writing live

[butters]

socially awkward

as children
we should be taught
how to accept compliments with grace
no red face
no awkward silence or mindless chat to
deflect attention elsewhere
left holding something special but
not knowing how to place it
grace it

we need a special cupboard
we can open easily
with an endless store of shelving
appearing as needs be
no glass or silvered doors
to keep things on display
just a simple wooden door
with a small padlock and key

 

[butters]

one hand's cold
the other
not
shake out those dark curls
switch on the lamp to
push back the advancing battalions of night
in mid-afternoon
pour a glass of bull's-blood wine
it's holiday time after all
sip coffee
looking at the crystal glass
and how the light flickers through its skin
gets lost within the liquid held
outside, a child complains
the words blurred by glazing but not the tone
impatient adult voice
weary already of xmas excess
gruffs back
tears before bedtime

the hand's still cold.

 

[HarryHill]

It's always nice to return home
a sudden sigh of relief where all the distractions of the outside word
vanish

 

[HarryHill]

Who the hell is Dr. Fell?
what does he have to do with the boom boom room,
and what pray tell is the tune a yellow man plays in this weather?
his balls are blue under those red Haynes
mine are too but it has nothing to do with
Ms. Fromme or Sister Hell

 

[HarryHill]

Who needs bling
when you've got green,
and every color in between
but then you scratch your head
between what?
It seems it's time to redefine the lines in this color
wheel out the bitter blues add a slice of yellow;
that's the base line in time with this shade
played so deep as to...
What, the other side where yellow rides canary high
waiting for that miniscule drool of blue
to produce a hue that's far removed from spruce
you want to go there?
I need a parameter smithpeter or I'll be
stuck here for hours
verdigris-kissed

 

[Tsotha]

I lived every winter day
As if it were the last.
Now it is air conditioning
And powerful fans for me,
Made up artificial relief,
Counting days for the real thing
To arrive.

 

[Tsotha]

as children
we should be taught
how to accept compliments with grace
no red face
no awkward silence or mindless chat to
deflect attention elsewhere
left holding something special but
not knowing how to place it
grace it

we need a special cupboard
we can open easily
with an endless store of shelving
appearing as needs be
no glass or silvered doors
to keep things on display
just a simple wooden door
with a small padlock and key

A compliment is a gift,
Sweet when it is thoughtful,
Precious when it is true.
But to the one who receives,
It's often difficult to see
Another's own truth;
It often feels undeserved,
For there is nothing closer
To one's mind
Than one's own flaws.

 

[bogusagain]

have a Dickensian happy christmas

the queues outside the food bank
are longer this year
the homeless hostel
doesn’t have enough beds
charity begins at home this year

happy Christmas in Funland
the rainy day heritage island
just off the coast of northern Europe
where sad eyed clowns dance
a morose shuffle from bin to bin

we don’t need your charity
a government minister says
we’ll manage our own poor
we’ll teach them to manage their pittance
we’ll stop them embarrassing the nation

the undeserving poor
are…well, deserving of their fate
for trying to spoil Christmas
by making Christians feel, well…unchristian
by denying wealth is god’s reward

Christmas in Funland will be fun
by order of the government
the lights are bright, the shops are full
greed is good and prudence bad
the surplus population are just a load of shite!

 

[HarryHill]

Braille:

I stopped, thought about the first line,
then the second, followed by a long silence
waves of ambiguity washed clean
pristine tablet left, nothing to read there
so, write instead that this could be
about anything
search the bumps on my head;
what am I trying to say?

 

[butters]

I stopped, thought about the first line,
then the second, followed by a long silence
waves of ambiguity washed clean
pristine tablet left, nothing to read there
so, write instead that this could be
about anything
search the bumps on my head;
what am I trying to say?

"this is the what
and the who
and
maybe most importantly the
why of who i am

done some stupid stuff
seemed like a good idea at the time
it wasn't
but i've a head hard to break
and will take on adversity
and survive
though now i think smarter
because breaking goddamned hurts"




^
(just one interpretation for the sake of a write.)

 

[HarryHill]

"this is the what
and the who
and
maybe most importantly the
why of who i am

done some stupid stuff
seemed like a good idea at the time
it wasn't
but i've a head hard to break
and will take on adversity
and survive
though now i think smarter
because breaking goddamned hurts"
^
(just one interpretation for the sake of a write.)

..
you/we are you/I have
bumps aplenty, bruises too
and the broken parts heal
..
^
(Yeah, me too, maybe when the curtains pulled I'll 'see' more words)

 

[butters]

whispering poets
needs better voices than
mine which whispers better in text
than through a cold mic
though it's given
a glass of red lustre doth muster the spirit
lips loosen
eyes close and
prose becomes fluid
long verses stream with ease from
thesbianic lips
in the dark
into silence
where no one can see and if only
only
the mic had been on
you'd have had to agree
the performance was
art
no shit

 

[HarryHill]

Faux

One would tend to think (after all this time)
that slinging words is easy (it's not)

To correctly align words in a line
there has to be an active mind (engaging prose)

Tree tops glisten with
the rain that is misting (missing the mark)

For me to write poetry
is to make an assumption that's false

 

[butters]

i'd do the rolly-eyey thing
but somehow it's cliché;
one who bends words to his will
in stories, day on day,
denies poetic talent but
that's silly, plain to say;
at times all words are stood and still -
at others - race away!

 

[HarryHill]

Guessing Game

I've always wondered what you do
in those hours locked quietly in the bathroom
then breeze through with a smile and a robe
trailing a cloud of steam and smiles
then there's no hot water left
when I take my shower
but I've always imagined
this

 

[butters]

I've always wondered what you do
in those hours locked quietly in the bathroom
then breeze through with a smile and a robe
trailing a cloud of steam and smiles
then there's no hot water left
when I take my shower
but I've always imagined
this

she's got great boobs.

 

[Tsotha]

she's got great boobs.

Certainly you meant her fingernails are nicely done?

 

[HarryHill]

she's got great boobs.

boobs? never saw them finger nails neither

 

[butters]

Certainly you meant her fingernails are nicely done?

i thought that went without saying
can't stand square-tipped jobbies. tapered's much nicer.

 

[butters]

boobs? never saw them finger nails neither

this is because you are very focused, harry.


*bites lip*

 

[HarryHill]

this is because you are very focused, harry.


*bites lip*

So, would you classify that as an illustrated poem?

 

[todski28]

So, would you classify that as an illustrated poem?

poetry in motion, with commentary?

 

[butters]

when i am in my bath
both hands are usually needed
to keep the pages of my book
all dry, not superseded

i've dropped my phone and book before
it's really not the thing
for one gets soggy, one goes blank -
a fail of ink and ring

 

[butters]

So, would you classify that as an illustrated poem?

why, yes, i suppose i would the only thing to improve it, possibly, would be floating text, coming (scuse the pun) and going over her flesh in time with audio. maybe no audio, just the words appearing and disappearing....

poetry in motion, with commentary?

art for art's sake?

 

[HarryHill]

why, yes, i suppose i would the only thing to improve it, possibly, would be floating text, coming (scuse the pun) and going over her flesh in time with audio. maybe no audio, just the words appearing and disappearing....




art for art's sake?

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