Old 07-16-2009, 02:51 PM   #26
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week 1, poem 2

undercover agents


when I checked out his pen
it seemed out of ink
so i started to twist
screwing its barrel

he took it from me
warned me it might expel
spill unexpectedly
said he didn't want stains
on the shag pile

no, really, he said
don't shake it that way
it'll squirt up the walls
let everone know we were spies

suck it and see
see if it will leak
invisible ink
we can write with

trust me
he said
my word is my bond
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Old 07-18-2009, 12:01 PM   #27
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Wonderful start, chipbutty. Ok, you have inspired me. I'll jump back in.
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Old 07-18-2009, 12:58 PM   #28
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Week 3, Poem 1

It is too sudden, isn't it, to begin
a poem with During my breast exam . . .
so I'll begin with shadow napping in the hollow
of my raised arm and the realization
that you haven't kissed me there
yet. I do not doubt the whisper
brush of lips against the rise
that I can already feel in the pulse
of your name in my mouth. I twine
myself around its sleekest consonant
and hang in the sling of its roundest vowel.
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Old 07-18-2009, 01:56 PM   #29
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Quote:
Originally Posted by PandoraGlitters View Post
Week 3, Poem 1

It is too sudden, isn't it, to begin
a poem with During my breast exam . . .
so I'll begin with shadow napping in the hollow
of my raised arm and the realization
that you haven't kissed me there
yet. I do not doubt the whisper
brush of lips against the rise
that I can already feel in the pulse
of your name in my mouth. I twine
myself around its sleekest consonant
and hang in the sling of its roundest vowel.
good god, that's lovely
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Old 07-18-2009, 02:17 PM   #30
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week 1 poem 3 - still bond-ing

some
thing about bad boys
keeps her attention
eyes liquid green
a purr in her throat

their
minds, their presence
devilish intentions
keeps her claws sheathed
paws butter-soft

she
slips from the table
stalks the red carpet
hair sleek and shining
a collar of gems

sniffs
at his bare throat
the man with the blue eyes
and with a soft growl
pours into his lap
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Old 07-20-2009, 05:48 AM   #31
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Quote:
Originally Posted by chipbutty View Post
good god, that's lovely
Thanks. It's a pleasure to write with you this week. I'm enjoying reading your poems as well.
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Old 07-20-2009, 06:16 AM   #32
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Week 3, Poem 2

Bathers

Rich bathers and poor
sun on the hem of the big
blue Pacific, laced with shine.
Elbows rise from the water,
making the near-sighted squint
after possible sharks but it is only
swimmers razoring azure silk
in the fringes of the reason,
the real reason, we are here.

There in the indigo shadows,
beneath our kicking feet,
is the pull and push of Night's
lonely sky, open mouthed
with a pebble of bright in her lips.
We flirt with the Moon,
cheating the Sun
with 30 SPF.

Last edited by PandoraGlitters : 07-21-2009 at 04:57 PM.
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Old 07-20-2009, 09:36 PM   #33
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1 (1)

Sonnet, for My Ilsa in the East
You know who you are. Or should.

We've kissed, though we've not kissed. For lips can play
Imagination streams as well as mind.
To say I have not kissed you takes away
Your touch, but not lip's feeling left behind.
For more than physicality is Love,
Though Thought affects the Physical as welló
A postulate impossible to prove
To fingertips that cannot smooth the swell
Envisioned of your loosed and languid breasts.
No psychic, I, nor any kind of seer;
Just lover. One who's distant, not bereft,
For while I can imagine you, you're here.

...No kiss is still just kiss, when played again.
...Why Paris never needs to be explained.



.
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Old 07-21-2009, 02:56 AM   #34
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Pushkine, wonderful start. I look forward to reading more of your poems. Thank you for joining us.
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Old 07-21-2009, 03:36 PM   #35
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1 (2)

Romantic Comedy

No pleasure-dome of Kubla Khan
May I here offer you, my swan,
Just some old couch, the beat-up kind,
A rather iffy glass of wine,
Old movies that go on too long.

Not much to build a love upon,
I know. I get these things all wrong,
For you deserve a place divine—
A pleasure-dome.

I'm no great lover, no Don Juan,
But love I have. That love you've won.
So let us on my couch entwine,
On grapes and crackers let us dine,
Luxuriant in this salon,
Our pleasure-dome.



.

Last edited by pushkine : 07-21-2009 at 03:49 PM.
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Old 07-21-2009, 11:04 PM   #36
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1 (3)

At the Palazzo Malipiero
In spite of his young age, he began his successful social life in these very rooms.

These are the rooms where he learned love.
Here Casanova honed his art.
I just don't have Venetian groove.

It's like my charm's sheathed in a glove,
That I've just artificial heart.
These rooms are where that he learned love.

You know I love you. Can I prove
(At least with other body parts?)
That missing that Venetian groove

I am still guy whom you'll enthuse
As clever, caring, really smart?
(I am in rooms where he learned love.)

You'd think that here I might improve
Upon my fumbling, tender art,
But I don't have Venetian grooveó

The only thing I have is love.
A clunky thing, a broken part
That litters rooms where C. learned love.
Forgive my un-Venetian groove.



.
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Old 07-22-2009, 03:32 PM   #37
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Week 3, Poem 3

double double post post

Last edited by PandoraGlitters : 07-22-2009 at 07:55 PM.
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Old 07-22-2009, 03:54 PM   #38
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Week 3, Poem 3

I've never had a ballroom class
but tapped in black, Castilian shoes.
I've tiptoed over broken glass

and Tarantella'd in the grass
until the sky and I were bruised.
I've never had a ballroom class,

but watched while polishing the brass
the dip and swirl. I beg, excuse:
I've tiptoed over broken glass

barefooted. Pulled to an impasse
against your chest, I beg the muse
(who's surely had a ballroom class

and knows each one's atomic mass)
to twine reptends into a fuse
invulnerable to broken glass.

These pristine limbs starkly contrast
to mosh pit knees blued with abuse.
I've never had a ballroom class;
I've tiptoed over broken glass.

Last edited by PandoraGlitters : 07-22-2009 at 07:52 PM. Reason: switched tangoing for pristine.
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Old 07-22-2009, 07:46 PM   #39
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Quote:
Originally Posted by PandoraGlitters View Post
I've never had a ballroom class
but tapped in black, Castilian shoes.
I've tiptoed over broken glass. . .
Elegant and excellent, Ms. G.
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Old 07-22-2009, 07:51 PM   #40
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1 (4)

Y

Know I am never subtle in my love
For subtlety requires masking needs
That I canít master, let alone disguise.
My heart is always speaking through my eyes.

No, I am never subtle in my love.
Nor could I, if I wanted to, deceive.
Iím artless on a stage of any sizeó
So, yes, I have been staring at your thighs.



And they are a fine subject for staring. Just a comment.
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Old 07-23-2009, 01:29 PM   #41
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Quote:
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Elegant and excellent, Ms. G.
Thank you, Mr. Pushkine. I've been enjoying yours quite a lot as well. I think your groove is just fine, Venetian or not.
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Old 07-23-2009, 01:51 PM   #42
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Week 3, Poem 4

Idle hands, they say, find devilish work
but I do not believe it. Frustration and futility
are what bring my hands to squeeze
imagined necks of phone tree designers
and web site masters whose jobs seem
chiefly to be the prevention of access
to actual human beings. Probably because
they, too, know the system's failings are their
failings and the resulting brutal impulses. Maybe
everyone is online and can't answer the phone,
and maybe I shouldn't blame them. After all, I'm
here too, but the difference is
I'm not getting paid for it.

(Oy! This is a pile of crap. I'll try to write something better in this box later. )

Last edited by PandoraGlitters : 07-23-2009 at 02:41 PM.
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Old 07-23-2009, 01:55 PM   #43
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Captain o my captain

Lap Steel askew,
Machines hum like a hive of bees in the wall,
Notebooks, soupbowls- a room like a Chagall,
With topography and blues and blacks arranged
Behind the frontloaded vision.

Feignt banjo,
Crabbapples in time.
The blacktop rolls away
Like darjeeling as up drums
A kneecap and a nail
Driven in metronomes,
And bells jingle
The snoring stringman,
3 chords awake on a
freightwhistle track.


clouds, running upriver,
barely maiking time.
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Old 07-23-2009, 08:19 PM   #44
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Wow, Ee, that was amazing imagery. So much poem with only one person and he's part of the still life! Wonderful to see you writing this week.
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Old 07-24-2009, 09:31 AM   #45
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thanks!

Ange has taken a shine to that "other world," and she mentions you fondly very often.

I like to write still life-with motion.
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Old 07-25-2009, 10:55 AM   #46
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Week 3, Poem 5

It was wonderful, Ee. And you do have a pretty awesome Mrs.


Flood isn't natural on this bright summer
day walking up into more and more hot
concrete, so I know there will be some sort
of shenanigans and sure enough the open
hydrant, the wheel of children cycling into it,
and the spray edged in small rainbow.

I do not let myself think about wasted water,
censoring any blaming thought about
these kids for wanting relief, but it's not easy.
It has been a cool summer and perhaps
the hydrant was tapped out of boredom
more than heat exposure; even so they should

have some sort of pool to bathe in, some sort
of mud pie, or urban equivalent, that can turn
into gold in their hands. This is when every
story in my head begins with "When I
was a child . . . "
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Old 07-26-2009, 09:41 AM   #47
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oh, some beauties here. sorry I got all behind. 4 more to come, asap.
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Old 07-26-2009, 10:07 AM   #48
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having spilled all the beans,

why does the villain
of the piece always walk
away from the action?

if it wasn't for this
deliberate act
of negligence

would the master of sleuth
suave armed intelligence
ever escape?

villains are susceptible too

just like us
they really want the hero
to die another day

Last edited by chipbutty : 07-26-2009 at 10:09 AM. Reason: poem 4, week 1, bond-themed
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Old 07-26-2009, 12:40 PM   #49
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Quote:
Originally Posted by chipbutty View Post
oh, some beauties here. sorry I got all behind. 4 more to come, asap.
Great to see you back, chipbutty. The 7 days isn't written in stone. Just write 7 poems asap and we'll be very pleased. Great go on the last one, too. I suspect you'll have a few worth editing after this 7.

And yes, I agree! Wonderful writing by Pushkine and Eagleyez.
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Old 07-26-2009, 01:00 PM   #50
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Week 3, Poem 6

No one looks up, walking home
on Sunday morning because eyes
are dangerous mirrors. Church
goers stare to heaven, petitioning
for grace to endure the sallow ghosts
of Saturday night floating down sidewalks
banking streams of beer and gasoline--
all headed to some place for treatment,
for recovery, for salvation.

Last edited by PandoraGlitters : 07-27-2009 at 11:40 AM.
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