Poems for smithpeter: Noncontest Entries

[The Poets]

Do you have poems written about smithpeter (aka oxalis, Palau, 2rivers, svelte walker) or inspired by his poems that you did not enter in the March poetry contest?

If you do and you'd like to share them, please post them in this thread.

douglas

 

[Angeline]

http://no-troy.planetaclix.pt/images/poetman.jpg

 

[Angeline]

You can't be gone.

You can't
because we never met,
and what about my plan
to drive west through all that
foggy geography?

Hello. My name is Doug.
I live in a fog in Wisconsin,
and I love jazz, too.

Hello inspiration,
my friend. Hello goofy muse.
So few ever reach me
so few, and so many
gone and always
too soon.

I would have
read you Shakespeare
and Blake. You would have
read me one more poem.

Douglas, read to me,
just one more poem
before we hang up.

5 am. Septembersomething.
Talked all night and in the morning
you walked the phone outside,
brushed it over grass.

Listen
and I did.

Write that sound.

Birdsong.

You walked to the pond,
splashed water.

Listen
and I heard.

Now I only hear me
crying, and I'm not sure
you knew how much
I loved you.

5/12/04

 

[Sibilaire]

I carry you always north
today it is crawl
on gravel dented knee

darling meet me at the top
altitude dizzy, oxygen starved
we roll tangled
to find our own bottom
drenched in panted breath

you have me longing
for pieces in hand
to reconstruct as viewed
by loving eyes,

to reappear and take on
the pain of existence
but my body is too broken,
my memory fades

come, take me in today
to where your mind still climbs that hill

fingers carefully inserted
we fall over tear softened soil
sow my love under
this weather that churns with
storm soaked masterpieces,
seeps from the kick boards
and splash countertops

you curl for me
and request sleep

red light glows through eyelids, closed to all else
this blood glows thin and clutter free
we move through, easy
and again


~Sibilaire
really recent date unknown

 

[WickedEve]

hope you don't mind so many poems, but he inspired so many

I have quite a few but they're not new.

About Dogwoods
I used this title because of his Dogwood poem, which was about my Master and me, and sp's feelings on that topic. And he chose the dogwood because there is one in my front yard.
My dogwood poem was written shortly after he died. I had a dream about him in my dogwood tree. It was a very intense dream that had to become a poem.

~~~

Flying Again
It's a poem about a moment I had when I felt his presence. And this was after he was gone.

~~~

for god's poet
A christmas poem for Doug in Heaven. There's mention again of a dogwood. Under this dogwood is a gift from Angeline, anna, and me.

~~~

I Can Only Imagine
Imagining his last few moments on this earth.

~~~

If you had not died

~~~

Like a Bug on My Windshield
Some nonsense we were talking about one day.

~~~

Morning after Mourning
I had to write a lot of poetry after he passed away.

~~~

Naked Tent

~~~

Peter is Stacked

Peter's Mistress

~~~

Poet's Widows
This poem has about 6 female poets' name "hidden" in it, and it was written probably less than a month after he died.

~~~

Porn and Woman
Inspired by a video he sent me.

~~~

when you came down from heaven
I had a Doug sighting at the post office.

~~~

wonderfuck

~~~

your favorite scene

~~~

I have others and some that were once online. I'd like to resubmit Gathering of Lovers. It just needs some edits. It's a 2002 poem. I even have poetry inspired by his disappearance in 2002 when he was in the hospital. So... Doug has always been an inspiration and he still is for many of us.

 

[Liar]

By snatching a phrase
from a poet and one
from another poet

for a poet,

I assemble this
a rear view wave
to a chucke at the universe.

And two legs,
one that always did dangle
over the edge
of the event horizon,
the other deep rooted
in the core of man.

Assembly complete.
Poem creaks under topoi
but carries on unsteady legs
a nod.

Sometimes, that is enough.

 

[Maria2394]

Canoe Frog Queries the Bunny One on the Lasting Significance of Skipping Stones

Canoe Frog was hallowed hopper,
but early mist and bedraggled morn
could never have any type
of gritty grip
on bump- bottom toads or lichen-faced stones

and so he queried the Bunny one-
about skipping stones,
what does a frog do with so many answers,
yet so few problems,
to apply those answers to?

And Bunny replied-
Investigations are entirely futile
hang your oars, hang them high
but tag them so you will remember

which water has flowed
forth again and back again
beneath smooth-bottomed boats

You, Canoe Frog, have transformed
your thoughts into life sentences
most miraculous
and insightful,
yourwords, kissing the water’s face
as flat smooth stone

and perhaps rivers really do forget
middlemen, like you,
oh slippery, Canoe Frog
one whose soul is in transition
and seems to be absent
yet never quiet, and never really gone

but when a heart
casts it's voice,it’s universal stone,
there will be disruption,
changes in course
and someone must guide the novice
in correct ways of skipping stones

splash! then ripple,
ripple out to center pulled
into currents, part of a swell
going, going but never, ever gone

~~~

and through those ripples
poems and swells,
Canoe Frog lives on

 

[Angeline]

A trenchcoat-wearing bunny
with a badge listens intently
for clues in the waves of jazz
chuckled by nutty squirrels
who also tend gardens.
They grow the sweetest
red peppers and when you bite
into one, blues spill
all over your mouth,

which is why the bunny suspects foul play.

He asks the Radon Daughters,
who like the Supremes, want to know
Where Did Our Love Go,

Whatever happened to the man in the red canoe?

Sing it Daughters!
That man wrote every song
these squirrels ever played.

Tell it!
He wasn't the politest stallion
in the stable, but awful handy
to have around. When he danced,
he could knock the earth off its axis,
however briefly.

The bunny would rather
interrogate Liz with her long legs,
black sheath, and cowboy boots.
She only came for the second set,
but as she entered the woods,
she saw him paddling upsteam
with Mona Spice, the kitchen sink,
and one slender dogwood
sleeping in a Bud Light can.

Every butterfly in the forest
surrounded that canoe.
Fireflies glowed a path
into the end of twilight,
and cicadas sang along
with daughters and squirrels.

Somewhere around the bend
Mingus is laughing, knocking back
brandy and milk, and Rashaan sees
the reeds and whistles he plays
in thick Van Gogh layers.

That's where he went, Liz says,
past those five stars,

and the bunny writes down
every word and twitches over
to the squirrels playing
love songs on saxophones.