manipulatrix
Really Experienced
- Joined
- Mar 1, 2007
- Posts
- 161
1
*****
*****
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- Status
V
vampiredust
Guest
11
Field Testing
The house wired in memories
watches clouds lift their veils
as it collapses into a dustball.
Shrapnel of flesh and bone,
flung out in its final moments,
hits the unnatural: streets,
fire hydrants, traffic lights.
Flickers of memory lodged
in these pieces is reflected,
signals sent out to their
exact opposite in another
universe; completing the test.
Field Testing
The house wired in memories
watches clouds lift their veils
as it collapses into a dustball.
Shrapnel of flesh and bone,
flung out in its final moments,
hits the unnatural: streets,
fire hydrants, traffic lights.
Flickers of memory lodged
in these pieces is reflected,
signals sent out to their
exact opposite in another
universe; completing the test.
Last edited by a moderator:
wildsweetone
i am what i am
- Joined
- Feb 1, 2002
- Posts
- 6,809
19.
...
It is difficult to write the news
into a poem
when children die daily,
unable to read
their past.
...
It is difficult to write the news
into a poem
when children die daily,
unable to read
their past.
unpredictablebijou
Peril!
- Joined
- Apr 21, 2007
- Posts
- 5,507
1-9
Note: I was recently challenged by a certain New York boy (who's perfectly nice but probably thinks I ride a mule to work) to write a poem about transvestites in Kansas. With all affection, this is draft number one in answer to that challenge.
Culture
Well, Lexy comes to mind.
When I met him at fresh-faced, corn-fed 22,
he was just in from the northwest corner
(Welcome to Lucas! Population 4836
And Growing!). His name was Matthew then.
We were lovers for a while. He's traded the acoustic
for a Les Paul, and these days he's the lead guitar
in a glam rock band, all torn fishnets and glitter lipstick,
sugar-freak thin and gold dusted.
I've squealed along with the groupies at the gigs,
watching him strut and smoke the solos
while he blows apple-red kisses and bats sequined eyelashes.
He doesn't miss a beat when he kicks
round the guitar cord
in red go-go boots with six-inch platforms.
I loaned him the silver mini dress in that cover shot
for the local music rag.
When they went to NYC
for Gay Pride Day, and won
the battle of the bands in some high-toned club,
some city queer tried to give my Lexy
a bit of New York attitude.
So he dropped his light and airy lisp
for the slow tone of a Kansas boy
and in a steel-eyed Midwest drawl,
so quietly that only Miss Thang could hear him,
the old Matthew said, “Bitch,
don't be fooled. I grew up
driving a cultivator bigger than your studio apartment,
killed and dressed my first deer
when I was nine. I am not the fag
to mess with. Go find it somewhere else.”
And then, just like that, Lexy was back,
kicking brightly off to find Mercury and Donna Seven
and the rest of the girls, to celebrate their win.
Kansas holds many surprises, my friend.
We just don't feel the need
to talk about them unless we're challenged.
Note: I was recently challenged by a certain New York boy (who's perfectly nice but probably thinks I ride a mule to work) to write a poem about transvestites in Kansas. With all affection, this is draft number one in answer to that challenge.
Culture
Well, Lexy comes to mind.
When I met him at fresh-faced, corn-fed 22,
he was just in from the northwest corner
(Welcome to Lucas! Population 4836
And Growing!). His name was Matthew then.
We were lovers for a while. He's traded the acoustic
for a Les Paul, and these days he's the lead guitar
in a glam rock band, all torn fishnets and glitter lipstick,
sugar-freak thin and gold dusted.
I've squealed along with the groupies at the gigs,
watching him strut and smoke the solos
while he blows apple-red kisses and bats sequined eyelashes.
He doesn't miss a beat when he kicks
round the guitar cord
in red go-go boots with six-inch platforms.
I loaned him the silver mini dress in that cover shot
for the local music rag.
When they went to NYC
for Gay Pride Day, and won
the battle of the bands in some high-toned club,
some city queer tried to give my Lexy
a bit of New York attitude.
So he dropped his light and airy lisp
for the slow tone of a Kansas boy
and in a steel-eyed Midwest drawl,
so quietly that only Miss Thang could hear him,
the old Matthew said, “Bitch,
don't be fooled. I grew up
driving a cultivator bigger than your studio apartment,
killed and dressed my first deer
when I was nine. I am not the fag
to mess with. Go find it somewhere else.”
And then, just like that, Lexy was back,
kicking brightly off to find Mercury and Donna Seven
and the rest of the girls, to celebrate their win.
Kansas holds many surprises, my friend.
We just don't feel the need
to talk about them unless we're challenged.
Sara Crewe
Whatever
- Joined
- Jan 18, 2006
- Posts
- 1,692
7-15
Office Party
I return to the table with my glass
of white wine. The conversation
has left without me and I can’t reach
my chair without interrupting traffic.
My wine helps me stand less self-consciously
like a long-time girlfriend at my back
while I wish I had worn a longer dress
and wait for you to notice your legs
are in my way. But when you do
you don’t move. I stand. You sit.
I want to take a drink and play
it casual but I’m afraid I’ll choke.
We’ve seen each other every day
for the last year but tonight we both stare
like we have been stripped down
and are suddenly aware
of the other person’s sex.
I lose my self-proclaimed innocence
when it occurs to me that I could go
the other way but I don’t. The room
plays a convenient mute until Frank
from marketing says excuse me
and you move your legs.
I sit down and stare at my drink
to hide my naked face.
Office Party
I return to the table with my glass
of white wine. The conversation
has left without me and I can’t reach
my chair without interrupting traffic.
My wine helps me stand less self-consciously
like a long-time girlfriend at my back
while I wish I had worn a longer dress
and wait for you to notice your legs
are in my way. But when you do
you don’t move. I stand. You sit.
I want to take a drink and play
it casual but I’m afraid I’ll choke.
We’ve seen each other every day
for the last year but tonight we both stare
like we have been stripped down
and are suddenly aware
of the other person’s sex.
I lose my self-proclaimed innocence
when it occurs to me that I could go
the other way but I don’t. The room
plays a convenient mute until Frank
from marketing says excuse me
and you move your legs.
I sit down and stare at my drink
to hide my naked face.
Tzara
Continental
- Joined
- Aug 2, 2005
- Posts
- 7,662
15
Cat Doggerel
Oh, yeah—Schrödinger's cat.
He's in eigenstate this or in eigenstate that.
If a corpse, can't catch rats,
if still cat, he's not mort—
he's like superpositional!
Quantum physics? Swell sport!
Cat Doggerel
Oh, yeah—Schrödinger's cat.
He's in eigenstate this or in eigenstate that.
If a corpse, can't catch rats,
if still cat, he's not mort—
he's like superpositional!
Quantum physics? Swell sport!
manipulatrix
Really Experienced
- Joined
- Mar 1, 2007
- Posts
- 161
2
.....
.....
Last edited:
V
vampiredust
Guest
12
Futures
Mother, whilst waiting for the green
light to appear at the crossing,
caught glimpses of the future
moving in transit.
Some were being carried
by motorcycle couriers
in fibreglass wombs, others
in the summer sweat
of builders and mothers
with pushchairs.
She did not do what people
tend to do - stare until
the image is filed away
in the lobes of our brains -
but took out a handkerchief
from her handbag
and caught one, ready
to take it on the shelf
next to the past and present.
Futures
Mother, whilst waiting for the green
light to appear at the crossing,
caught glimpses of the future
moving in transit.
Some were being carried
by motorcycle couriers
in fibreglass wombs, others
in the summer sweat
of builders and mothers
with pushchairs.
She did not do what people
tend to do - stare until
the image is filed away
in the lobes of our brains -
but took out a handkerchief
from her handbag
and caught one, ready
to take it on the shelf
next to the past and present.
unpredictablebijou
Peril!
- Joined
- Apr 21, 2007
- Posts
- 5,507
1-10
69
Smooth, it is, and kind
how you roll under my hand
and moan as revelation
of the cock's sweet dream
runs through your belly,
and when it tightens down,
you breathe, and find yourself
in fingers, deep in the warm
sea of smoke between my legs.
By turns,
you let them rule
the world.
Balance moves like tide,
striking and retreating: between root
and mouth, between heat and
the roses of fingertips. Your mouth
echoes mine and we sing
into each other's bellies.
You feel my voice vibrate
around and into you
as I am taken over by your hands
and come, and come to bliss,
and as you ride
the root, the crown, and drink
the goddess juice
you give it back to me.
You say
here it is,
here it is, oh
here it is.
*
69
Smooth, it is, and kind
how you roll under my hand
and moan as revelation
of the cock's sweet dream
runs through your belly,
and when it tightens down,
you breathe, and find yourself
in fingers, deep in the warm
sea of smoke between my legs.
By turns,
you let them rule
the world.
Balance moves like tide,
striking and retreating: between root
and mouth, between heat and
the roses of fingertips. Your mouth
echoes mine and we sing
into each other's bellies.
You feel my voice vibrate
around and into you
as I am taken over by your hands
and come, and come to bliss,
and as you ride
the root, the crown, and drink
the goddess juice
you give it back to me.
You say
here it is,
here it is, oh
here it is.
*
manipulatrix
Really Experienced
- Joined
- Mar 1, 2007
- Posts
- 161
3
.....
.....
Last edited:
wildsweetone
i am what i am
- Joined
- Feb 1, 2002
- Posts
- 6,809
20.
...
pull the plug
slip the drug
into a pocket
finger in socket
zap of 'lectricity
zing! bad hair day
but it's not May
once in a while
a ridiculous smile
Mona would grimace
Bart would belch
feet all squelch
in mud up to knees
watch out for those nasty killer bees
once in a while
slip in the drugs
stick it in a socket
but not in a pocket
pull the plug.
and promise you won't sing
like Borat in Texas.
...
pull the plug
slip the drug
into a pocket
finger in socket
zap of 'lectricity
zing! bad hair day
but it's not May
once in a while
a ridiculous smile
Mona would grimace
Bart would belch
feet all squelch
in mud up to knees
watch out for those nasty killer bees
once in a while
slip in the drugs
stick it in a socket
but not in a pocket
pull the plug.
and promise you won't sing
like Borat in Texas.
Sara Crewe
Whatever
- Joined
- Jan 18, 2006
- Posts
- 1,692
7-16
You Can't Teach Turtles
We were going to stop and smell
the roses or in this case look
at the turtles sunning themselves
on a rock in the bay beside our road.
The roses this year are nothing
to look at due to a fierce caterpillar attack
that would have made any general proud.
I thought our visit would help the kids
appreciate nature, allow them to ask
questions about turtle habitat
and I am ashamed to admit
I envisioned a technicolour bond
over our shared concern
for the environment. Flawless parenting
with perfect storyboards and no edits
necessary. I told the kids to stay
on the shoulder when walking
next to the road. The youngest asked
asked why it’s called the shoulder
if there are no other body parts.
Gruesome thoughts make him happy
so he grinned and said maybe the rest
were cut off. No more forensic shows
at Gram’s house for him. They noticed
the car lights were flashing so I explained
the function of hazard lights. That made
two of them take my hand
and should have been my warning
that perhaps this teaching scroll
was not going to unroll quite as smoothly
as I had planned. We joined the spiders
and climbed the guardrail. Screamed
with the wiggling flies when we touched
web. When asked I explained
what the metal fence was there for
and again they shifted closer
and asked if we were there yet.
The oldest wanted car accidents stats.
I gave him my best shush or your scare
your younger siblings look but he’s male
so he looked oblivious to the optical warning
flashing in my eyes and said, what?
I just wanted to know. I didn’t answer him
because the cattails signaled our arrival.
I said shhhh but it was too late.
When the water came into my view
there was the rock and three tiny rings.
The kids stared. The bay was so still
and lifeless it could have been a January day
but for the ignorant crickets
who had the audacity to rub
the absence of even an anticlimax
and mock me for thinking I had any control
over turtles or what my kids learn.
It’s a nice rock, Mom.
Yeah, okay. Back to the car.
You Can't Teach Turtles
We were going to stop and smell
the roses or in this case look
at the turtles sunning themselves
on a rock in the bay beside our road.
The roses this year are nothing
to look at due to a fierce caterpillar attack
that would have made any general proud.
I thought our visit would help the kids
appreciate nature, allow them to ask
questions about turtle habitat
and I am ashamed to admit
I envisioned a technicolour bond
over our shared concern
for the environment. Flawless parenting
with perfect storyboards and no edits
necessary. I told the kids to stay
on the shoulder when walking
next to the road. The youngest asked
asked why it’s called the shoulder
if there are no other body parts.
Gruesome thoughts make him happy
so he grinned and said maybe the rest
were cut off. No more forensic shows
at Gram’s house for him. They noticed
the car lights were flashing so I explained
the function of hazard lights. That made
two of them take my hand
and should have been my warning
that perhaps this teaching scroll
was not going to unroll quite as smoothly
as I had planned. We joined the spiders
and climbed the guardrail. Screamed
with the wiggling flies when we touched
web. When asked I explained
what the metal fence was there for
and again they shifted closer
and asked if we were there yet.
The oldest wanted car accidents stats.
I gave him my best shush or your scare
your younger siblings look but he’s male
so he looked oblivious to the optical warning
flashing in my eyes and said, what?
I just wanted to know. I didn’t answer him
because the cattails signaled our arrival.
I said shhhh but it was too late.
When the water came into my view
there was the rock and three tiny rings.
The kids stared. The bay was so still
and lifeless it could have been a January day
but for the ignorant crickets
who had the audacity to rub
the absence of even an anticlimax
and mock me for thinking I had any control
over turtles or what my kids learn.
It’s a nice rock, Mom.
Yeah, okay. Back to the car.
V
vampiredust
Guest
13
Making Peace
Someone, somewhere, is standing
outside a train station and learning
to forgive. Rain has wrapped
the waiting taxis in its arms
and everyone is rushing
out, except this one person.
I guarantee it is happening
because I see it daily.
And forgiveness, like the rain,
is a process mirroring
the water cycle we were
taught at school. Perhaps they
were invented by the same person,
who one day, noticed vapour
rising from the ground
like his or her thoughts,
felt it being ground up and recycled
inside the ribcage and then slowly
released again in the form
of cloud; ready to be re-imagined
over and over again.
Making Peace
Someone, somewhere, is standing
outside a train station and learning
to forgive. Rain has wrapped
the waiting taxis in its arms
and everyone is rushing
out, except this one person.
I guarantee it is happening
because I see it daily.
And forgiveness, like the rain,
is a process mirroring
the water cycle we were
taught at school. Perhaps they
were invented by the same person,
who one day, noticed vapour
rising from the ground
like his or her thoughts,
felt it being ground up and recycled
inside the ribcage and then slowly
released again in the form
of cloud; ready to be re-imagined
over and over again.
Tzara
Continental
- Joined
- Aug 2, 2005
- Posts
- 7,662
16
And We're Out of Titles, Too
Well, I think we've eaten all the metaphors
we had around the house and the only similes
that are left are stale. They won't kill us, I suppose,
but they're old and really really hard
—the kind that crack your teeth if you're not careful—
and that gray-green mold is unaesthetic. I looked
in the closet for our metonymy, under the shoes,
where I'd tossed it the last time it was used,
but then remembered how the dog had chewed on it.
We had to throw it out. I did find a few rhymes
under the rug/bug/lug, but they didn't fit/sit/get
me anywhere, so I just put them back. Thank
God we've still a cupboard full of perseverance.
I can always make that work. Slap on a coat
of pluck, wrap the thing in duct tape and don't
ask it to do too much—just sit here for a day.
Oh, yeah. Put that can of pride in the compactor
and mash it up. We've too much of that, in any case.
And We're Out of Titles, Too
Well, I think we've eaten all the metaphors
we had around the house and the only similes
that are left are stale. They won't kill us, I suppose,
but they're old and really really hard
—the kind that crack your teeth if you're not careful—
and that gray-green mold is unaesthetic. I looked
in the closet for our metonymy, under the shoes,
where I'd tossed it the last time it was used,
but then remembered how the dog had chewed on it.
We had to throw it out. I did find a few rhymes
under the rug/bug/lug, but they didn't fit/sit/get
me anywhere, so I just put them back. Thank
God we've still a cupboard full of perseverance.
I can always make that work. Slap on a coat
of pluck, wrap the thing in duct tape and don't
ask it to do too much—just sit here for a day.
Oh, yeah. Put that can of pride in the compactor
and mash it up. We've too much of that, in any case.
unpredictablebijou
Peril!
- Joined
- Apr 21, 2007
- Posts
- 5,507
1-11
******
******
Last edited:
wildsweetone
i am what i am
- Joined
- Feb 1, 2002
- Posts
- 6,809
21.
...
They are led by a machine
that sits
on the dashboard
of their SUVs.
They don't take time
to look out their windows,
to look beyond
the air conditioned
leather interior
to the hot pavement
where children dance
under the thin mid-day shade
of oaks.
They miss the soap-powdered fountains,
the rotweillers in hats and shades,
they are led by a machine
and they don't see the monarch
drink from the sunflower.
...
They are led by a machine
that sits
on the dashboard
of their SUVs.
They don't take time
to look out their windows,
to look beyond
the air conditioned
leather interior
to the hot pavement
where children dance
under the thin mid-day shade
of oaks.
They miss the soap-powdered fountains,
the rotweillers in hats and shades,
they are led by a machine
and they don't see the monarch
drink from the sunflower.
Sara Crewe
Whatever
- Joined
- Jan 18, 2006
- Posts
- 1,692
7-17
If I could walk out the door
I would hike into the Grand Canyon
watch the tide come in on the Bay of Fundy
run beside a lion and ride an elephant
meet him in Paris at his favourite restaurant
read every book on every shelf and then buy them
hear him sing in a bar where everyone knows his name
swim with well-fed killer whales
kiss the blarney stone
cook for one night in a New York restaurant
watch a baby and a mother being born
shop in Florence and eat pizza in Rome
hug a koala bear
go topless on the French Riviera
climb a pyramid
wake up every morning on my beach
hear last call over the laughter of a long-planned pub night
authenticate the march of the penguins
see his dolphins while he held my hand
write a book and have one book signing
look into a Hawaiian volcano
ride a black horse down a white beach
fly a plane through a cloud
secretly clear their mortgage
canoe down the Amazon
but all of it would be meaningless
without the door
and my world behind it
If I could walk out the door
I would hike into the Grand Canyon
watch the tide come in on the Bay of Fundy
run beside a lion and ride an elephant
meet him in Paris at his favourite restaurant
read every book on every shelf and then buy them
hear him sing in a bar where everyone knows his name
swim with well-fed killer whales
kiss the blarney stone
cook for one night in a New York restaurant
watch a baby and a mother being born
shop in Florence and eat pizza in Rome
hug a koala bear
go topless on the French Riviera
climb a pyramid
wake up every morning on my beach
hear last call over the laughter of a long-planned pub night
authenticate the march of the penguins
see his dolphins while he held my hand
write a book and have one book signing
look into a Hawaiian volcano
ride a black horse down a white beach
fly a plane through a cloud
secretly clear their mortgage
canoe down the Amazon
but all of it would be meaningless
without the door
and my world behind it
Last edited:
manipulatrix
Really Experienced
- Joined
- Mar 1, 2007
- Posts
- 161
4
*****
*****
Last edited:
V
vampiredust
Guest
14
Keys
The key turning in my front door
has no idea where it's going
or will end up. The coral of atoms
in its flat, rusting, body
have no idea either. Perhaps
someone gave it a guidebook
when it was created, etched
through layers of space-time
and quantum trickery. Perhaps
it was forgotten and it likes
the sensation of exploring
the new rather than the old.
I don't know. Maybe it will stay
in its same place and think
of what it might have become:
a Kansas cornfield, an ageing
Ford Model T or a Pentium 4
processor. Or perhaps
it just likes to feel the wind
brushing against its body,
knowing it is here
and that's all that matters.
Keys
The key turning in my front door
has no idea where it's going
or will end up. The coral of atoms
in its flat, rusting, body
have no idea either. Perhaps
someone gave it a guidebook
when it was created, etched
through layers of space-time
and quantum trickery. Perhaps
it was forgotten and it likes
the sensation of exploring
the new rather than the old.
I don't know. Maybe it will stay
in its same place and think
of what it might have become:
a Kansas cornfield, an ageing
Ford Model T or a Pentium 4
processor. Or perhaps
it just likes to feel the wind
brushing against its body,
knowing it is here
and that's all that matters.
Last edited by a moderator:
unpredictablebijou
Peril!
- Joined
- Apr 21, 2007
- Posts
- 5,507
1-12
-untitled-
“Aided by the ghost of the celebrated poet Abe no Nakamaro, the skillful magician Kibi successfully passes the rigorous tests of skill and learning to which he is subjected by his haughty Chinese hosts. ...Abe no Nakamaro was still alive at the time of Kibi's mission...”
- Jan Fontein, describing a Heian period handscroll.
I want to be the ghost
in your story
before I'm dead.
I want to mean
to signify
to symbolize.
I want my meaningless
poems about birds and tea
to save your life,
for my speaking to carry such weight
that you consider me
already a haunting.
I want to be unreal to you.
I want my words to make grass grow
under your feet.
I say the word: bridge.
A bridge appears
where there was no way
to cross.
Let my love of this
dead art
make me immortal
make me mythology.
Don't bother with my existence;
hang with my ghost
without delay.
Take it on vacation.
I will sit in this place
and trace your path with ink.
I will be a most excellent ghost.
I can stand guard over you while you sleep,
show you the best berries,
tell you which door to choose.
My name is
Seven League Boots,
Invisible Dog.
I am the spell you speak for light
I am the eighth day of oil
I am the Green Light Mojo.
My name is
Subtle as Instinct
I will be Sextant
and Fortunate Dove.
As waves I'll bring you
safely to land.
-untitled-
“Aided by the ghost of the celebrated poet Abe no Nakamaro, the skillful magician Kibi successfully passes the rigorous tests of skill and learning to which he is subjected by his haughty Chinese hosts. ...Abe no Nakamaro was still alive at the time of Kibi's mission...”
- Jan Fontein, describing a Heian period handscroll.
I want to be the ghost
in your story
before I'm dead.
I want to mean
to signify
to symbolize.
I want my meaningless
poems about birds and tea
to save your life,
for my speaking to carry such weight
that you consider me
already a haunting.
I want to be unreal to you.
I want my words to make grass grow
under your feet.
I say the word: bridge.
A bridge appears
where there was no way
to cross.
Let my love of this
dead art
make me immortal
make me mythology.
Don't bother with my existence;
hang with my ghost
without delay.
Take it on vacation.
I will sit in this place
and trace your path with ink.
I will be a most excellent ghost.
I can stand guard over you while you sleep,
show you the best berries,
tell you which door to choose.
My name is
Seven League Boots,
Invisible Dog.
I am the spell you speak for light
I am the eighth day of oil
I am the Green Light Mojo.
My name is
Subtle as Instinct
I will be Sextant
and Fortunate Dove.
As waves I'll bring you
safely to land.
- Status
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