come down to your dessert plate, by SeattleRain; black satin glove, by SeattleRain; or drinking down the harvest, by SeattleRain (my personal favourite).

Finally, three other poems I thought had huge potential, from three poets I will be keeping a close eye on: reverence, by lipsticksunset1984; lessons with lightning bugs, by Shadowsandflames; The Clairvoyant Commuter, by hippiedude.


One last comment. A friend of mine received messages from at least two people - I don't know who - positive feedback mentioning that her one poem should have been mentioned in this thread.

One thing I cannot and will not accept, and that is the it-should-have-been-mentioned comment. How dare you? This thread exists solely so that good poems may be brought to the attention of us all, and everyone should do their part to keep it running. Designated reviewers exist only to guarantee that there is always someone reading and posting here; they're not the owners of the thread, and you're not stepping on anyone's toes when you post here. You don't need to ask anyone's written permission to do it! If there are poems that weren't mentioned that you think were worthy reads, it's your obligation to post that recommendation.

I know there were a few poems I didn't mention today that, judging by the public comments they received, many of you think I should have. On another day I probably would have.

I expect you to come do them justice.

Have fun, read, write, comment, vote.

Last edited by Lauren Hynde : 07-09-2004 at 04:05 PM.
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Old 07-11-2004, 11:07 AM   #48
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a quick spin July 11

I thought I'd spin through a few and mention those that caught my fancy. I won't touch the purple ones, Seattle!

Tenor Sonnet by the lovely Angeline makes me wish I were a poet.

Something steamy from Dustystar, Gas Station at Sintulata is hot and really well written.

tungtied2u hears Ancient echoes . This is a delightful read!

annaswirls wrote two dimensional twighlight and I appreciated this picture. Really good work!

Awakening by matriarch is indeed one of my favorites today. Mostly because it is good, and partly because my life's recent turmoil is centered on the son I love so much. Thank you for this!

Liar's Opening Night is a scorcher. Go check out Grannie! Very good work.

And that is as far as I have time to go! Others will follow.

Enjoy ALL THE NEW POETRY and let us know what you liked!

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Old 07-11-2004, 11:08 AM   #49
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a quick spin July 11

Impatient girl posted twice, so I'll throw in one more-

Teenage Venus wrote a refreshingly different Love Poem

Enjoy ALL THE NEW POETRY and let us know what you liked!


Last edited by Syndra Lynn : 07-11-2004 at 11:23 AM.
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Old 07-11-2004, 12:25 PM   #50
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Here are some new poems that caught my eye this morning.

The Whisper in My Heart by Gaucho is a great erotic read. There’s a tension created by the tight formatting that gives the poem a good steady power.

Lavender Spike is a great quirky slice of life a la Tristesse. I see Lavender Spike as a punker being stared at by tourists. I’m not sure that’s what you meant, Tess, but it worked for me. Great dialogue, too--that one line personifies the poem.

Mine, re-visited is an excellent poem by RazzRajen. It’s a beautifully constructed contrast of our human reaction to what may seem wrong or ugly and its natural place in the universe. The last line just makes the poem shine, Razz. So nice to read it!

Her Royal Wickedness graces us with a must read
Splendid Cornelia that is quirky and very erotic. This alone should make you rush to read it~

through town,
to fill 'er up

pink slam
their men's room
to the beat of knock.

let him wait.

That’s our Evie.

And speaking of gas station restroom sex Dustystar has a killer of an erotic read in Gas Station at Sintaluta. It has an urgent pace and the most wonderful little details that you won’t want to miss.

more to come. watch this space!

Ok--a few more and then I'm off to cope with--sigh--laundry. Maybe I'll find a poem at the laundromat.

Purple Heart by Randi Grail is a wonderful insightful poem about war and soldiers and the uncanging night sky. It’s just excellent. Read it.

Tungtied2u gives us Ancient Echoes, a gentle remembrance of other times and the ways they embrace us. It’s filled with the most exact delightful detail.

Naughty Neo named his nasty poem (ok it’s great, not nasty lol)
Fashion Plum and fashions a sexy little fantasy. It’s a smoothly constructed erotic read. Try to imagine it in his Cajun drawl.

Read, comment and vote poets! And write some reviews for neo, eh? He's a good boy, he is.

Have a lovely Sunday all.



Last edited by Angeline : 07-11-2004 at 12:48 PM.
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