For Emp

[twelveoone]

Ah Seline, Seline
bytwelveoone©

(Thank you, Keats, you are always an inspiration.)


Right! Over my shoulder, a low cuprous tone
Of Sol's salient demise illuminates blue slide
Of clear unsheltered skies. The moon a scythe of bone.

A gaunt grey matador stands grand before the scorn
Of Venus venom formed, she so transmogrified,
Spawned of sulfurous tome. A wit with razor borne.

Bright star so odious, horns of slivered moon,
In the infirmament of a starless black ovule,
A lone picador goads with dance from Grand Guignol --
Hell on a celestial scale. Spheres play a discordant tune.

Ah Seline, Seline, oh, no Shepard boy, I? I'm
Sick of your red overture, your black sundering air,
Sick of your palaver placed treacherous in time;
O vision paradisaical turned downside. Why care?

Begging you indulgences, this is for the two that think my efforts are so laughable, let them tell me about it, before any other comments.

Go for it emp, specifics, what is it? what patterns are there? what do you see? How is it new?

I got my results. This is for my amusement now.

 

[Epmd607]

Ah Seline, Seline
bytwelveoone©

(Thank you, Keats, you are always an inspiration.)


Right! Over my shoulder, a low cuprous tone
Of Sol's salient demise illuminates blue slide
Of clear unsheltered skies. The moon a scythe of bone.

A gaunt grey matador stands grand before the scorn
Of Venus venom formed, she so transmogrified,
Spawned of sulfurous tome. A wit with razor borne.

Bright star so odious, horns of slivered moon,
In the infirmament of a starless black ovule,
A lone picador goads with dance from Grand Guignol --
Hell on a celestial scale. Spheres play a discordant tune.

Ah Seline, Seline, oh, no Shepard boy, I? I'm
Sick of your red overture, your black sundering air,
Sick of your palaver placed treacherous in time;
O vision paradisaical turned downside. Why care?

Begging you indulgences, this is for the two that think my efforts are so laughable, let them tell me about it, before any other comments.

Go for it emp, specifics, what is it? what patterns are there? what do you see? How is it new?

I got my results. This is for my amusement now.

If his chest had been a mortar...
byEpmd607©

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

byEpmd607©

 

[twelveoone]

If his chest had been a mortar...
byEpmd607©

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

byEpmd607©

well done emp
a pattern of three
I-my-my
what percent of above said "poem" is nothing but posturing? egotism?

Do you really want to fuck with me?

 

[butters]

as long as the two of you keep it 'art', i'm sure there'll be an audience for a bit of mano-e-mano , guy on guy action ...


*whistles*

 

[Epmd607]

well done emp
a pattern of three
I-my-my
what percent of above said "poem" is nothing but posturing? egotism?

Do you really want to fuck with me?

That particular poem was written for my wife. I just thought it fit the situation, you being smitten with me and my words and all.

You're a middling poet who has shown himself incapable of expressing himself clearly in text box. Your one good poem, Undo ki, still isn't better than one of my middling lit submissions, such as:

In the Skirt of Your Everyday
byEpmd607©

In the skirt of your everyday,
I've found myself mumbling,
aberrant quips, and slips
between the breaks and bones
of our warm and homely coze,
to where we may, as you say:
'White-hair and grey the day away.'

byEpmd607©

 

[twelveoone]

That particular poem was written for my wife. I just thought it fit the situation, you being smitten with me and my words and all.

You're a middling poet who has shown himself incapable of expressing himself clearly in text box. Your one good poem, Undo ki, still isn't better than one of my middling lit submissions, such as:

In the Skirt of Your Everyday
byEpmd607©

In the skirt of your everyday,
I've found myself mumbling,
aberrant quips, and slips
between the breaks and bones
of our warm and homely coze,
to where we may, as you say:
'White-hair and grey the day away.'

byEpmd607©

curious lack of specifics, i.e. value judgments, from one who doesn't have much of either.

 

[PhaonsBrother]

curious lack of specifics, i.e. value judgments, from one who doesn't have much of either.

Specifically, the poem you posted above is absolute rubbish due to the lack of originality in tone, voicing, symbolism etc.

 

[butters]

Specifically, the poem you posted above is absolute rubbish due to the lack of originality in tone, voicing, symbolism etc.

the poem 1201 posted 'above' was Epmd's poem

 

[butters]

i have to admit to growing confusion here, chaps.

 

[PhaonsBrother]

the poem 1201 posted 'above' was Epmd's poem

I was referring to this travesty of a first line and stanza:


Right! Over my shoulder, a low cuprous tone
Of Sol's salient demise illuminates blue slide
Of clear unsheltered skies. The moon a scythe of bone.


Cheese factor 8/10

 

[twelveoone]

I was referring to this travesty of a first line and stanza:


Right! Over my shoulder, a low cuprous tone
Of Sol's salient demise illuminates blue slide
Of clear unsheltered skies. The moon a scythe of bone.


Cheese factor 8/10

coming from you, thank you.

how are the bombs going in the cafes?

 

[UnderYourSpell]

do my eyes deceive me or have reinforcements been sent out for in this squabble?

 

[PhaonsBrother]

coming from you, thank you.

how are the bombs going in the cafes?

Brutishly

 

[PhaonsBrother]

Algeria
byPhaonsBrother©

Concerning violence and spontaneity arisen in Duat,
Frantz Fanned the flame, psychiatrically
we two myselfs, fox and hounds,
have schizophrenic grammar, sharks and minnows,
a bomb left in the café,
little blood-shed the lining,
emergency contraceptive drugs



It was a good poem though, wasn't it? So much richer in story and imagery than:

A gaunt grey matador stands grand before the scorn
Of Venus venom formed, she so transmogrified,

I'm actually trans-mortified at your use of such a pedantic and non-poetic word as 'transmogrified'. 'Trans-mortify' meaning a shocked transgendered personage.

 

[twelveoone]

Algeria
byPhaonsBrother©

Concerning violence and spontaneity arisen in Duat,
Frantz Fanned the flame, psychiatrically
we two myselfs, fox and hounds,
have schizophrenic grammar, sharks and minnows,
a bomb left in the café,
little blood-shed the lining,
emergency contraceptive drugs



It was a good poem though, wasn't it? So much richer in story and imagery than:

A gaunt grey matador stands grand before the scorn
Of Venus venom formed, she so transmogrified,

I'm actually trans-mortified at your use of such a pedantic and non-poetic word as 'transmogrified'. 'Trans-mortify' meaning a shocked transgendered personage.

you can talk to John Crowe Ransom about it, otherwise snore

 

[PhaonsBrother]

you can talk to John Crowe Ransom about it, otherwise snore

I thought you were playing the part?

Here's my latest:

Then did they fall upon the chat of victuals and some belly furniture to be snatched at in the very same place. Which purpose was no sooner mentioned, but forthwith began flagons to go, gammons to trot, goblets to fly, great bowls to ting, glasses to ring. Draw, reach, fill, mix, give it me without water. So, my friend, so, whip me off this glass neatly, bring me hither some claret, a full weeping glass till it run over. A cessation and truce with thirst. Ha, thou false fever, wilt thou not be gone? By my figgins, godmother, I cannot as yet enter in the humour of being merry, nor drink so currently as I would. You have catched a cold, gammer? Yea, forsooth, sir. By the belly of Sanct Buff, let us talk of our drink: I never drink but at my hours, like the Pope's mule. And I never drink but in my breviary, like a fair father guardian. Which was first, thirst or drinking? Thirst, for who in the time of innocence would have drunk without being athirst? Nay, sir, it was drinking; for privatio praesupponit habitum. I am learned, you see: Foecundi calices quem non fecere disertum? We poor innocents drink but too much without thirst. Not I truly, who am a sinner, for I never drink without thirst, either present or future. To prevent it, as you know, I drink for the thirst to come. I drink eternally. This is to me an eternity of drinking, and drinking of eternity. Let us sing, let us drink, and tune up our roundelays. Where is my funnel? What, it seems I do not drink but by an attorney? Do you wet yourselves to dry, or do you dry to wet you? Pish, I understand not the rhetoric (theoric, I should say), but I help myself somewhat by the practice. Baste! enough! I sup, I wet, I humect, I moisten my gullet, I drink, and all for fear of dying. Drink always and you shall never die. If I drink not, I am a-ground, dry, gravelled and spent. I am stark dead without drink, and my soul ready to fly into some marsh amongst frogs; the soul never dwells in a dry place, drouth kills it. O you butlers, creators of new forms, make me of no drinker a drinker, a perennity and everlastingness of sprinkling and bedewing me through these my parched and sinewy bowels. He drinks in vain that feels not the pleasure of it. This entereth into my veins,—the pissing tools and urinal vessels shall have nothing of it. I would willingly wash the tripes of the calf which I apparelled this morning. I have pretty well now ballasted my stomach and stuffed my paunch. If the papers of my bonds and bills could drink as well as I do, my creditors would not want for wine when they come to see me, or when they are to make any formal exhibition of their rights to what of me they can demand. This hand of yours spoils your nose. O how many other such will enter here before this go out! What, drink so shallow? It is enough to break both girds and petrel. This is called a cup of dissimulation, or flagonal hypocrisy.

Who am I?

 

[butters]

do my eyes deceive me or have reinforcements been sent out for in this squabble?

there seems to be less pith and more pissing into the wind as far as i'm concerned, annie

somewhere i think there've been bruised egos and grazed metaphors.

I thought you were playing the part?

Here's my latest:

Then did they fall upon the ...

Who am I?

not the soul of brevity, surely?

 

[UnderYourSpell]

there seems to be less pith and more pissing into the wind as far as i'm concerned, annie

somewhere i think there've been bruised egos and grazed metaphors.


not the soul of brevity, surely?

I don't know about you but boredom is setting in very rapidly here, I suggest mixing a large vat of concrete to bury verbal dire rear in a few motorway bridges

 

[butters]

I thought you were playing the part?

Here's my latest:

Then did they fall upon the chat of victuals and some belly furniture to be snatched at in the very same place. Which purpose was no sooner mentioned, but forthwith began flagons to go, gammons to trot, goblets to fly, great bowls to ting, glasses to ring. Draw, reach, fill, mix, give it me without water. So, my friend, so, whip me off this glass neatly, bring me hither some claret, a full weeping glass till it run over. A cessation and truce with thirst. Ha, thou false fever, wilt thou not be gone? By my figgins, godmother, I cannot as yet enter in the humour of being merry, nor drink so currently as I would. You have catched a cold, gammer? Yea, forsooth, sir. By the belly of Sanct Buff, let us talk of our drink: I never drink but at my hours, like the Pope's mule. And I never drink but in my breviary, like a fair father guardian. Which was first, thirst or drinking? Thirst, for who in the time of innocence would have drunk without being athirst? Nay, sir, it was drinking; for privatio praesupponit habitum. I am learned, you see: Foecundi calices quem non fecere disertum? We poor innocents drink but too much without thirst. Not I truly, who am a sinner, for I never drink without thirst, either present or future. To prevent it, as you know, I drink for the thirst to come. I drink eternally. This is to me an eternity of drinking, and drinking of eternity. Let us sing, let us drink, and tune up our roundelays. Where is my funnel? What, it seems I do not drink but by an attorney? Do you wet yourselves to dry, or do you dry to wet you? Pish, I understand not the rhetoric (theoric, I should say), but I help myself somewhat by the practice. Baste! enough! I sup, I wet, I humect, I moisten my gullet, I drink, and all for fear of dying. Drink always and you shall never die. If I drink not, I am a-ground, dry, gravelled and spent. I am stark dead without drink, and my soul ready to fly into some marsh amongst frogs; the soul never dwells in a dry place, drouth kills it. O you butlers, creators of new forms, make me of no drinker a drinker, a perennity and everlastingness of sprinkling and bedewing me through these my parched and sinewy bowels. He drinks in vain that feels not the pleasure of it. This entereth into my veins,—the pissing tools and urinal vessels shall have nothing of it. I would willingly wash the tripes of the calf which I apparelled this morning. I have pretty well now ballasted my stomach and stuffed my paunch. If the papers of my bonds and bills could drink as well as I do, my creditors would not want for wine when they come to see me, or when they are to make any formal exhibition of their rights to what of me they can demand. This hand of yours spoils your nose. O how many other such will enter here before this go out! What, drink so shallow? It is enough to break both girds and petrel. This is called a cup of dissimulation, or flagonal hypocrisy.

Who am I?

the trouble is, PB, in this unbroken block of text any beauty in the wording gets lost - it's a turn-off for most people to read big blocks of flat text on screen.

 

[butters]

I don't know about you but boredom is setting in very rapidly here, I suggest mixing a large vat of concrete to bury verbal dire rear in a few motorway bridges

wit and clever word-use i can handle, even welcome - a forum can be spiced a little to its benefit by the banter of wordsmiths,; after all, words are our tools and creative writing's the best way to use them

BUT

when its only purpose is detrimental as it devolves to name-calling, swaggering bravado and bullshit, then it grows stale fast.

 

[GuiltyPleasure]

Several severe cases of undigested dictionary reflux it seems.

 

[butters]

Several severe cases of undigested dictionary reflux it seems.

it's from Rabelais' Gargantua and Pantagruel - Discourse for Drinkers

but on screen, in block text, it loses value hand over fist.

we were meant to be amused, methinks, but it leaves me wondering which of us fit the names of: the Dukes of Turnbank, Lowbuttock, and Smalltrash, and the Prince of Itches and Viscount Snatchbit

 

[Angeline]

the trouble is, PB, in this unbroken block of text any beauty in the wording gets lost - it's a turn-off for most people to read big blocks of flat text on screen.

He obviously missed the prose poetry is dead, Fred (er thread).

I think I shall start a thread for girls. No pissing contests allowed!

 

[butters]

He obviously missed the prose poetry is dead, Fred (er thread).

I think I shall start a thread for girls. No pissing contests allowed!

clearly *i'm too saxy for my prose, too saxy for my prose, prose prosetry's deh-hed....*

or is it?

bommm bommm bammmmmmm!


who vants a pissing contest anyvays? huh? durtee boys

 

[vrosej10]

He obviously missed the prose poetry is dead, Fred (er thread).

I think I shall start a thread for girls. No pissing contests allowed!

It's getting to the point where they need to whip out and measure. Maybe it's their time of the month?