Niches and Nooks. Corners and Crannies

[hmmnmm]

cool peppermint cornet
plugged with a mute
tones held, whine
sweaty grapple of unwieldy
valves, taps persistent
find the vein, seize the heart
bathe midnight apricot wine

 

[hmmnmm]

------

 

[hmmnmm]

--------

 

[hmmnmm]

Decorators never formally announce when they’re coming; they storm the fences and spray their blossom incenses in a manner that seems too in tandem with random technique, anything but contemplative considered assessment of cases as they are; we’re shooed indoors; spray paint and varnish fumes spurt all directions; we doodle with dead gold, wait, guzzle sugared mud, and wait, overhear a crow tell a magpie joke; watch a truck turn invisible in the decorator dust; we wait and hack up fictional hawks; but as always they end up showing they know what they’re doing; when they lift the sheets and hardly said boo to anyone, we see cantankerous bulldogs they may be but it’s hard to argue when the virgin snow caps sap away words.

 

[bluerains]

Decorators never formally announce when they’re coming; they storm the fences and spray their blossom incenses in a manner that seems too in tandem with random technique, anything but contemplative considered assessment of cases as they are; we’re shooed indoors; spray paint and varnish fumes spurt all directions; we doodle with dead gold, wait, guzzle sugared mud, and wait, overhear a crow tell a magpie joke; watch a truck turn invisible in the decorator dust; we wait and hack up fictional hawks; but as always they end up showing they know what they’re doing; when they lift the sheets and hardly said boo to anyone, we see cantankerous bulldogs they may be but it’s hard to argue when the virgin snow caps sap away words.

redesign
refracted
contract
cancelled

 

[hmmnmm]

redesign
refracted
contract
cancelled

Corner
clutters
teetering
containers

 

[Angeline]

Corner
clutters
teetering
containers

Books that spill
from shelves and peep
from under the bed, teeter
on tables, clutter rooms
dog-eared, pagemarked
beloved mishmash
my truest friends I'd sooner
lose my right arm

 

[hmmnmm]

Books that spill
from shelves and peep
from under the bed, teeter
on tables, clutter rooms
dog-eared, pagemarked
beloved mishmash
my truest friends I'd sooner
lose my right arm

boxes messy
with pulp
packed roots
and rocks
and dirt clods
sprouts, bulbs, seeds,
fertile, molded,
viable,
all and other

storm scattered chaos
a spiffy sprucer's monstrosity mash
but really,
fun is a a great
big grab bag

 

[champagne1982]

Books that spill
from shelves and peep
from under the bed, teeter
on tables, clutter rooms
dog-eared, pagemarked
beloved mishmash
my truest friends I'd sooner
lose my right arm

A right arm doesn't come so cheap;
the cost in potential
love, future, present; denial
so sharp that waking is pain
enough, at least the mind
can still read.

 

[Angeline]

A right arm doesn't come so cheap;
the cost in potential
love, future, present; denial
so sharp that waking is pain
enough, at least the mind
can still read.

I'm sinistral. Left
handed, two left feet,
southpaw pitcher,
left of center, love leftovers,
last of the tribe, left behind.
It's not such a loss.
Just ask my mother.
I've never been right.

 

[champagne1982]

I'm sinistral. Left
handed, two left feet,
southpaw pitcher,
left of center, love leftovers,
last of the tribe, left behind.
It's not such a loss.
Just ask my mother.
I've never been right.

devil woman!

 

[Angeline]

devil woman!

I had an illustrated poem called I'm Sinistral (not the one I just wrote) that I was gonna post, but I couldn't find it. I think it must have been on that disc I lost. But I had to answer you.

 

[hmmnmm]

southern
cookin'
knittin'
and overall ways

 

[bluerains]

southern
cookin'
knittin'
and overall ways

left behind
knittin
but cookin
I still maintain my
apron

 

[hmmnmm]

Kitchens offer
such rich
bounties
in poetic device
equipage:

 

[bluerains]

Kitchens offer
such rich
bounties
in poetic device
equipage:

convection
is fast
oven too much
for small portions
microvave
empty calories...

 

[UnderYourSpell]

I'm sinistral. Left
handed, two left feet,
southpaw pitcher,
left of center, love leftovers,
last of the tribe, left behind.
It's not such a loss.
Just ask my mother.
I've never been right.

cack handed

 

[Angeline]

cack handed

*coffeespew*

 

[hmmnmm]

This is not poetry.
But I've noticed something. More than once I've witnessed an image in real life, real time, a moment that captured. I tend to do two things, or try to do them: one, I'll try to just savor it for what it is. But then I can't help thinking that's a poem begging to be made, or even a decoration in a prose thing, or prose poetry. But you know it isn't ready. You can see it plain now as then, and you don't want to lose it. Yet it seems like you know if you try to sketch it out it will be nothing near what you see or remember seeing or somehow sensing. Sometimes you try anyway and maybe even present the results. But they always seem too hasty or green or premature. It's hard to sometimes manage because ideas that are new and exciting, you want to jump on, but they are maybe sometimes best to stow away in the corner shed, let them cure. Meanwhile some of those that have been curing for a few years: maybe they are ready now.

One of the good news/bad news splits of posting on Lit. It becomes so tempting and it is made easy to present stuff you know is not really ready. It's green and young and tinny. Try to exert some discipline. Discipline! Don't rush it. Set it aside. Come back. But it seems the over-eagerness always wins. Maybe there's no real hope?

It's very frustrating, habitually doing what you know you ought not. Knowing you can do better but settling for incomplete mediocrity, then not caring you're only doing incomplete mediocrity, until the storm is over and all around you are only useless scraps of incomplete mediocrity.

 

[champagne1982]

and then you edit.

 

[hmmnmm]

and then you edit.

and if you're left with two words?

 

[champagne1982]

and if you're left with two words?

Then you really didn't need to say it?

Even during an edit you should still have a clear vision of what you want to impart to your reader, put it all on ice until you're ready to warm to the task.

 

[hmmnmm]

Then you really didn't need to say it?

Even during an edit you should still have a clear vision of what you want to impart to your reader, put it all on ice until you're ready to warm to the task.

Went out for a morning walk. It was an all but audible inner voice, said, "you should slow down." It took a conscious effort to do that, walk slower, savor each step. Out of sheer habit, the feet wanted to go fast like usual. Ice. Good idea. Ice. A trip to the mountain top.

 

[champagne1982]

Went out for a morning walk. It was an all but audible inner voice, said, "you should slow down." It took a conscious effort to do that, walk slower, savor each step. Out of sheer habit, the feet wanted to go fast like usual. Ice. Good idea. Ice. A trip to the mountain top.

You could always set the little poetic flakes free inside a critique thread on the forum. This allows you to present work to a more discerning gathering of readers... A pod, a herd or maybe a heard of poets? Anyway, you can showcase a piece and satisfy the post-in-haste bug that has you by the shorts and still edit at leisure.

The beauty of a mountain top visit is that if you take your skis your feet will go fast on the way home -- without taking many steps at all.

wheeeeeeeeeee!

 

[hmmnmm]

You could always set the little poetic flakes free inside a critique thread on the forum. This allows you to present work to a more discerning gathering of readers... A pod, a herd or maybe a heard of poets? Anyway, you can showcase a piece and satisfy the post-in-haste bug that has you by the shorts and still edit at leisure.

The beauty of a mountain top visit is that if you take your skis your feet will go fast on the way home -- without taking many steps at all.

wheeeeeeeeeee!

I think I you.