007 Challenge

[KatieJones]

3

.....

 

[PandoraGlitters]

admire the vine

What wonderful poems, Renee and Tzara. Quite promising run for you two.

 

[KatieJones]

4-It's Never Just Dinner

.....

 

[Tzara]

4

Hell

must, of course, be worse.
In Hell, the magazines are in Ukrainian
or Esperanto

and they don’t have pictures
of anyone in bikinis, not
even Raisa Gorbachev.

The office muzak loops
Tony Orlando and Dawn. But
it could have been Barry Manilow.


.

 

[Tzara]

What wonderful poems, Renee and Tzara. Quite promising run for you two.

Thank you, PG. It's KJ, though, who is rocking this thread in my opinion.

 

[KatieJones]

5

.....

 

[Tzara]

5

I am a seasoned poet here, and know when I am bested,
Though even by a poet who at Lit is still untested.
For Katie Jones is new, I think; her poèms sound out roundly
With assonance and metaphor and rhythm used quite soundly.

It is no competition, compositioning our verses,
We all write what we can and cart the bad ones out in hearses.
But hers I think exceptional and wish that I was writing
Some verse, like hers, I thought was true and also (meh?) exciting.

But I am one to schlub along with similes and curses—
As if enough mechanics and thematic controverses
Would birth a verse that some would deem, well, not completely worthless.
Alas, that’s like young girls will scream when I appear unshirtless.

So I acknowledge Katie as superior in poeming,
And try avoiding rhymes where I write “twilight” down as “gloaming.”
Apologies I’ve made, so now I’ll cease this latest twister,
Go back to writing smutty verse of incest with my sister.


.

 

[KatieJones]

6

.....

 

[PandoraGlitters]

Indeed, Tzara! I am remiss and rereading. I was trying to multitask when posting and I should know by now never never never. KatieJones, wonderful start, here. Thank you for gracing the 007 with your poems and obvious talents.

 

[KatieJones]

Thanks, PandoraGlitters! I enjoyed reading back over your "runs". Love your voice and the unstated emotion you wrap up in your imagery.

 

[_Land]

1: living canvas

the 6 year old mind sees
unlimited potential
walls
paper
daddies toenails

the sidewalk until
the rain
lines run circles
on unused tracks

or hearts and flowers on
babies bellies
her imagination
follows her desire

 

[KatieJones]

7

.....

 

[Tzara]

6

Psychophysics

Nothing serious is ever casual,
even in the imagination—especially
there. A note

can always be the start
of a melody, whether written,
struck, or strummed,

even if no one else perceives it
because it is physical
the way the backs of my fingers

know the stroke of her neck,
her soft gathering of hair,
the steady, slow throb

of artery in her throat.
I know these things exactly,
the way that Homer knew Troy.


.

 

[_Land]

lose it

just once
wild
beyond passion
just once
past breaking
waves on shore
tidal pools
overflow
ocean pours it fury
excitedly flooding
unrelenting land





oh yeah this is number 2

 

[KatieJones]

1

.....

 

[mikey1234]

I watch you
rise
fall
rise again
in the dim light
that sneaks
beneath your door
your stockings
whisper
as your moans
seek release
rise
fall
hips ...........moving
fingers.........seeking
this..........my love
is the music.........of lust

 

[mikey1234]

As I walk
on this gray day
I remember
your voice
your smell
your taste
as leaves fall
in deaths color
I walk
Love..........was easy
with you......*****
was easy
you have gone
but remain
here............in me
a song
a light......on this........gray day

 

[Tzara]

7

Un poème chorégraphique

Dance is the melding
of two bodies to one beat,
twinned but mirrored

as they step and slip
and glide toward a common goal.
Perhaps he guides,

or perhaps he is just careful
enough to note her intent, her needs,
and just waltzes her to where

she wanted always to go.
Surely what matters is simply that
they both get there.

Gracefully.


.

 

[mikey1234]

Through the crack
of my resolve..........you enter
across darkened halls
a memory
clicks........as your heels
awaken my thoughts
I have arrived
once again
pushing ever forward.........back to you
I appear strong
but I am weakened
thrashed.......by the tempest
that is you
its hidden.....in the red of your lips
beyond the whispers........of common sense
lust.......love........lust....love
all grow bitter.......upon the one vine
and now.........yes now.....you enter

 

[mikey1234]

Open me
like that corner drawer of your desk
the one containing nothing
give me
an occasional glance
pretend to see me
then slam me shut
left to wait
quivering
like a dog that has to piss
but cant get outside
after all...............what does it matter
so why not.............open me

 

[mikey1234]

I missed the subway........again.....today
I dont know........what happened
I had time
I ran....no I walked
I felt........pushed
rushed
like my life was passing
and I just ........stood there
watching....people......rushing
moving parts
just moving parts
and I thought........no
yes I thought....no
I need to think
thats when.........I realized.....I missed the subway
and at that moment........fear
for all that I was.........nothing
a runner
a single
insignificant..........runner
and you know...........in some ways
I
yes I
was aware.........

 

[KatieJones]

2

......

 

[mikey1234]

a cup of tea will set you right
morning,noon or dark of night
warm your insides,outsides too
a cup of tea will get you through
tears or laughter, death or birth
a cup of tea will show its worth
green or black lemons nice
boiling hot or cool as ice
troubles seem to fade away
with a cup of tea every day
coffee can never take its place
tea will always win the race
so sit right down I will take no buts
how many of you?................Ill get the cups

 

[mikey1234]

Last one....

I have come here today
here among the granite stones
to speak to you
I touch your name
and remember
your smile
your voice
your laughter
and then........I realize
your not here
in this place of grey memories
only I am here
again with flowers
you no longer need
love.......lingers
damn.........how it lingers
but not here

 

[Tzara]

7 (+1)

Keep

The village is kind, its people concerned
that I live to talk to illusion,
though that is my gift and fate.

It is as if I define uncertainty
in their certain world, that I explain
the routine and inexplicable—

how iron becomes gold, how
order is always never compromised,
how things simply are.

It could be that the Castellan
governs a hill of sand
which we all perceive as stone and towers

and protection from evils. It could be.
Anything could be. So why not
see what makes your own life work, and dream

of wealth and satisfaction
and, oh, luxury. And do not wake
even when fine silica abrades your face.


.