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Post by sisyphus on Mar 23, 2006 5:16:03 GMT -5
may all spiders be given purpose!! nice, frag.
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Post by frag on Mar 23, 2006 5:22:57 GMT -5
I like spiders.
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Post by Thorngrub on Mar 23, 2006 11:32:44 GMT -5
I'd wager a spider
likes you
as I happen to
repelling in silence
down a silk strand at night
in your room
through the gloom
its unbroken view
of a merged surround
tracking your rapid eye
movements in sleep
under cover of lids
your own
private sentinel
wallflower hidden
lowering unbidden
in ghostly whisper
to weave a cocoon
such a small
cooing
sister
breathes
a secret
for you
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Post by Thorngrub on Mar 23, 2006 11:33:16 GMT -5
i wrote that poem for you, frag  |
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Post by Thorngrub on Mar 23, 2006 11:39:22 GMT -5
Thats hea-vy thron! I just feel like sharing some tonight. Its horrible so forgive me. the stars above that light the dark sky all they can they cant whistle a tune down to mortal man i am so down so here I am waiting for beautiful answers but nowhere man charcoal night my soul is poor i patiently wait but can wait no more them bright stars cant show the way but the loneliness in pale grey white day charcoal night smeared with awake dreams insane i never want to return again the stars theyre there but they will always be at league with waters that hold the key a sophomoric poems that wants to express gigantic volumes of duress that is what I want to do BUT this yarn is paper in the loo it just needs more time. talent too. no doubt it needs work. wayved ~ I like this poem very much, don't be so hard on yerself mate ! If it needs work, it doesn't need much. Maybe a nip or tuck & a polishing touch. But if you ask me, it doesn't require any more talent than is already on display. Just keep at it . . . you've got the lyrical knack It's in your blood. Perfect takes practice... |
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Post by Thorngrub on Mar 23, 2006 11:40:58 GMT -5
sisyphus, that
Solipschism
poem blows me
away...very
nice work,
I must say
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Post by Thorngrub on Mar 23, 2006 11:44:13 GMT -5
another day in the whew crowd much ache as people breathe aloud much unrest in careless hearts application of lipstick and secret hearts shrouds another day for the blue sky that is just there and aimlessly wide another day for the black air for the chromium pain of unrequited stares another day for throwing up of arms human arms that are owned by people in peril in sadness in frustration and terror people who just seem not to know any better the stars are all numbered but its daylight still the dull nagging sorrow that takes peoples will another day here another day gone this poem is horrible its time to move on! I TRIED! There is no try, you know that! Another fine example of your lyrical abilities, wayved. If you cut out the self- condescension, what's left will shine fine. |
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Post by Thorngrub on Mar 23, 2006 11:48:14 GMT -5
Things i am not But could be sailor or priest i am not but could be for i've never been to heaven nor've i seen the sea a butcher or a candyman too murdered or sweettoothed hunter, parader. unkempt acrobat! and yet i've desired, ungroomed a bluejaywinged quite bland the dove no trust in aviation not pilot nor roughkeep the batter at the batting plate the knife once used to slit their throats i am not the flow of vitality nor a train uncoursed a poet unversed no speaker of any kind not mechanic not doctor not king and not actor no chewer of fruit piercing bitter rinds unfed a carpenter, i am not though i've built this quiet corner the walls hear not and i say not hence i am no forgiver a handy phone, i've rung a bit but i would climb no ladder no message hid under my writ, i'm not delivering this letter Mine Paradigm off-white but fuschia, trickling sideways - left-of-center, but always within - mining through this paradigm to catch the spider, running wild and spinning - what a sophisticated web once spun by awful and sedated but sleepless intentions - crouched from comfort in a round-about way - and built of line and angle, as any good one might be were it not for the night - shuddering from a breath, but drawn to the whole, of which will not be spoken, but will be weaved, umined, in this, the spider's paradigm frag ~ (i notice, in quoting the above - that the line breaks are staggered quite interestingly. I guess this format eliminates the clever line breaks, alas) I really like your careful diction & construction of verse both poems above are excellent works Thanks for contributing. |
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Post by sisyphus on Mar 24, 2006 4:10:00 GMT -5
Thats hea-vy thron! I just feel like sharing some tonight. Its horrible so forgive me. the stars above that light the dark sky all they can they cant whistle a tune down to mortal man i am so down so here I am waiting for beautiful answers but nowhere man charcoal night my soul is poor i patiently wait but can wait no more them bright stars cant show the way but the loneliness in pale grey white day charcoal night smeared with awake dreams insane i never want to return again the stars theyre there but they will always be at league with waters that hold the key a sophomoric poems that wants to express gigantic volumes of duress that is what I want to do BUT this yarn is paper in the loo it just needs more time. talent too. no doubt it needs work. wayved ~ I like this poem very much, don't be so hard on yerself mate ! If it needs work, it doesn't need much. Maybe a nip or tuck & a polishing touch. But if you ask me, it doesn't require any more talent than is already on display. Just keep at it . . . you've got the lyrical knack It's in your blood. Perfect takes practice... yes... i agree with thorn. and keep 'em coming!!! (pretty please!!) |
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Post by frag on Mar 25, 2006 0:06:04 GMT -5
Thanks for the poem thorn. And the compliments. And glad that you noticed the line-breaks. Very intentional as I was reading a lot of Ferlinghetti at the time. speaking of...the greatest poem ever written: "Constantly Risking Absurdity" Constantly risking absurdity and death whenever he performs above the heads of his audience the poet like an acrobat climbs on rime to a high wire of his own making and balancing on eyebeams above a sea of faces paces his way to the other side of the day performing entrachats and sleight-of-foot tricks and other high theatrics and all without mistaking any thing for what it may not be For he's the super realist who must perforce perceive taut truth before the taking of each stance or step in his supposed advance toward that still higher perch where Beauty stands and waits with gravity to start her death-defying leap And he a little charleychaplin man who may or may not catch her fair eternal form spreadeagled in the empty air of existence --Lawrence Ferlinghetti now, if you're familiar with the actual line breaks in that poem...you get an entirely different feel from the straight-forward pattern. I can't really explain it I guess. I love that poem. My absolute favorite. But it loses something when read as it's printed above. Oh well. i'm out... |
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Post by Thorngrub on Mar 27, 2006 12:23:28 GMT -5
*very strange you happened to post that poem, frag* (explanation later)...
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Post by Thorngrub on Mar 27, 2006 12:47:19 GMT -5
ok, reason I say its strange:
Just last Thurs (4 days ago),
at our local Thursday evening open mic/poetry reading
@ 2 Creeks Coffee House,
our pal & local poet Ian Roebuck
actually read that very same
Ferlinghetti poem to us
~ ~ ~
Does anyone know if there is a tag to create spaces on these posts -?
I'd surely like to know how to do that. . . hate the way all posts are automatically
lined up along the left margin.
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Post by frag on Mar 27, 2006 17:50:30 GMT -5
figured it out. thorn, type pre and /pre in brackets around the poem to achieve: Mine Paradigm
off-white but fuschia, trickling sideways -
left-of-center, but always within -
mining through this paradigm
to catch the spider, running
wild and spinning -
what a sophisticated web once
spun by awful and sedated
but sleepless intentions -
crouched from comfort
in a round-about way -
and built of line and angle,
as any good one might
be were it not for the night -
shuddering from a breath, but
drawn to the whole, of which
will not be spoken, but will
be weaved, umined,
in this, the spider's paradigm
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Post by frag on Mar 27, 2006 17:53:47 GMT -5
experimenting...don't mind me What do you think, Mr. Pink?
if it were a color,
to be associated with mine own disposition, i choose not pink
but lavender
or perhaps a pale
and cancerous yellow might
better suit my exterior
because man made his mind
before he made god
his perceptions are the same
before it took to hues to distinguish
mine from my neighbor
or the landlord fire engine red- do you not see yet?
not the color of flame
or the spinning of gold
in an emerald attire
it all clashes
with the neutral grays of
our skies but
we cannot see
past into backward
nor ahead of our worlds
ahh, i'll resign amidst this clamor
accept my color
whatever timid greens
or aborted reds
may be thrown for
and by, to bring to the table
offer on the silver plate
what meaning may be unseen
this is not my name
'twas auctioned away
half it's paternal value
on eBay
[/size] |
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Post by frag on Mar 27, 2006 17:57:27 GMT -5
in my best peter griffin voice - sweeeeeeeeeeet!
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