Archival Review

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Go ahead and revel in the rich sensuousness of her words.


Prodigal of Blue
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by Lauren Hynde©


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In a dream of Iris, drowned by fire and gold,
come memories of a distant time of blue,
amidst veils of tulle, of blood tainted sails,
a time slender and light, a time-twofold.

Through a second, my senses were colours
come into bud on my yearnings' garden
in distances surpassed with joyous hearts,
for there blossomed the Island of Delights.

Gold would downpour if I thought of the stars,
moonlight sweltering over my estrangement:
Nights-lagoons, perfect portrait of beauty,
underneath terraces-de-lis of remembrance.

Time--arpeggio of inter-reverie and moon
where the hours irreversibly ran of jade,
when the tropical haze was ravenous
and the light--urge of a nude goddess,

baluster of resonance, arches of worship,
bridges of shimmer, ogees of fragrance,
ineffable dominion of combustion and opium
in a cold colour I shan't ever inhabit anew;

tapestries of different Persias farther East,
draperies of distant Chinas and more ivory,
auric sanctuaries for satin ceremonies,
fountains of shadow, running fearfully,

and unrealized domes--pantheons of desires
yearns for the infinite and ocean cathedrals
stairways of honour, steps alone, of air
new Byzantiums--souls, new Turkeys.

Fluid memories, a brocade of ashes,
indigo unrealities in me undulating:
king in exile, vagabond in a siren's dream
of the sweet blue of East and sapphires.

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So much for the power of love, in this teary-eyed perspective.


Losing
by lindiana©


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A negative color image is a different way to present a vision.


New Perspective
by neonurotic©


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Hard-edged, new perspective
viewed at high contrast
White is brighter
black is black as night

Parallel on the road
center
these lines go on forever
or they seem
2000 miles feels that way

Through the haze
veil of fog
stars kiss the sky
I stop counting them at dawn

The sun brings color
to the shadows
but shutter speed closes
before the image is overexposed​

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Okay, so this one's not very old — I was limiting myself to 2006 or earlier — but this one's so good and creative, I just have to include it now (make sure that animation's enabled on Internet Explorer).


TV
by Lauren Hynde©




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Here's a bit of eroticism that works without the crude vulgarity into which most attempted erotic poems seem to fall.


Please...
by wildsweetone©


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Please...

She lay on the grass,

soft, flowered dress
around her waist,

sun blessed legs,

dappled highlights on
dark curls,

blossoming open,

ready,

waiting

to feel the touch of
lips
and welcoming tongue.


Illustrated by Rhinoguy

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Here's an illustration very familiar to Litland's poets.


Siren On The Rocks
by JUDO©


--- a titillar sonnet for Lauren.Hynde ---

A hidden pearl that lies within plain sight
Distracts my mind to flights of fancy sex.
My breath on hold, my pounding heart in vex
The words just cannot come to bear my plight.

In whitewashed cloth, a breast of wondrous hue
Lies perched in wait amidst its open cage
As though intentions be to steep the rage
Of passersby who catch the sexual view.

A nymph perhaps or lady unaware
Sits so upright to call ourselves to task.
If we could be so bold to gently ask
"Could I request a kiss upon the pair?"

Delights play everyday within our sight
That tempt our lustful paths from morn til night.

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(Lauren.Hynde's avatar -- Used with permission)

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Perhaps a different color for the text {a dark gray, maybe} for better contrast — tilting my screen solves that minor problem. Background is clear enough to give a strong flavor to the words.


She Comes
by Tristesse2©


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That Friday drive home can be so tough — it's cutting into your quality time.


...white noise in urbania
by neonurotic©


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5pm Friday again.

I'm quick tempered,
stuck in slow traffic
thinking, TGIF!
Ya, right

As far as I can see,
it's bumper to bumper,
red tailights,
horns honking,
curses with dirty gestures.

In this cluster-fuck,
I search for
white noise in urbania,
a low hum and buzz
between two,
behind closed doors.​

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Through all the years spent in school, I don't recall any grammar lesson of this sort.


poetry hard-on
by 4degrees©


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A rather unusual piece. The incongruity between the illustration and the words make the pain expressed all that more poignant.


Words
by lindiana©


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Excellent description of the sundog, with supporting illustration.


Sundog Down
by neonurotic©


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*

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Another of Litland's jewels that that infamous Heather Larsen attempted to steal.


Unmask The Gray
by neonurotic©


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For those of us in the Great North Woods, here's a thought to consider. Just as there's a hint of summer in the air, the great fall cool-down is but four months away, if that.

In view of that, I offer the following. Too bad there are restraints on size. This one would benefit by increasing the length & width; the text could then be of greater point size.


Vestigial Autumn
by jthserra©


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Here's a brief piece, nicely done, that seems to make you want to whisper through word usage and brevity.


Whispers
by Liar©


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Another whispering poem here with a different style. Compare the two. This one's word choices are more powerful. One seems to leave you breathless, the other, twisting in the wind.


Whispers
by wildsweetone©


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Got any of my stuff?
The subtle erotism of plastic popping. :rose:
The $29.95 worth of haikus. :)




Didn't think so.


So let's all walk down the past
and pat each other's asses
and soon enuff this place will be
as active as Inert gasses.


Zero on the table.
(did you like that one Tzara?)


:kiss: :kiss: :kiss:
is not poetry discussion

The ghost of senna came to me
dripping as if in a puddle
"Please, please" I begged of he
"come back and cut through all this muddle'

WTF it rhymes :nana:

A well informed consumer, makes well informed choices
 
LeBroz said:
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Here's one I overlooked — love that bachelor breakfast he fixes.


Al Pacino Breakfast
by The Mutt©


Sunday morning
After Saturday night,
I’m up at hint of dawn,
I’m up this early anyway
Six days
A week.

Jesus, give me space
On this radio dial,
Give me space
For just one broken heart.

Faucet water, heal me
Radio, sustain me
Al Pacino breakfast,
Sun Records
For my sins

Last night’s cheese and sausage
Curling on the cardboard
Grants me absolution frying
In my scambled eggs.

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Coolness. Nice to know my stuff isn't just out there baking like a seed in the sand.
 
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A brief intermission.

I've been so busy the past couple weeks that I've exhausted my list of selected poems to place here. Just give me a few days and I'll get busy replenishing my list and posting the gems I find.

And for all those positive comments and notes of support, here and in pm's, many thanks. It's my pleasure, plucking these gems from obscurity and posting them here for everyone's enjoyment.

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Last week, Lauren presented us with her latest poem on Fernando Pessoa, Eating Pessoa. Notice, I said latest. Here's an earlier illustrated poem from Lauren on the same subject, presented here on the anniversary of his birth, 13 June 1888.


Fernando Pessoa (1888-1935)
by Lauren Hynde©


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Here's one with more of the haiku/senryu/zappai spirit than most alleged haiku poems submitted here in Litland. Give in to your imagination and feel the scene portrayed.


2004-03-14 (2004-02-04)
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by Senna Jawa©










crowded campfire
i withdraw and shiver​








wh,
2004-03-14
(2004-02-04)

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And then you have to wonder, how many comparable cases are out there, waiting to be discovered? There are Funniest Videos or Extreme Sports that make you wonder, are there any depths of stupidity to which someone won't sink? And do we really want the answer to that question?


Boning Evian
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by Jamison©



Well doc, it happened like this...

I lean in, listen to the fool
with his privy parts not where
they should be.
Quite frankly, I'm squeamish,
the same shade of corpse-white
he is, his face, not his violet cock.

But I can't help curiosity,
after all, I want to know what he did
to get the result he got.
NO sane man
would want to suffer the same.

"Big" Frank explained, been
bean-counting all the new hot thangs
and boning Evian, his water bottle lover.

I screwed the pooch on this one.
It was easy going in,
but so hard to get it out.


It was kind of funny but kind of NOT.
Funny ha-ha, like watching
a kick in the balls.
It makes you laugh even though
you know that shit smarts.

I double gloved in case his stupidity
transmitted like STDs,
cut "little" Frank out of his make-shift
plastic pussy and put his story away for
Emergency Room's Wildest On T.V.

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There's something special about a one-on-one, face-to-face relationship that an on-line deal can never replace. There's little personality in the typed word and such friends can so easily be replaced by another typist with no real sense of loss. But a real person can send you to the depths of depression or soaring to the heights of ecstasy. I opt for flesh and blood; depression will fade but ecstasy is burnt onto your soul for eternity.


45 wpm
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by sandd_bound©


All he said was,
'You're involved, I should have known.'

You respond,
'ex, did you miss that part?'

But he says,
'Just admit it, he isn't your ex-anything.'

Wordless,
For maybe for the fifth time in your entire life.

Still...your lips are unmoving.

Thought, after thought,
And still you have none.

You don't know how to make him believe you.

Your hands are going-
45 wpm,
And you think,
'How do I expect him to trust someone he doesn't even know?'

Still...as the keyboard under his hands.

Impossible-
He is so far away,
Yet a click away.

You pray-
For this friendship with a man
That you don't even know.

Sadness for a stranger-
No sadness for the absence of a stranger.

Where is he now?

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