Posted on 11/24/2003 9:52:48 AM PST by January24th
This is a thread for readers and writers of poetry. You are welcome to join in this quiet room, but please respect a few rules that will assure that this thread is easy to read, loads quickly, and maintains the confidence of the poets and readers.
1. Only original poetry, please. All poems are the property of the posting poet. Please do not copy or reproduce in another area.
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3. No huge graphics, blinking smiley faces, etc. Just words, please. Let your words paint the image! (Plus, it's easier for dial-up friends to browse.)
That's it. Now, get busy and write!
From afar the travel
should be a rock ship
blazing in glory
whose orbit will last
a forth night til
the moon turns to blue
and the water to swill
:^}
no doubt
complexity
enfolds
the simplicity
of your certainty.
LOL
thus forgetting
los gatos
son amigos
musk, and must
pheromones and phonemes,
somewhere between the nose
and the brain, seduction
beggars logic with perfume
and keeps
the hunt active
while words seal
the deal.
The words sealed
the deal made
no other one
on the side or
in the shade
soul mates true
on this earth
and in eternity
for that's our worth
cats have many toys
proud to be among
the catnip mice and
plastic coils that skitter
to the bat of an eager paw.
I know my place.
linger yet
upon the silver cusp
of full-moon flights
across marsh and main
with hopeful springtime
fancies that must not
fade in morning light
else all seem but a dream...
"I thought this was going to be short but I got wordy in my enthusiasm"
Letter from Anne Sexton to Herbert Kohl
maybe Anne Sexton
blew too many smoke rings
seduced by the blue promise
of another hoop through which
to jump, which would be alright
to enter without rebellion since
those frames, sui generis
were expanding
instead of strangling.
Someone once told me
he had my number
but he never called.
I was once bluffing
hoping he wouldn’t call
but he did.
I once called on a friend
without calling first.
for once he was home.
On the street where
you live there are no
numbers just lilacs.
Morning paints all the branches
purple and seeks no other calling
except to be among the lilacs
Daffodil meditation
What bulbs resolute
in the city pocket park
tend to the announcements
of spring with their clean and jerk
display of colour lifted to the sky
Behind the wrought iron rails
everything seems lovelier
for being behind bars through which pass
the wind and the glances of those
that pause for a moment upon
the carefully groomed paths indicated for them.
There, the trespass of bulbs
salutes the difficulty of raising something
more weighty than the chimes of
the steel balusters that ring to the knock
of a stick dragged along their file;
and bell the hours, that proceed struck or not.
as the soundless trumpets, in gold and fragrance
the air made heavy with their presence
turn to the sky to catch its indifferent eye
wary to the inevitable
reproaches of the Sadducees
of sorrow
they clear and rise
with loads that are lifted endlessly
while the weary pause on benches, pressed
for time as they sort their way through
the promise of flowers never picked.
Sigh. Just beautiful, in every way, in every word. Lovely.
Thanks.
i blustered
bluffed
and called
for a show
of hand
he turned up,
showing all heart
flushed and smiling
at my nice pair
laughed
at my loss
of composure
and folded me into
his arms...
a little food for thought.
2. Indeterminacy has been overdetermined.
3. Nothing is worse than a reasonable poem.
7. In postmodern culture, irony is taken on faith.
8. Style is feeling in search of a sentence.
9. The future is unlived. But it can be experienced.
12. Nothing is less erotic than a paragraph.
13. The future has a long history.
14. The present is always a little behind the times.
18. Lyric poetry rescues pain from the jaws of pleasure.
25. Imagism is objectification in a moment of feeling.
26. Objectivism is imagism in a moment of syntax.
36. Poetry is desire having words with itself.
From "Reality and Its Antecedents: Fifty Statements on Life and Art. By Paul Hoover
Entitlement
In the academy
the suzerainty
of poetics
is predicated
upon the idea
that the natives
won't get it:
examinations
of post colonial
explanations.
But actually I really did like Hoover's "poem" I thought it had some interesting observations. My favourite was number 18, but there is something for everyone. LOL
Good morning, Kay Syrah!!
8. Style is feeling in search of a sentence.
I rather like #8.
I walk a crooked road to find
the correct words to use
to form a poem or a short piece of prose
Sometimes, my efforts lack a certain ring
that leaves my poetry flat
without a rhyme to sing...
Good Morning to you!
I liked that one too. Two many shoes here for a mere two legged poet to fit. Somehow they all seem to fit.
centipedes
legs that
swirl like waves
that don't impede
but proceed
forward
without thought
of coordination,
but they aren't
required
to walk and
chew gum.
LOL
LOL!!!
So funny!!
i blustered
bluffed
and called
for a show
I love this poem J24.
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