Poet' Choice

[greenmountaineer]

I have a small volume by the same name published in the sixties with well known poets at the time. They submitted a favorite poem to the editors and provided a brief summary. I thought it was very well done, and in some cases added a subtle interpretation I might have otherwise missed. Comments were for the most part concise.

This is Web 1.0 thread I’m suggesting. If members would like to give feedback or ask questions about a favorite submission, I would suggest it be on other threads or through e-mail. If there is interest, there are many talented poets here , and it could be a “cyber book.” If a member doesn’t care for a favorite, he or she can move on and read more submissions or none at all. Perhaps there was an earlier thread like this, but I am unaware of it

This suggestion is a little like opening the door to the banquet room, and no one wants to be first to the buffet table. Because I suggested the thread, I’ll go first.

The Stripper

Beside herself, beside the do’s and don’ts,
She thought of mannequins, put on her smile,
And said again this gig would sure as hell
Buy food for them and so began to dance.

She whirled away the silhouettes, instead
To be her entourage of gentlemen,
And each would ask Milady (as a friend)
To waltz with him along the esplanade.

But silk-like stockings barely tantalize
The gandydancers of ironclad hides,
Reeking of pork and stein. They gird what’s left
Of shame with dollar bills while tits and ass
Turn pirouettes from which eyes shadowed glance
Beyond the girders to heaven itself.

I like this poem because it is a love poem. The 2nd stanza has softer consonants. The 3rd doesn't. But she remains true to what she is doing.

If I were to change one thing, I would not have submitted it as an erotic poem because I don’t think it is.

 

[bflagsst]

I'm not sure I understand what you're asking for. Do you want us to post our favorite poem we've written in this thread?

 

[EroticOrogeny]

I second bflagsst.
I can see a request for poems, bit not sure what your moving on and reading phrase implies.

 

[Epmd607]

I think I understand what he's asking for. Post one of your favorite poems in this thread and maybe say something about it. The thread will represent a collective work of the active poets here. Either way, I want to post one of my poems because I don't think people read 'em anymore.

If his chest had been a mortar...

Some night, I'll sweat
and feel a stricture,
then peel my lip and wonder,
whether you'll frame my pen
or my picture.


---
Most people would assume this is from my perspective and that I think I'm real fancy, but it's not and I don't think I'm that fancy. I wrote this while sitting outside of the university waiting for my wife to get out of her writing class. It's really pretty basic, a previous night my wife was peeling at her lip looking like she was thinking real hard, so I asked her what she was thinking and she just said, "What if no one likes my stories?" It broke my heart a little like Moby Dick breaks Ahab's heart.

 

[greenmountaineer]

I think I understand what he's asking for. Post one of your favorite poems in this thread and maybe say something about it. The thread will represent a collective work of the active poets here. Either way, I want to post one of my poems because I don't think people read 'em anymore.

Correct.

 

[Tzara]

I've been off on the Wrong Coast earning my living this week, but now that I'm back in Harmonia, I'll play:

Apologia Pro Vita Sua
Let us act on what we have, since we have not what we wish.
—John Henry Cardinal Newman

I was drinking too much
again

and thought of how we cannot touch
except through thoughts
painted in large and smeary and garish words
only bits more seemly than those
on your random toilet stall

but sometimes gut
is what you get, what’s correct
and this thing in me that could be love
or roses if it worked out right
has yet to crawl out of the sewer
of my insistent Id

Fuck. I know. But

even Romeo
in some kind of real life
would neither spit nor worry the envious moon
over Juliet’s fair sun

He’d just think about J's cunt​

I picked this poem not because I think it's good, but because I think it's very me—i.e. arch, jokey, juvenile, maudlin, overfond of slant rhyme and/or assonance (thought/cannot/touch, gut/get/correct, crawl/know/Romeo), pretentious, and (thankfully) short. It also ends on a couplet, which is kind of a tic of mine. It is a poem in which I was trying to be honest, à la Anna or Eve, but I am not good at being honest. That probably requires at least some degree of self-knowledge, and my brain only seems to soak up game-show information.

The poem more or less came first and the title attached afterwards, based on the meaning of the phrase apologia pro vita sua ("a defense of one's life"). That also is the title of Cardinal Newman's classic spiritual autobiography, which lead me to poke around the pile of Newman quotes for the epigraph which, I think, fits the poem well.

At least I like it.

I think.

 

[champagne1982]

Noise from the cancer ward

A tiny hand between my two,
Cold from the
Drip
Drip
Drip of killing juice.

My warmth goes out,
Replaced with strength,
That overflows.

Through eyes,
Deeper than an ocean trench,
Fuller than the snowy sky.

My little teacher.

Sleep.
___________________________

Because sometimes it makes me weep.

 

[bflagsst]

(Like a plant climbing toward the light)

I've no self-control
over the way the light hits me,
or its shiver into electricity
when it's your time of day
and I'm bent toward your light
like a plant climbing
hand over fist and open;
you made me happy as I swam
organelle to organelle
and through the seaweed


This poem started in the second grade when we did different experiments with water and light deprivation to a series of potted plants. The one in the closet bent like crazy to try and find the light in the crack of the door. "Hand over fist" just means an open palm extended. It's an anti-war line in a love poem. The last few lines are just surreal exuberance, and I like this poem so much because every time I read it I feel unabashed joy.

 

[bflagsst]

I like the idea of this thread, I hope everyone participates. I enjoy hearing people describe and decipher their own work.

 

[EroticOrogeny]

Birthday Beatitudes (Sobriety Celeb)

We meet monthly to mark milestones,
gather in gratitude with God-given grace.
Stumble in a scarecrow, straw for brains, stuffing spilling out.
Seek solace from similar sufferers who suggest a solution.
Determined to deny that drink, a day at a time.
Whine ‘why me’ – wisdom from winners will work if we want it.
We labor to lose liquor, learn to live and let live.
Faith over fear, find first things first.
Easy does it, decide to try another day.
Memorize our main mantra to mesmerize our mind:
God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,
courage to change the things I can,
and wisdom to know the difference.

My writing has several subjects - lost love laments (often too emotional and/or whiny), love (she really likes them), geopoetry (somewhat obscure), and recovery (probably wouldn't be here without it). Besides here, this has been shared with my AA group and others in our club. One friend suggested I send it to the AA Grapevine magazine - haven;t heard anything - perhaps posting on Lit blocked it (can find under Google - anyone tried googling their real name to see how many hit there are?)

 

[butters]

the shape of the thing


who can tell me
the shape of madness?
what varicose seas drive forth
in tension of the blood;
what sad, voluptuous dreams become
escape from inner voices
as they burn the heretics -
over and over


*


I love how this rolls off my tongue when i read it aloud; whispering works even better. And thankyou, Byron, for your wonderful 'sad, voluptuous dreams'. Written in those darker days of a relationship.

 

[The_Fool]

I don't typically care for anything I have written. If someone finds something they want discussed, I will do so. The comment that I usually make is, once it's written, it belongs to the reader.

 

[bflagsst]

I don't typically care for anything I have written. If someone finds something they want discussed, I will do so. The comment that I usually make is, once it's written, it belongs to the reader.

I was going to ask you about "Legacy Offered In Writing", but I can't access the poem to quote, or any poem right now because something's wrong with the site.

 

[Esperanza_Hidalgo]

A Comment

This is a very enjoyable thread. I hope that you keep on posting your work. A few of us enjoy reading the poems, and reading your thoughts about them. Personally, I like knowing a little about what was going on in the poet's mind as he/she created. Please, continue your efforts.

 

[The_Fool]

I was going to ask you about "Legacy Offered In Writing", but I can't access the poem to quote, or any poem right now because something's wrong with the site.

legacy offered in writing

Legacy offered
Through words scrawled across a screen,
Written deeply in hearts that ache
And shrivel, even though
Watered by silent tears.

Faraway looks
That view the past,
Are blind to the future.

Cherished thoughts and memories
Are the diamonds that sparkle
On red velvet.
Not ready to close the lid
On that jewelry box quite yet.

A cherished voice goes silent.
Except for echoes in my thoughts,
Scribed upon my soul.




Legacy was written as remembrance for Colleen Thomas, a regular in the Author’s Hangout. In a lot of ways, she reminds me of Safe_Bet. Or maybe Safe_Bet reminds me of her. Outspoken in her beliefs, a good writer, a generous person, enjoyed looking at the same girls I did. She passed away May 26, 2006.

So the Legacy offered is the stories, posts and other words that Colly gave us. In an environment such as Lit, sometimes that is all you have. From words, you have loves and hatreds, arguments and trysts, discussions and distractions. Which is a good thing, it keeps us writers in “business.” But losing a voice, losing her words, losing a friend is just as traumatic as if she were your best friend, next door neighbor, long time lover. And since there is no sound to go with the words, how can tears be other than silent?

Diamonds are the metaphor for thoughts and memories, just as valuable. Closing the jewelry box is putting those memories away. Lined in red for the passion in life.

For the last stanza, I think it reads clear. There are some people you never completely forget.


Colleen's profile is here.