Old 10-13-2006, 08:14 PM   #51
Tzara
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Quote:
Originally Posted by bogusbrig
Jennifer lopez's butt is elevated
without the help of superstructure
which fascinated the mind
of the intellectual Mr Tzara
who spent the afternoon on computer analysis
calibrating the curve
and evaluating her suspension
while the bottom fell out
of the New York stock market.
Ah, Brigster! You make me laugh.

Are you really in Amsterdam? I loved Amsterdam. Rotterdam had a great art museum and I loved the sculptures. I thought the "Walk of Fame" was really funny.
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Last edited by Tzara : 10-13-2006 at 08:24 PM. Reason: Punctuation, as usual.
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Old 10-14-2006, 01:20 AM   #52
clutching_calliope
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Delias Eucharis

She is not a disease. Invasion
by persuasion, tubular inversions,
central manifestations

...............
upon the host. She is not palatable
but still he flickers, hoping for a suddenness
in her reaction. She will not

be swayed.
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Old 10-14-2006, 01:45 AM   #53
clutching_calliope
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Proboscis

searches my mouth
and tickles
my throat
with this muffled
bliss.
tangled
we are indeed,

in a jungle from which we choose
no path out. sustain me
with the milky ambrosia
of you

so that by feeding,
we remain hungry.
angry proboscis,
take your red rage out

on me. bring
the welt of your task
to bear
on the scar
of my middle being. sink

it deep and long
and raise
my blood
to surface.

lick me,
kiss me,
become me,
dear proboscis,

and together
we taste life.

i love you, b.

Last edited by clutching_calliope : 10-14-2006 at 01:47 AM.
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Old 10-14-2006, 05:05 AM   #54
bogusbrig
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Quote:
Originally Posted by Tzara
Are you really in Amsterdam? I loved Amsterdam. Rotterdam had a great art museum and I loved the sculptures. I thought the "Walk of Fame" was really funny.
Sadly only temporarily through the week (but I shouldn't say that in front of Rotterdamers), I'll be back in Rotterdam soon enough.

Aah, the walk of fame, hardly Hollywood is it. I go to a bar near there regularly called Zen, the owner is the most beautiful petite Chineese woman you have ever seen (I'm drooling at the thought).

Did you see the fifteen foot santa with a six foot butt plug? The pride of Rotterdam.
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Old 10-14-2006, 06:44 AM   #55
bogusbrig
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Quote:
Originally Posted by clutching_calliope
searches my mouth
and tickles
my throat
with this muffled
bliss.
tangled
we are indeed,

in a jungle from which we choose
no path out. sustain me
with the milky ambrosia
of you

so that by feeding,
we remain hungry.
angry proboscis,
take your red rage out

on me. bring
the welt of your task
to bear
on the scar
of my middle being. sink

it deep and long
and raise
my blood
to surface.

lick me,
kiss me,
become me,
dear proboscis,

and together
we taste life.

i love you, b.
I was falling for this poem but lick me,/kiss me,/become me, just became to much of a Lit poem.

I would also rethink the word bliss and milky ambrosia .

Robert Graves wrote a good poem about an erection but I can't for the life of me think what it's called.
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Old 10-14-2006, 08:01 AM   #56
Tzara
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Quote:
Originally Posted by bogusbrig
Sadly only temporarily through the week (but I shouldn't say that in front of Rotterdamers), I'll be back in Rotterdam soon enough.

Aah, the walk of fame, hardly Hollywood is it. I go to a bar near there regularly called Zen, the owner is the most beautiful petite Chineese woman you have ever seen (I'm drooling at the thought).

Did you see the fifteen foot santa with a six foot butt plug? The pride of Rotterdam.
Yeah, I did. I thought it looked like an oversized garden gnome, but now I'm stuck with that butt plug thought in my head.

If I remember correctly, it is by some guy from my neck of the woods.

There's some great art in that museum. It's a lovely building, too.
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The how of painting has always been the image's end-product.

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Old 10-14-2006, 06:07 PM   #57
Tzara
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My Neighbor's Macbeth Tree

From my window, I see
its multitudinous leaves incarnadine,
turning the green ones red.
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The how of painting has always been the image's end-product.

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Old 10-14-2006, 09:51 PM   #58
Tzara
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Inequality

I cannot touch your words.
I touch paper. I touch glass.

But, oddly, when reversed,
your words touch me, and have.
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The how of painting has always been the image's end-product.

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Old 10-16-2006, 03:23 PM   #59
clutching_calliope
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Voyeurism

If no one else

saw,
still
I would exhibit
my love for you.
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Old 10-16-2006, 07:24 PM   #60
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round the back against the market stalls
with a girl who didn't understand
love could be more than groping hands
the lonely walk home through empty streets
through the bleak barren psychology
of cold post coital depression
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Old 10-16-2006, 07:31 PM   #61
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taking the long way home
past the railway cutting
I would tell her I loved her
if only for the day
life was like that
a discount store
you took what was in stock
and hoped to leave with change



(I'll add a bit of depression to this thread one way or the other )
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Old 10-16-2006, 09:35 PM   #62
Tzara
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Prayer

Do not look at my hands.
They hold my feelings,
my offering to you, O placid goddess.

I have only hands,
and if your fury smites them,
so even then I'm left without my hands.

I want my hands.
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The how of painting has always been the image's end-product.

óRobert Ryman
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Old 10-17-2006, 08:14 AM   #63
annaswirls
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my husband straps up the leaning garage

with yellow webbing attached it is a matter
of simple geometry
he tightens the ratchet
shakes the cedar
assures me the lizard tail
that falls from the frame
has been there for years

metal props
and wooden wedges hold straight the structure
for now, and please tell me something baby
tell me something
do you not notice how far into this backbend madness
I have stretched while their words and fingers unfasten
latch and hinge? I loosen until the ends of my hair sweep the ground
and let everyone take their shot at satisfaction

do you not notice my angles widening
or have you learned how gravity of indescretion
always bends me closer to you

maybe you want to watch me fall,
weathered, splintered
seasons of empty pecan shells falling from my attic
dead lizard tails pinched between my joints
because then no one would judge you
for building something new
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Last edited by annaswirls : 10-17-2006 at 11:12 AM.
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Old 10-17-2006, 08:18 AM   #64
RhymeFairy
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Quote:
Originally Posted by Tzara
Prayer

Do not look at my hands.
They hold my feelings,
my offering to you, O placid goddess.

I have only hands,
and if your fury smites them,
so even then I'm left without my hands.

I want my hands.
this.

I read this yesterday and had to come back. Lovin' it ~

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Old 10-17-2006, 02:17 PM   #65
Sara Crewe
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workin' on this...

When I sit down to write the room looks empty
and my desk appears clean. The dog warms
my feet like a snoring slipper and doesnít notice
when the keyboard unlocks the door. People wander

in until thereís a crowd. Some chat
about the weather but all conversations blow
back to me like itís my wake without the ease
of being dead. At midnight the wood is ash
and lightís last call reminds me to say goodnight
to my guests. When I save my words

my mom points out two spelling mistakes,
the man from down the road whistles
by the window and my children
are dancing on my desk. Dad doesn't
speak but his hand on my shoulder
tells me it's time to go to bed
that even ghosts need to sleep.
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Old 10-17-2006, 02:27 PM   #66
Sara Crewe
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And this one too...

One goose searches the broken stalks
of corn, looking for food in the empty
field. Heís early and spring has not pulled
the sheets and covers from his home.

Where is the rest of his v? Is he lonely?

She asks good questions but the answers
are never easy. I shift with tides of truth
and compassion, drifting in the indecision
that arrived when her little fingers touched
my mouth in our first kiss. Do I tell her
not to impose human emotion on animals
or say that maybe the goosie needed time

alone. I offer middle ground and note
that he looks content to munch on freeze-dried
kernels and rest his wings from flight.

When I look back at her thoughtful face
I wonder when she started
doing her own ponytail in the morning.
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Old 10-17-2006, 03:39 PM   #67
clutching_calliope
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Monotony, Monogamy

Discovery fresh a fancy at first,
then burden of keeping up the faÁade.
ĎI love youísí stale quicker than salted thirst;
instead of flight, time is measuring rod.
I put our love in an old cigar box,
your whispers sealed in a cracked jelly jar.
I threw away my watch, picked up your socks,
thought how monogamy is so bizarre.
Because we need a place to go home to
or a pillow to rest our heads? Tell me
itís more than simple reliance. This view
wasnít built for two, these dreams, this housekey.
There were plans I made and readjusted;
signs I drew ĎGet freedom or get busted.í
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Old 10-17-2006, 09:23 PM   #68
Tzara
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Quote:
Originally Posted by WickedEve
Besides, clunkity is in the mind of the reader.
Clunkity

This poem
can't seem to

get started, it mis-
fires a
lot and, shit, now

is out of gas.
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The how of painting has always been the image's end-product.

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Old 10-19-2006, 11:02 AM   #69
Sara Crewe
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Come Here Go Away

This looks like an invitation to know me,
to come inside my head and make yourself at home
but you wonít learn much between sips
of coffee, sitting on the good couch
thatís reserved for company. Donít ask

about the plastic covers, I can't decide
if they protect you or me so I pretend
they arenít really there and ignore
the persistent crinkle. The dust bunnies
have all been caged and my clutter
is hidden from your curiosity in closets.
Even the stacks of books that usually grow
from my floors like literary trees
have been cut and stacked on shelves.
Their spines face the dark to hide
titles that might hint at the pages
between my cover. I need you to go
as soon as you want to stay and tell you it was nice
to see you again as I push you out the door.

When it closes I am sorry for your confusion
but never enough to let you back in
even though I can already feel the swarm
and stings of unwanted solitude. I watch
you walk away from a window and wonder
why itís better to be safe and all alone.
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Old 10-19-2006, 12:30 PM   #70
Sara Crewe
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Glass Slippers

If you spent just one day with me every second
would be filled with the wonder of a scientist
studying his newly discovered species. My flaws
would be painted with rainbow brushes
and coloured by the bias in your eyes
until they were perfection. Impatience
into eagerness and stubbornness into determination.
Freckles would be noted for tracing
with your tongue, an inviting dot to dot
connected to form a picture of beauty.
Falling hair would be seductive not sloppy
and your fingers would feel like a kiss
when they tucked the stands behind my ear.
Incessant chatter would be an excuse
to find a way to keep me quiet and talk
to me in a language I have never heard or felt.
I think you could make me believe
that even humans can evolve into angels
if itís just for one day.

But it doesnít make me sad to think
of being your Cinderella without the ever after.
Magic is always a limited time offer
best stored in the darkness of memory
to keep it fresh. Sometimes you have to be content
to have a special pair of see-through shoes
in your closet that make you smile
whenever you try them on and remember.
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Old 10-19-2006, 12:47 PM   #71
vampiredust
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They just go where they go

I have only seen flying foxes
on TV, watched their skin
stretched like sails between

fingers, every pad tacking
against the wind as they
leap from tree to tree

ignoring shots and cameras.
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Old 10-20-2006, 12:38 PM   #72
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Spiderwebs are made of spit

my Uncle used to say. Watching
one in the corner of my grandparents
balcony I used to think it was true

hanging precariously towards the terracotta
floor i used to think it would fall and dry up
in trhe sunlight or gett eaten by one of
the cats that we would adopt every summer

it never occured to me that there was
something underneath the bonds that built
its sticky rope ,there was always something
else there not this seemingly simple design

that was a bridge between point a and point
b, a trap for both humans and flies. And then
for a second I would be caught in a spiders'
jaws and see the earth as it truly was.
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Old 10-20-2006, 10:25 PM   #73
Tzara
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KlŁfer

as a palm prick,
light but savage
to your hand.
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The how of painting has always been the image's end-product.

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Old 10-20-2006, 10:37 PM   #74
annaswirls
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Quote:
Originally Posted by Tzara
KlŁfer

as a palm prick,
light but savage
to your hand.

wanted to say I have been enjoying the short poems you have been putting out lately, many of them are like a needle prick, perfect.

http://besidethewhitechickens.com/submissions1.htm

they would love them too, if you are interetsed in sharing
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Old 10-20-2006, 11:15 PM   #75
Sara Crewe
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There is never a sign on the door
to warn me that you have stepped out
for a moment or any promissory note
to say youíll be back in five
that you only went for coffee
and maybe something sweet. I never know
why you leave and I canít ask
because you think I donít notice
youíve gone again and left
your body to hold your place
like being with me requires nothing
more than standing in the way
of the elevator door so it wonít close
before I get on. You think I should be grateful
that you always leave a piece of you
with me like a bookmark to save
your spot in our lives and to remind
you when you come back of my name
or at least to call me baby
if there is ever any doubt but I never believed
that love had anything to do with convenience.
and I canít live with a little bit of you.
Itís like trying to drink life through a straw
but all thatís left are the drops at the bottom
of the glass so thereís lots of noise
but still I am thirsty. Next time you need
to give away what I thought was mine
let me know. Iíll pack a suitcase and be the one
to go because each time you leave me I am less
than who I was when you come home
and I donít want to be here
when thereís nothing left.
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