My 10,000th Post

[Angeline]

Think I've been here too long?

I have 9 posts to go to get to 10,000.

This is my first vanity thread since I came here damnit (well arguably not, but I think so), and most of my almost 10,000 posts have been in this forum.

I'm putting my poems in this thread. Write one or put your favorites of yours here, too, please. I wanna celebrate poetry and make my endless rattling here seem meaningful.

 

[Lauren Hynde]

Before Brinnie arrives to call you a post whore, I'll present you with a timeless piece of poetry in honour of moments such as this:


Sonnet Sluts

I do remember those dear sonnet sluts:
Insatiable in their stern fervent lust,
Demanding penetration, one heavy thrust,
Repeatedly plunged, in their pussies or butts
So indiscriminate they were, the two:
Let any ol' sonnet have its way with them!
No matter how bad, they would never condemn
A well hung sonnet that they'd rather screw.
Remember seeing them, one sunny day,

With sonnet juice all over their smiling faces?
Two cuddled girls, in the park, of all places
Six, seven sonnets, worn out from the play
- That's why I ask, with yearn, but also fear(!):
- Where are those sonnet sluts of yesteryear?


Congratulations, Ange!

 

[WickedEve]

Think I've been here too long?

I have 9 posts to go to get to 10,000.

This is my first vanity thread since I came here damnit (well arguably not, but I think so), and most of my almost 10,000 posts have been in this forum.

I'm putting my poems in this thread. Write one or put your favorites of yours here, too, please. I wanna celebrate poetry and make my endless rattling here seem meaningful.

10,000 and each one has been so freaking long! We have these one and two word posts by newbies and they have 50,000 posts in 3 days. You silly girl. You should have spread all that talk out. You have more posts than I do and I've been here longer. See? I'm not a jabber butt.

 

[Guest]

"On the eve of the Second World War,
34 percent of Lodz was Jewish.

Only 12 were mine."

from Lodz by Angeline

yes... i purposely misunderstood what you meant by 'your' favorites.

 

[Angeline]

Before Brinnie arrives to call you a post whore, I'll present you with a timeless piece of poetry in honour of moments such as this:


Sonnet Sluts

I do remember those dear sonnet sluts:
Insatiable in their stern fervent lust,
Demanding penetration, one heavy thrust,
Repeatedly plunged, in their pussies or butts
So indiscriminate they were, the two:
Let any ol' sonnet have its way with them!
No matter how bad, they would never condemn
A well hung sonnet that they'd rather screw.
Remember seeing them, one sunny day,

With sonnet juice all over their smiling faces?
Two cuddled girls, in the park, of all places
Six, seven sonnets, worn out from the play
- That's why I ask, with yearn, but also fear(!):
- Where are those sonnet sluts of yesteryear?


Congratulations, Ange!

I am a poetry posting slut...a word slut as you know.

One good sonnet deserves another!

Tenor Sonnet

Plaintive tenor man, oh why must you be
so mean to me baby? Must your sound lilt,
whisper hollow and insistent as though
every star tumbled from the sky, spilt
in measures coaxed to pour out from a bell?
Your breath to my soul, harmony in blues,
and you a ghost that casts me in a spell
of pain and past and nothing left to lose.
Prez at the window, drinking in the bar,
or scraping heels along an avenue
stretching to timeless years, so near and far
away from me into the fog of you.
I ain't got nothin but the blues baby
bitter deep and sweet as muse baby.


Love you L. You brought me here. This is all your fault.

 

[Angeline]

10,000 and each one has been so freaking long! We have these one and two word posts by newbies and they have 50,000 posts in 3 days. You silly girl. You should have spread all that talk out. You have more posts than I do and I've been here longer. See? I'm not a jabber butt.

Only about 8k have been really verbose. ee has 18k, but that's because most of them are stuff like "yup" and "have a nice day."

 

[Angeline]

"On the eve of the Second World War,
34 percent of Lodz was Jewish.

Only 12 were mine."

from Lodz by Angeline

yes... i purposely misunderstood what you meant by 'your' favorites.

Thank you Papi.

 

[WickedEve]

Only about 8k have been really verbose. ee has 18k, but that's because most of them are stuff like "yup" and "have a nice day."

yup.

Okay, favorite poem. I'll have to go find one. Oh, I do have your ee/mick jagger lip poem marked as a fave. You know the one. That and the... well, you know my other favorite that I mention from time to time. It's kind of like the thing you have for my mountain/devil poem.

 

[Angeline]

yup.

Okay, favorite poem. I'll have to go find one. Oh, I do have your ee/mick jagger lip poem marked as a fave. You know the one. That and the... well, you know my other favorite that I mention from time to time. It's kind of like the thing you have for my mountain/devil poem.

Well I meant your favorite poem that you wrote. I'm appalled that people might think I want them to post their favorite poem that I wrote.

Unless they want to...


Glosa on Coole Park

But now they drift on the still water
Mysterious, beautiful;
Among what rushes will they build,
By what lake’s edge or pool
Delight men’s eyes, when I awake some day
To find they have flown away?
~ William Butler Yeats, The Wild Swans at Coole

But now they drift on the still water
Where once they rushed in tides,
Silenced by a distant daughter,
Lake’s mistress who abides

Mysterious, beautiful,
Laurel crown and empty hands.
Is this prison? Was she dutiful,
Married to the stands

Among what rushes they will build
Their nests, companionable in pairs,
While she alone and wise, stilled
By moon ennui declares

By what lake’s edge or pool
She might have made her home,
Or known how gentler rule
Might keep her safe as starlight’s dome

Delights men’s eyes, When I awake some day
From ancient dreams to find that dawn
Reveals a feather, will I shake away
Sleep from my limbs, and with a yawn

Exhale memories, unfold these wings
To flight, release hope to another day
And soar skyward as hours cling
To find they have flown away?

 

[WickedEve]

My poem and I love it, but it didn't get much attention. I love it anyway. It's subtly creepy.

bob Finds Love II
by WickedEve ©


a drawer shaded
in bare tubes,
lids slowly replaced,

he must show care
for the collection.

vermilion now required,
vivid like terror eyes--
only coral twists

in palm,
between bittersweet
and titian.

girl below his window
is vermilion-lipped,
shattering air
with words.

he needs quiet,
unaware colors of kiss.

he'd settle for
cerise, claret,
damask, even russet,

certainly sanguine.

pleasure's in the process
of acquiring,
in love that glistens
when she's silent.

 

[WickedEve]

Well I meant your favorite poem that you wrote. I'm appalled that people might think I want them to post their favorite poem that I wrote.

Unless they want to...


Glosa on Coole Park

But now they drift on the still water
Mysterious, beautiful;
Among what rushes will they build,
By what lake’s edge or pool
Delight men’s eyes, when I awake some day
To find they have flown away?
~ William Butler Yeats, The Wild Swans at Coole

But now they drift on the still water
Where once they rushed in tides,
Silenced by a distant daughter,
Lake’s mistress who abides

Mysterious, beautiful,
Laurel crown and empty hands.
Is this prison? Was she dutiful,
Married to the stands

Among what rushes they will build
Their nests, companionable in pairs,
While she alone and wise, stilled
By moon ennui declares

By what lake’s edge or pool
She might have made her home,
Or known how gentler rule
Might keep her safe as starlight’s dome

Delights men’s eyes, When I awake some day
From ancient dreams to find that dawn
Reveals a feather, will I shake away
Sleep from my limbs, and with a yawn

Exhale memories, unfold these wings
To flight, release hope to another day
And soar skyward as hours cling
To find they have flown away?

Well, I like that better than my bob poem.

 

[annaswirls]

Congratulations on this milestone, and thank you for all of your posts that have been inspirational, educational and entertaining. Many of them were posting lyrics and other's poetry, as well as the pic-a-thon... great contributions to the forum.

Rock on, Angeline,

~anna


Coffee Clouds at Dawn
by Angeline ©


At the end of the conversation
words have only letters,
morphemes measure bites of breath,
chewing air like storm.

Sounds erode space, form glyphs
from nonsense dripped from lips,
washing markers of time in dead language
I can’t read. The derivation is mysterious
as Sanskrit. There must be bits of truth
caught between these teeth of obscurity.

At the end of the conversation
sleep drops its veil in marginal night,
dreaming yields small comfort.
What is touch when it has no depth,
no texture, the absence of reason closing
its eyes against an ignorant clash of questions,
succumbing to time in fading minutes.

We blanket detachment with hours
till dawn shades consciousness doubt gray,
dread stirring its cups, steaming coffee
deep with impenetrable sustenance.

 

[Angeline]

Congratulations on this milestone, and thank you for all of your posts that have been inspirational, educational and entertaining. Many of them were posting lyrics and other's poetry, as well as the pic-a-thon... great contributions to the forum.

Rock on, Angeline,

~anna


Coffee Clouds at Dawn
by Angeline ©


At the end of the conversation
words have only letters,
morphemes measure bites of breath,
chewing air like storm.

Sounds erode space, form glyphs
from nonsense dripped from lips,
washing markers of time in dead language
I can’t read. The derivation is mysterious
as Sanskrit. There must be bits of truth
caught between these teeth of obscurity.

At the end of the conversation
sleep drops its veil in marginal night,
dreaming yields small comfort.
What is touch when it has no depth,
no texture, the absence of reason closing
its eyes against an ignorant clash of questions,
succumbing to time in fading minutes.

We blanket detachment with hours
till dawn shades consciousness doubt gray,
dread stirring its cups, steaming coffee
deep with impenetrable sustenance.

Thank you Anna.

You will understand this poem. I'm not sure you ever saw it, but it's about home and you know this world.




River

Grand Street Overpass
Erected 1911

says the plaque
at its base here
in my narrow old city,
but halfway up it yields
to the Delaware's wider sweep,
flowing east to the Atlantic.

March
and grass sprouts, crocus sags,
and water bugs skitter
past cold banks
in the yeasty air.

We throw down bikes,
and armed with fishbowl nets
and a battered sauce pot,
squint for gray minnows.
We chew baloney sandwiches,
then dig fingers in the mud,
search for arrowheads,
but finding none, ride home
with old bottle caps instead,
stuffed in pockets like treasure .

July
and the mud is sun warm,
the pale grass has grown
to stand in skinny clumps
near patches of onion weed,
clover, and Queen Anne’s lace.

When twilight's mosquitoes rise,
we burn punk sticks, hold them
in fingers sticky with good humor.
We smell of fruit and chocolate.
We chase fireflies, calling
got ‘im, got ‘im ,
burn bug lamps in mason jars.

December
was the best time.
Daddy laughed at us
wobbly on skates, his girls,
clinking and slicing river ice,
cold air twitching our noses.

We call each other Bunny,
and slip grabbing and giggling,
holding on through years,
falling down together,
but always standing again,
helping each other, holding on.

December
was the worst time.
You died on a day as cold
and slippery as wobbly skates,
a cocoa day, when Daddy
bought hot cupfuls
to stop our noses twitching.

Years
pass over Grand Street,
but the river still flows
time and love,
ceaseless and soft
to carve the hardest rock,
buoy the heaviest heart.

 

[ruminator]

Think I've been here too long?

I have 9 posts to go to get to 10,000.

This is my first vanity thread since I came here damnit (well arguably not, but I think so), and most of my almost 10,000 posts have been in this forum.

I'm putting my poems in this thread. Write one or put your favorites of yours here, too, please. I wanna celebrate poetry and make my endless rattling here seem meaningful.

Post counts are deceptively irrelevant. I would like to thank you for encouraging me to participate here. I wouldn't be here now if not for you.

So now, everyone knows who to blame...

I don't have much to contribute yet but I thought this was appropriate. This was my first attempt at something structured. It's not perfect but well,....it's free.

Thank you...

Which voice should I use to speak
these words too carefully chosen.
Give thought to impending impression

Basket of tales creatively woven
to carry my soul's worth I'm aware
these words too carefully chosen.

My voices lurk deep in their lair
silently arguing their known rotation
to carry my soul's worth I'm aware


Others guard with biased perception
seeing themselves come abruptly alive
silently arguing the known rotation

Help the weakest voice to survive
impending onslaughts from those
seeing themselves come abruptly alive

from the writer's wisdom that grows.
Which voice should I use to speak
impending onslaughts from those
Give thought to impending impression



,....it was worth a shot. Is that close to what it should be? (those are confusing, aren't they?)

 

[Guest]

Well I meant your favorite poem that you wrote. I'm appalled that people might think I want them to post their favorite poem that I wrote.

Unless they want to...

i was purposely deliberate in misinterpeting your request. i like lodz, a lot.

if it will make you feel better, here is my fave that i wrote:

Flash Back to The Bayou
by neonurotic

Flat bottom boat
with one pole power
slices slow
through black water
disturbing creatures
that lie waiting below

Wroth eyes, flash yellow
gators roll away
Water moccasins
S-slide, side to side
Loons cry with screech-owls
setting our wicked mood

Pull to the left of
knobby cypress knees
duck under heavy
hang of spanish moss
to a tin-roofed shack
on stilts in bayous deep

In the dark at the
old wooden door
between hot kisses
Kait whispers hurry up,
cuz times a'wastin
"Daddy will know"

Lantern on low glow
we sip muscadine wine
hushed in pillow talk
till inhibitions are
long gone and
daddy's forgotten

Sighs under mosquito net
are more sonorous
than swamp things
We share heated rush
sweat for the first time
on a sultry summer night

Dawn breaks the day
rain tap, taps good morning
but still she sleeps
hand in mine
I watch, thinking
daddy's sure to be mad

 

[PatCarrington]

i'd rather show off YOUR poems than anyone else's on your vanity thread.

you have a lot to show off.



Ghost of a Chance
by Angeline ©

Sometimes you're dormant.
There are seasons
when you don't speak to me.

Once I imagined you
in the back seat of my car,
sitting still, holding up
your jangled spirit
with a narrow tie and lapels
and your hat set slightly askew,
shadowing your crumpled mouth.
You were silent, but your eyes
said you were lost somewhere good,
somewhere I want to be.

You're just a crazy drunken old jazzer,
dead 50-odd years, old enough
to be my long-gone grandpa,
and still you fly to my dreams
more alive than the bluesjay
in this morning's pine.

I want to love you.

I want a wayback machine
to 1943 so I can rescue you
before detention barracks
beat you to an early grave.

But you're gone,
and all I have is that tone,
the sweet ironic swing
that soars straight up
past cloudy blues to heaven,
and the ballads that dip
and weave beautiful hurt
until I cry for somewhere good
I once imagined leaving
your imaginary eyes.

 

[Angeline]

Rumi, you belong here like I said. You can decide in six months whether to thank me or put me on ignore for feeling you do.

Patrick, thank you for posting my poem and the kind words. A jazz poem.



Douglas. Ever my inspiration.

why time is important
by 2rivers ©

a hole need fill
a stolen shiny
my heart
music
is important

sunrises/sets eggs on a platter going back to mother and womb one day out of many to sing and dance for color full tracks moving under trains all thunder of drum skin hit and hit and strummed like morning beams that ink into the world while this man wastes time all day.

one hole filled
another is the horizon
a breast pocket near little
miles away
tears so close it stings

 

[Angeline]

Beautiful, neo.

For my big boy.

My Boy

that boy i love
snorts when he laughs
sometimes hiccups

he calls me names

he can call me anything
he wants

because that boy
i love

can do anything

he can memorize
the periodic table
write poems
about clog-dancing kings
knights of square tables
and backward empires

and drink more
coca cola
than god

that boy i love
cried when his fish died

and once

in a tiny voice
asked me if numbers
neverending
means the same as infinity

I didn't mind when
he got the dog bite
or even when I
almost lost my job
staying home with him
because he almost
lost his eye

he is taller than me
now
he started shaving

but

i'm still in charge so
i say he can do anything
except be a soldier.

 

[Angeline]

For my darling eagleyez

who taught me how to fall with grace.



High Climber

Mediocrity creaks like uneven linoleum.
Lives gather neglect like dust . If you never
move beyond, all your green expanse is no more
than hollow blades and the lawn needs mowing.

All our gardens droop weedy gray in time,
stems bent by sameness, traced in dew
too dry to recall what sparkled once,
resigned to pale light like thin ghosts of sun.

Some lives go on forever dead.

I’d rather see the tree line from the climber’s vantage,
shimmy up all your limbs to reach the roof of risk
where green is held aloft, steadied by brown, blue above

like freedom.

Above all, the trick is knowing how to fall,
hearing music in the whoosh of letting go,
arching to wind. Above all the trick is curving arms,
falling with open hands, with fingers branching,
dancing in midair.

 

[Angeline]

ok this is it

and my vanity shall deflate like a balloon...whoosh...there it goes...


Darling Billy

He says memories
are everything.

If you try hard enough
you can almost make
a person from a memory,

a daddy
or a whole family.

You can bring him ice cream.

Chocolate is best for dying men
who need to make everything
a memory

life and cool sweetness,

a daughter
or a whole family
who feed you ice cream.

Chocolate is sweet like life
and dark like loss and even
comforting like forgetfulness,

but it’s ok not to forget
the way the spoon
scraped against the bowl,

the click of labored
swallows,

the nurse’s voice
mingled with la boheme

He’s not supposed to have that.

The freckles that once rioted,
alit the face, and punctuated anger
now are memories barely there,
fading under his pale skin.

Later
in the dark hushed room
her woman’s voice
will sing to him
the child’s song she knew
and sang once then
she whispers now again

Can you bake a cherry pie Billy boy, Billy boy?
Can you bake a cherry pie, darling Billy?

the sound of tires crying
on the highway
driving home

 

[bluerains]

dang...~Ange

y r become post mom...congrats...
here is a favored poem I selfishly like just because of that ole angler...



sea of seductions
by bluerains ©

sand and shells charm
the navigator as
seascape glistens

splashing waves sparkle
in meandering crooks
of spoil islands

eyes pause on water trails
as darkness looms across
gentle breakers

tall fronds echo
guttural squawks
from sulky heron
vexed by intrusive
forager

trolling with last
radiant rays of evening luster
lure of one last
cast beckons
absorbed angler

soothing sounds
of shifting tides
is the beating
of a woman's
heart to a fisherman
sensations of crusty
spray against his skin
alluring as a sirens caress

but as the days glory
dims to crimson
a seasoned salt begins
drifting his attention homeward
where the beauty of his companion
awaits with the power that haunts
his nightly pleasures

drowning in viscuous pools
of amber honey
the touch of the briny sea
evanesces

 

[champagne1982]

A milestone set in sands of time,
engraved with a rune
a simple word
and universal truth.
Love.

Do you remember Homer Pindar's 10000 year challenge? You commented that you liked this one. So to keep with the 10000 theme, I present...

Passing

I sleep 10,000 years,
Each night I close my eyes,
Hoping that you'll be
There sleeping with me.
Even though
Love's hour of forever passes
In a moment of eternity.
Even though
That infinite second means
Each night I close my eyes
I sleep 10,000 years.

My favourite poem, brought by another Same Title Challenge...

Weave (an interlocked bob)

There are three aspects of Her face
Crone, matron and maiden fair
Her design in each glimmering string
Woven through the tapestry of time.

Her design in each glimmering string
Warp, weft, and color bright
Enriching the souls within her care
The dye in the wool sublime.

Enriching the souls within her care
Life, lust and loving true
Unwinding a skein of the strongest thread
Humanity a moment's history.

Unwinding a skein of the strongest thread
Faith, hope and giving heart
Truths caught up in the weaving of it
Wisdom no longer a knotted mystery.

Truths caught up in the weaving of it
Unwinding a skein of the strongest thread
Enriching the souls within her care
Her design in each glimmering string.

Enriching the souls within her care.
Sphere, circle and golden ring.
There are three aspects of Her face
Each one fates' fortunes bring.

 

[Guest]

Congratulations! It's probably not a good idea to wish you 10,000 more but best wishes instead.

From a more uncertain time....

For Shara

Hands like parentheses
holding hope.
dark eyes looking to distances
beyond the horizon
where love lies
untrammelled.
Slender arms like vines
open to welcome tomorrow
and it comes,
like thunder
rolling down her shoulders.​

 

[Angeline]

Blue, your poem is beautiful. I'd jump in the ocean this very minute if I could.

Champers, I remember that poem and I still love it. You will publish books of poetry one day, I'm sure of it--remember that I predicted it here, lol.

PoeTess. I just you. You understand everything as we know, and I remember the day you wrote that poem.

es to you all.

 

[Tathagata]

Annointed






Still one of my favorites

Congrats on the posts, get a life will ya??


Thank you for being my friend
and all that that entails
( editing, chastising, kvetching, sharing, laughing, telling me " It's a piece of shit rewrite it" ...)
I'm glad we met here and share this space on the path together for a while.
It is an honor and a pleasure to walk with you