all of a sudden passion suddenly

[Palba_Noruda]

Smell caption city
captain beef patty

What happens at the
end of the fields?

What happens at the
end of the conversation?

Do you become
uncomfortable?

Do you sit
and chill?

Where does your
mind go during
the silence?

My favorite land
credit card
lunch time

Names are landmarks
Living grave stones

One two three four
Adults understand
money; the child
does not

adults understand
confusion the child
does not

watching and worrying
when did we ever fit?

do generalizations work?
are commands better?
what about narrative?

I didn't even think about
tonight; the bar where
I was propositioned

Gay straight or in between?
You get a free blowjob on
you birthday

Would you ever be
in a foursome with us?

You can understand my
confusion; he said.

 

[Palba_Noruda]

Forget your desk
Conversation happens
with or without you

Thanks for the advice

The banks have been
splashed out in the media
more than usual

So what about you?
Where are you living now?

How many kids?
How old are they?

You're a mama.
Not tonight.

So you dropped
a bomb on him
tonight, huh?

Any second thoughts?
Any last words?
Any emphatic nonsense?

 

[PoetGuy]

Inspired by vrosej10's fine She Wants to be Amy Winehouse:

Kohl

Her poisoned eyes are viscous, her thighs uncommon fair.
Her little drugged walk and her come on talk
Work like Cleopatra's snare.

Her shifting hips are vicious. I long to pull her hair.
It's a little bit gawk and a little bit stalk,
But it's mostly just despair.

 

[Palba_Noruda]

Inspired by vrosej10's fine She Wants to be Amy Winehouse:

She's a cop in a uniform
Eating a sandwich in the shop
Dipping her head toward her bite

Lingering in her look out the window
Chewing that idea: What am I doing here?
All the while the day's scrapes escape her
With her mind leaving her reflection for the opening door

 

[vrosej10]

I am so flattered!

Thanks guys!

This poem was based on something I actually observed walking through my local shopping centre. The wierd thing was i seemed to be the only one who noticed this chick was giving a free porno show.

 

[fridayam]

She's a cop in a uniform
Eating a sandwich in the shop
Dipping her head toward her bite

Lingering in her look out the window
Chewing that idea: What am I doing here?
All the while the day's scrapes escape her
With her mind leaving her reflection for the opening door

It seems unfashionable to say so these days (lol) but I like this. A nice motion capture. Ty

 

[fridayam]

From the Christmas notebook

I.

I know we add up to over a hundred;
that I am the snowy side of grey and you are
artfully dyed;
that we both have more handles than
love can comfortably manage;
that some of love's lexicon
is now Greek to us: but
don't you, like I,
sometimes want to
get a room?

II.

Your talk is like a river in spate
-crushing, churning, heaving
great boulders of thought-
into which I daresn't step.

III.

High Def

I am a close-up,
in your face,
relentless,
tears rolling down my
High Def cheeks,
my pores open for your
delectation: perhaps
you would like to see what
I had for lunch or
what became of it?

 

[twelveoone]

I.

I know we add up to over a hundred;
that I am the snowy side of grey and you are
artfully dyed;
that we both have more handles than
love can comfortably manage;
that some of love's lexicon
is now Greek to us: but
don't you, like I,
sometimes want to
get a room?

II.

Your talk is like a river in spate
-crushing, churning, heaving
great boulders of thought-
into which I daresn't step.

III.

High Def

I am a close-up,
in your face,
relentless,
tears rolling down my
High Def cheeks,
my pores open for your
delectation: perhaps
you would like to see what
I had for lunch or
what became of it?

fabulous, if you don't mind me saying
that we both have more handles than
love can comfortably manage;
these two lines, especially, wonderful sense of humour

your thoughts on the line ends of: are than but to; I can see all going either way except "than"

 

[fridayam]

fabulous, if you don't mind me saying
that we both have more handles than
love can comfortably manage;
these two lines, especially, wonderful sense of humour

your thoughts on the line ends of: are than but to; I can see all going either way except "than"

Thankyou, twelveone, I'm glad you liked the humour--it's depressingly rare in my poetry! As for the line endings, they feel right to me when I say them, as I love to hit the first syllable of the next line.

A poem after all should be a conversation between the way a poet wants it to be said and how the reader hears it (or says it out loud), and the line breaks are a clue to the former and a challenge to the latter

Looking at II again, I'm tempted to move "great" from the start of line 3 to the end of Line 2 for exactly the same reason: breathing!

 

[butters]

I love to hit the first syllable of the next line.

...

Looking at II again, I'm tempted to move "great" from the start of line 3 to the end of Line 2 for exactly the same reason: breathing!

yep, you should do it *nods*

 

[twelveoone]

Thankyou, twelveone, I'm glad you liked the humour--it's depressingly rare in my poetry! As for the line endings, they feel right to me when I say them, as I love to hit the first syllable of the next line.

A poem after all should be a conversation between the way a poet wants it to be said and how the reader hears it (or says it out loud), and the line breaks are a clue to the former and a challenge to the latter

Looking at II again, I'm tempted to move "great" from the start of line 3 to the end of Line 2 for exactly the same reason: breathing!

well, in that case, if you leave off the last line of hi def

you would like to see what
I had for lunch

I think it give more punch
check out line break on 5

http://www.literotica.com/stories/showstory.php?id=332637

 

[fridayam]

well, in that case, if you leave off the last line of hi def

you would like to see what
I had for lunch

I think it give more punch
check out line break on 5

http://www.literotica.com/stories/showstory.php?id=332637

That poem HURTS! It is a different sort of line break to those I'm talking about--though as sharp as hell. Whenever I write, I always hear myself hitting those first words.

And you can't take the last line of High Def away--it's the perfect ending to what our lovely friend Espie (come back Espie!) calls "pissed-off poetry"!

I WILL accept one of your suggestions one day, I promise (and I will go and look at line-endings again).

 

[twelveoone]

That poem HURTS! It is a different sort of line break to those I'm talking about--though as sharp as hell. Whenever I write, I always hear myself hitting those first words.

And you can't take the last line of High Def away--it's the perfect ending to what our lovely friend Espie (come back Espie!) calls "pissed-off poetry"!

I WILL accept one of your suggestions one day, I promise (and I will go and look at line-endings again).

who ya gonna trust? a pissed-off poet
or a comedian?
the last line is anti-climatic

ask chipper she's a poet, havn't seen her pissed yet, but she's funny

Your High Def reminds me of something I wrote - I forget the title where the a jungle science is described and at the end, it has the guy grousing about the thousands of dollars just to watch poisonous frogs fuck.

"It is a different sort of line break to those I'm talking about--though as sharp as hell. " that guy was quite the enjabber

 

[Palba_Noruda]

Declarative Stuff:
A Partial Cento of Several Threads

My bosses' wife ignores me
Whenever she comes into work

Marathon monologue
like a lexicon implant

Leave me alone
like my bosses' wife

Begin better bite

Bicycle criticism
Never got any worse

What's the bicyclist care?

Does he have anything to offer
Besides lust?

Is she so threatened by me?

How does indifference
affect the human organism?

Is it the same as
alienation?

What does the improvised,
the unedited, prove?

Why is there not more
here? Why is there not
more threads for second drafts?

Why does the poetry come
out of dischord?

Does the poetry come
out of dischord?

Why do you break your
lines here. Why do you
break your lines there?

Does it make a difference?

How do the parts you keep hidden
affect you?

How do the parts we keep hidden
affect the conversation on the board?

How does the
outside get in?

What's it do when
it gets there?

 

[PoetGuy]

For Kate McGarrigle

On stage you were thin as an eel,
Swaying with your Cajun squeezebox
Like you were swimming through vibrato
Into a clear and deep pool of art.
When your hair went gray, it fit you
The way a sheath dress shows off
A woman's figure to advantage, not
That you needed an advantage.

I loved you best in French,
That high, nasal tone like a reed
Not cut quite right to fit
Into the mouthpiece, a little sharp
Or harsh or homely, a little like
Coffee and biscuits at 2 AM,
Looking out at the falling snow.

 

[fridayam]

For Kate McGarrigle

On stage you were thin as an eel,
Swaying with your Cajun squeezebox
Like you were swimming through vibrato
Into a clear and deep pool of art.
When your hair went gray, it fit you
The way a sheath dress shows off
A woman's figure to advantage, not
That you needed an advantage.

I loved you best in French,
That high, nasal tone like a reed
Not cut quite right to fit
Into the mouthpiece, a little sharp
Or harsh or homely, a little like
Coffee and biscuits at 2 AM,
Looking out at the falling snow.

I loved this evocation of a wonderful woman, whom I once had the pleasure of meeting (though in trying work circumstances). I agree with you-- I loved her singing in French, and you catch that "high nasal tone" just right. I would love people to listen to her on those two lovely folk tunes on "Dancer with Bruised Knees"-- "Blanche Comme La Neige" and "Perrine Etait Servante": I find them hard to listen to without tears of pleasure and emotion, the way she and her sister pile on the harmonies. This is to say nothing of their original music, which would fill a few pages (though there was a falling off, as there always is).

Nevertheless this is a loving and beautiful portrait in lovely words. Thank you.

 

[fridayam]

For Kate McGarrigle

On stage you were thin as an eel,
Swaying with your Cajun squeezebox
Like you were swimming through vibrato
Into a clear and deep pool of art.
When your hair went gray, it fit you
The way a sheath dress shows off
A woman's figure to advantage, not
That you needed an advantage.

I loved you best in French,
That high, nasal tone like a reed
Not cut quite right to fit
Into the mouthpiece, a little sharp
Or harsh or homely, a little like
Coffee and biscuits at 2 AM,
Looking out at the falling snow.

I was just listening again to "Heart Like a Wheel" (the only song which can reduce me to tears without fail) and I was thinking how much twelveone would love the shrivelling double meaning of the words:-

"It's only love
that can wreak a human being and
turn him inside out....
It's only love, it's only love
and it's only love."

oh to write a lyric like that.

 

[wanting2]

ages ago

Summer-skinned youth
full
wish
be me, to be me
Winter-flushed you
find
want
envy me, enviously
Cracked beginnings
Broken finish
lines
leave, turning
away
toward summer-skinned youthful,
wishful
me

 

[Angeline]

Old Orchard Beach was empty
as our wallets. Chill and rocky
but with a faint scent
of fry-o-later on the winter air,
a promise of Ferris Wheels
and Banana Boats to come
just not for us headed to the heart
of America away from the stony
beach but for that hour we sat
dreaming in a cold car.

I watched the tracks, thinking
of the old Boston to Portland
clacking up the coast
with HoneyFitz that perennial
candidate glad handing strangers
north in the morning then south
in the afternoon I know you
saw your boys in sandy trunks
bringing shells and high pitched
laughter in flicks of cold water
on your sunburnt back, your sad
beautiful eyes lost to another
time and season.

I dreamed my dream
plus yours but made her
faceless, hazy in an ill-fitting suit
for I disallow you any happiness
that doesn’t paint me
into the frame of your
imagination which is really
only mine. I am petty

even as you smile
and take my hand and I
tremble at this love so all
consuming that I cannot
even contemplate your joy
with anyone but me.

 

[PoetGuy]

I can't hear meter; that fucks me up.

I can't hear meter; that fucks me up,
All those accents sweeter than a woodchuck's chuck,
Like a ninja beater swingin' wild nunchucks,
Where a Wal-Mart greeter with a lumpy butt
And a lotus eater chanting drony rut
End up rhyming neater than that Snoop Dogg mutt.
Hey, I can't hear meter; that fucks me up.





Sorry. Poet Guy is giddy from his morning caffeine.

 

[Angeline]

distant chimes like sand
on glassine beach muffled waves
the speech of bells the toll
of time in the toil of rhyme

on glassine beach muffled waves
in wintersong a drifting sign
of time in the toil of rhyme
lapped on the water's edge

in wintersong a drifting sign
the speech of bells the toll
of time in the toil of rhyme
Distant chimes like sand

 

[wanting2]

Poor judgment and bad decisions:
karmic clothing i've bought & sold
thrift store vintage, brand name mass product
covering up
anticipating the day the shit finally hits the fan

 

[Liar]

Ruining a post modernist's lunch

this
is a metaphor
for poetry​

​

 

[SeattleRain]

I am the I in this sentence switching lanes
without a signal. They tell her cross your legs
they tell her shave them first they tell her
hold that stretch for 30 seconds. we
coast. I fill both balloons with my own air
I don't even care if you are watching. All the less
pop and pieces to clean.

MegaPlexxx on the left. I am
the piercing eye, I am the marble truth,
I do not mean to confuse you my love.
You know who You are. Do you know who
"you" is in this sentence. Is it you? Is it
him? Or some sort of universal pronoun to
whom I speak?

We rarely whistle any more. Or wear
hats without occasion. We are the tire splash.
We are the puddle some swerve to avoid and some
turn back around to spray the magic again
and again. Someone dropped a penny in.
Was it you?

 

[Angeline]

to tremble to fall
like a broken leaf
and drift in the wind
of supposition to quake
at the edge of faith
and break the calculus
of conditions as if
a branch were whipped
past reasons as if
a freeze would never
fail as if the ice
could sail through seasons
as if the heart were not
both frail and strong
to break and mend again
in repetition fluttering
like a petal
in the air.