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Tihmmnmmish's Cuddle-Friendly Fireside Threadcast

H

hmmnmm

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Tell ya. I ain't one o' them fellers that'll claim a heapin' pile of knowhow about much. But I reckon I know there ain't a jealous bone in this'n here corporeal shack fer whoever the good lord's chosen to wrangle all them wild little poems out there today, why listen to 'em all fussin' and raisin cain. Nope. Don't reckon I envy.

I went and looked over a few of them. Hm boy. Meaty haunches showin off quality brands. And heck with these chilly nights I might just go bargain for one. One of them wild ones just beggin for a good edit. Oh yeah...
 
hmmnmm said:
Tell ya. I ain't one o' them fellers that'll claim a heapin' pile of knowhow about much. But I reckon I know there ain't a jealous bone in this'n here corporeal shack fer whoever the good lord's chosen to wrangle all them wild little poems out there today, why listen to 'em all fussin' and raisin cain. Nope. Don't reckon I envy.

I went and looked over a few of them. Hm boy. Meaty haunches showin off quality brands. And heck with these chilly nights I might just go bargain for one. One of them wild ones just beggin for a good edit. Oh yeah...
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If ya'll try to stick a heated piece of iron to the thigh of my poem, do not be surprised if it bites. My poem that posted today is strictly free range, dude. :cool:
 
And nature strikes back.

wow, gettin spanked and reprimanded and bit... dangerous territory.

oh, 2300 or so... it's kinda fun really. But all in one month? Don't know about that.
 
hmmnmm said:
Tell ya. I ain't one o' them fellers that'll claim a heapin' pile of knowhow about much. But I reckon I know there ain't a jealous bone in this'n here corporeal shack fer whoever the good lord's chosen to wrangle all them wild little poems out there today, why listen to 'em all fussin' and raisin cain. Nope. Don't reckon I envy.

I went and looked over a few of them. Hm boy. Meaty haunches showin off quality brands. And heck with these chilly nights I might just go bargain for one. One of them wild ones just beggin for a good edit. Oh yeah...
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So this is the title you came up with? :D
 
Safe_Bet said:
If ya'll try to stick a heated piece of iron to the thigh of my poem, do not be surprised if it bites. My poem that posted today is strictly free range, dude. :cool:
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Please write a poem about your poem being a out on the range and not wanting to be branded. Cool idea. Just sayin'.
 
WickedEve said:
So this is the title you came up with? :D
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For now. Little wordy? Cuddle-Friendly was a last second insertion. Sometimes second-guesses are nothing more than mistakes that sport slicked back hair and sell vacuum cleaners.

I still have not read all the poems.

As I meant to say yesterday, several people have mentioned several things that have stuck with me and not only that, but several more events since yesterday have illustrated exactly what I was thinking about. Now they're all conglomerated and bunched together trying to be the first to get out of a narrow gate.

So... uh... let's break for a word from one of our sponsors who does not yet exist.

Oh yeah, need sponsors. They're hiding in boxes. :)

Oh boy.
 
WickedEve said:
Please write a poem about your poem being a out on the range and not wanting to be branded. Cool idea. Just sayin'.
Click to expand...

It is a cool idea. A cool something to think on. Branded. Being branded. Marked. Named. Defined. Categorized. Classified.

Chased by someone from a settlement, that someone with a brand. Hot iron. Wait. That's no good. The iron would start to cool... you'd have to bring the wild to the fire. Hold them down. Then brand them. So the wild is wise to resist branding... brandish. To display, to threaten. Ah ha! As with a sword. A hot sword. Hot steel hot iron same diff.

Like the cat in our windowsill. Can't brand him. He's not our cat. But he sort of is. We knew he hailed from another house. A neighbor's. But he showed up and would just waltz through the door and wait to be fed and petted. Then the neighbor was going to go out of state for employment, but couldn't take her cat. Was aware that we'd all but provided a second home for this cat. So then it was our cat. But then the neighbor's out of state job didn't work out, so she came back. We weren't sure whether the cat was to return to the neighbor's ownership or what.

But it didn't matter. Because the cat still comes and goes wherever it wants. And I saw that little rascal at yet another doorstep (actually it was doing a poor me trick, hanging by the claws outside the other door). What happens? They open the door, the cat goes in.

So we know this cat who lounges on the windowsill has at least three caretakers, or servants, or manors where it is served.

I barely know these neighbors. We don't serve each other. The cat knows us. And we all serve this cat.

Must be those big yellow eyes.
 
tell ya.
Been a heckuva learning day. Learned about shoes. Learned about free range poems.
Also, the really exciting developments pertain to those thought seeds that several geniuses sowed lately. Little nuggets of validation for what I surmised have been practically dropping from the sky.

Now, you can call this kissing ass, but I'd rather call it cheerleading or encouraging. Or something in there.

The fact that an aspirant writer/poet has the access like Lit allows is sometimes an blessing easy to take for granted.

If you're interested in prose, or 'stories' you can come up with just about anything, provided you adhere to a couple more than reasonable guidelines. You can throw up a first draft. You can replace it with a revision. You can load it up with sex or you can have just one little sentence of sex or you can even have no sex at all. You can be a beginner or a professionally published author. You can shoot for short, simple, and to the point, observing the popular writerly advices or you can drench it in grape juice purple run on sentences and incite the unsuspecting in counties near and far to pull their hair out and send you nasty comments that will give you a nightcap chuckle.

Maybe you notice your prose seems to get consistent criticisms that would be closer to compliments if you called your stuff poetry and maybe you decide you might do well to look into it - poetry. Well, it's a lot like the story side, except smaller, quieter, more intimate. The thousands of looks you got for your incest prose piece will be more like forty or fifty for your poem that you put under the non-erotic category. Seventy-five if it's erotic.

But you'll also more likely get quicker and more personal response, if you post what some consider a bad poem or a poem that could be better. If you're lucky and can get over a little spanking from one of the poetesses, they might give you a little nudge of wisdom. You might stand a chance of more noticeable improvement in your poetry than your prose. Or you can get a better grasp of your progress.


There's a point to this. A poetic point. A hitching post point to the review theme. But those multiple thoughts are fussing with each other again. Better go settle them down while their storms are yet infant.
 
Sometimes I go looking for other places to post. Mainly the prose. They had a thread in the AH that asked about the average Lit reader or visitor. It was very informative and confirmed what I'd suspected for the last couple years. As I lamented to a very wise someone lately, if a herd of 1000 readers comes up over the rise, about 700 or 800 of them are here for a clearly defined purpose. Good for the writers who have the goods to satisfy. For those who like to dabble or experiment or just can't go the way of popular compliance, you're just gonna have to accept the fact that if you can attract and appeal to say, 10 out of the 1000, you can feel like you've succeeded.

And sometimes I just feel like clearing the list and starting over. About five days of the week I'll put in a request to Delete all stories and poems. It's a little game. Because it takes a few days to go through, and I always change my mind. But I still like the idea. But on the other hand they are what they are, they are there and there's always the possibility of submitting edits and revisions.

So then I'll go check around for other venues. And always end up coming back to Lit. Because it's really hard to find a venue where the latitude is so open and wide. Because a lot of them the risk of rejection is a lot higher than Lit. So I figure they must have some darn high standards. But then I check out some of the online samples, some of it this 'literary' stuff... and I just shake my head and wonder, and the wife runs in wondering what in the world is causing all these 'fucks' to fill the room.

In fact, I was going to skewer the 'literary' world in Friday's revue. For example,
Q: how do you know you're reading something literary?
A: you can count on something somewhere being magenta. Or beige. Or both. And the setting is always on the coast or a lake. And there's always a wise grandpa or grandma. Someone always imparting wisdom.

Then I repented. I came back to Lit. Canceled the deletion request. Because the latitude here - it's a huge huge capital-H Huge Plus.


Point being, here I was all soured with this so-called literary stuff, but then here's a writer, live4passion. I'd call that literary. But it's good literary. I don't understand a lot of it. But I clicked on one from the new list earlier this evening. It was just alive. Wiggly. Squirmy. Fucking good. And found on a free site. A site for porn stories no less. That's a case, In my opinion of high standard setting. That's on one end of the scale. There's plenty of variety.

You want something wacky and weird and twisted? Equally understandable and elusive? You have Eve.
Want some brutal honesty presented from a good soul? Annie.
Want a rosy pink pussy shoved right in your face? Well, we got that, Canadian flavor no less.
Just a couple.

I think it shows more signs of real life when you have writers and poets all at different levels and places and where you can witness or participate in progress, occasional regress.

And let's not even mention the endless possibilities with sound and images. Entire other worlds.

And frankly, I think Lit would not be near as interesting if all the poems and all the stories were these 'fine art works' or in finished form. Isn't it more fun if the New Poems List is always a surprise? What will it be today? Five poems? Twenty? A couple slave sluts needing spanking and hard fuckings? A sparrow sitting on a branch? A haiku? Two haikus? Good haikus? Density? Lightness? Meatiness? Bony? Missed typo or two? A fuck-off letter to who knows who?


Okay... the thoughts jumped off the train again. Running loose. Disorganized. Mayhem.

Oh there's more, oh yes.
 
What you'd expect to find in airport gift shops. That's what comes to mind, when I go looking for other venues, and what I seem to keep finding. Or, Tourist Trap Gift Shop Literary something or other. Then you read their submission guidelines and they want such and such writing (of course none of them say, 'send us your crappiest'), and they couch their terms in ways that can tend to intimidate shy and sensitive people, like myself. Then I think, 'wow, looks like they have high standards. Bet they got some intimidating and gripping stuff, including poetry.' Then I check it out and I'm like, 'huh?' and then get the Airport Gift Shop imagery.

I think it'll be awhile before we'll see Lit-style poetry and prose/stories in Airport Gift Shops.

But the thing is... here's the thing... on those Gift Shop Literary things, you might be able to publish one story or poem that's suitable for the readership they're trying to attract. But you couldn't send in your "be my daddy and spank me and sodomize me" poem or story along with you your Gift Shop Literature submission.

But here... you can have both. And anything in between. You can submit a Sally Fields/Oprah Winfrey friendly romance story, and your 'Spank me and sodomize me daddy' story, and a wacky incoherent prose-poetry ramble, and a couple sparrow and frog haikus, all on the same day, side by side.

I think it's more real this way.

Because isn't life all about sex anyway?

But even though life is really all about sex, we're not doing sex all the time. We couldn't. It would no longer have the worth. There's those down times. Those philosophical afterglows. Those waiting periods. Those refueling stations. A mushroom hunt in the woods.
 
Which raises an interesting something to speculate on: If I was running an online or print literary publication... If I'd base acceptances and rejections solely on personal taste preferences? What?

Well, I like it all really. But not everything all the time. If that makes sense. The variety would probably be much like Lit. I wouldn't call attention to primarily the Erotic or Pornographic. But I wouldn't put such works outside the guideline boundaries. But I'd certainly mix up the voices. Humor would play a heavy influence. Not Reader's Digest humor. Real humor.

The first puzzle that would certainly appear would be finding a readership, because I'd probably try to feature writers who I think are pretty damn good but somehow don't appeal to minds who subsist mostly on Airport Gift Shop Literature.

But that would be hard to do. Might feel lucky to publish two or three issues. It would be a brilliant idea with the best of intentions that wouldn't survive.

Before the span of one year we'd all end up right back here at Lit.

So... fuck all that publishing work...
 
As always. Okay not always, but for an always to mean much the history should be firmly planted in a furrowed and very fertile field of enough consistency to establish that this always has really been always. But how long is that? Never really thought about it. Just now. Always. You always say that. You always do that. Always always.

As has been the case since I was 'appointed' to pore over poetry and report what I find and which tend to appeal... anyway, I have oft been fraught with bouts of nervous uncertainties, since... Ah, I was expressing these thoughts within the vast confines of a solitary orbit of quietude, but suddenly that is not the case.

The short version of today's opening statement: When I first checked for new poems, there were none. Wondered if the poets with their poems were giving this of-late-oft-whipped and spanked and chastised and reprimanded student of life and sometimes poetry a day of rest. Was about to stretch some muscles and ponder a new idea of... well that must remain secret...

When I made the mistake of checking once more. And there was poetry. Several, and several heavyweight names.

But the hour is early here in these mountains. I do not want to short-change these works by committing the sin of cursory overview. Yet I do wish to pursue this new idea - sorry, it must remain secret.

So I propose an evening address of the poems that have appeared this day of glory and magnanimous magnitude. And magenta too.

Ciao for now.
 
hmmnmm said:
As always. Okay not always, but for an always to mean much the history should be firmly planted in a furrowed and very fertile field of enough consistency to establish that this always has really been always. But how long is that? Never really thought about it. Just now. Always. You always say that. You always do that. Always always.

As has been the case since I was 'appointed' to pore over poetry and report what I find and which tend to appeal... anyway, I have oft been fraught with bouts of nervous uncertainties, since... Ah, I was expressing these thoughts within the vast confines of a solitary orbit of quietude, but suddenly that is not the case.

The short version of today's opening statement: When I first checked for new poems, there were none. Wondered if the poets with their poems were giving this of-late-oft-whipped and spanked and chastised and reprimanded student of life and sometimes poetry a day of rest. Was about to stretch some muscles and ponder a new idea of... well that must remain secret...

When I made the mistake of checking once more. And there was poetry. Several, and several heavyweight names.

But the hour is early here in these mountains. I do not want to short-change these works by committing the sin of cursory overview. Yet I do wish to pursue this new idea - sorry, it must remain secret.

So I propose an evening address of the poems that have appeared this day of glory and magnanimous magnitude. And magenta too.

Ciao for now.
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WickedEve's Edited Version:

No poems
poems now
read later
Ciao
 
I'll guess you're offering an extreme example to make a point.

And it's funny you do this because of something I was just thinking about and do think about about seven times a year.

Poems have reappeared. Looked at a couple of 'em... some nice works, one from WSO... Funny, she used to review my poems when I first started here.

I think it's a simple matter of everyone coming from different perspective starting points. A general approach that has become dominant tends to assume it is the approach that all shall observe. I happen to like all the approaches and all spectrum points.

Blueb mentioned something about hunting mushrooms. There's a lot in that metaphor.
 
UnderYourSpell said:
Goodness I have just realised I have been mentioned in despatches!
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:D:heart::rose:

Loved your gerund poem.


And speaking of WickedEve, she's got a really effective piece today. I'm probably not focused enough right now to fully appreciate it. But it speaks.

And there's a poet who has appeared lately, oxfordattic who I think is just another excellent writer who took another identity. It's a conspiracy. Of course. Two new ones from this poet. Again, I sin today. Sin great sins.

These are three poems that, if I published a literary zine online or print, I'd set aside for certain consideration (hell they probably already have been published elsewhere. Wouldn't be surprised - I know. Redundancy. Tough).
 
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I've just done a Terzanelle and waiting on comments on the thread. I am hoping I have done it right because I want to submit it just hope no-one bursts my bubble by pointing out glaring faults!
 
As I suspected. Think they'll boondoggle this Fireside Threadcast Friday Poem/Poetry Reviewer.

wespeak has a very interesting piece, Disposing of Little Men which reaches out and grabs the reader by the collar and makes it tag along, steps tapping rhythms. BUT - check the submissions page. 2002, 2003... and after such a long absence, just happens to post this near the end of 2008, not that numbers really matter, or years that we designate with numbers. It's just too coincidental. No matter. If I ran a print or online zine, I'd place this one high on the list of publishing consideration.
 
UnderYourSpell said:
I've just done a Terzanelle and waiting on comments on the thread. I am hoping I have done it right because I want to submit it just hope no-one bursts my bubble by pointing out glaring faults!
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nineteen lines, six stanzas... already lost. But I should probably learn a little about it, just in case one strays along.

Which reminds me of another reason to visit the mushroom metaphor... really need to knock that out. Or at least get started on it. Handfuls of Good Stuff keeps falling from those Good Stuff Clouds.
 
And speaking of Wildsweetone, 11/08- Someone Else would probably be a quite welcome rallying message that many women might thank her for writing, and giving to the public.
 
Taylor Rae's Mortal Passion isn't a bad piece of erotica. I'll admit I didn't go deep into it, but it suggests it deserves such a second or third visit, closer attention. More on the romantic/fireside flavor than viscerally penetrative.
 
Went back for a better look at one of oxford's poems, Dirty Faces.
small
brown
mice

That alone. Vivid presence. I like the feel this poetry evokes.
 
hmmnmm said:
As I suspected. Think they'll boondoggle this Fireside Threadcast Friday Poem/Poetry Reviewer.

wespeak has a very interesting piece, Disposing of Little Men which reaches out and grabs the reader by the collar and makes it tag along, steps tapping rhythms. BUT - check the submissions page. 2002, 2003... and after such a long absence, just happens to post this near the end of 2008, not that numbers really matter, or years that we designate with numbers. It's just too coincidental. No matter. If I ran a print or online zine, I'd place this one high on the list of publishing consideration.
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What's that about posting near the end of the year?
 
The Mushroom Metaphor

Different mushroomers would go out on their journey with different motivations. Those motivations would have a lot to do with their preparations. One might just want to walk in the woods, along a stream, and sit on a bank, meditate, think, look around... oh look at those pretty mushrooms. Maybe they brought a camera or a sketchpad, or maybe they just like to look. They may have no idea what the mushrooms they look at are called. They don't care. They're just part of a natural scene that pleases them to be near. Maybe they have their counterpart companion who does know the different types of mushrooms. Maybe they brought a book along with pictures. Identity. It can be fun. Those markings and that stem make it a ______. So the mushroom adventure offers pleasures to each motivation. Someone seeks meaning in the mushrooms and another doesn't care what they mean, if anything. They are just what they are.

Now, if the mushroom gatherer's intent is to ingest them or to offer them for others to ingest... then yes. It would certainly be helpful to know which ones to leave be or have someone along who knew.

There's more to this... I love thinking of this stuff... sorry... not really.
 
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