Archival Review

[LeBroz]

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Okay, I've been easy on you of late. Time for some thinking poetry, so today is Dougday with a pair of 'ends'.


end beginnings
by smithpeter©


there are folds in smiles
in skin placement
and leg crossing

my want folds
onto yesterday
and the day after tomorrow

anticipating need,
gentle tugging
or
selfish stealing

my work may have been done
but the fold of arms
persists as there are some
who still require direction

who, look up for leaders
not fit but drooling,
stragglers remaining
in changing lands


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[LeBroz]

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Here's another from Doug and I admit that I am as puzzled as jthserra is about its meaning, pondering whether it's about a "strenuous workout or a knife fight." In either case, Doug does manage to keep his readers on their toes. Go ahead and figure it out. {I've always been leaning more towards the strenuous workout, but that's part of the baggage I brought into the read.}


end knuckle
by svelte walker©


thighs spread over top
muscled calf showing
crouch pinch

take air for blowing
drink arm, muscle suck
open eyes dangerously

tempt the blade, sniff her fist

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[LeBroz]

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The 1st anniversary of this thread. We've gone over so much but the highlight of the year has got to be reviewing the challenge poems from '04. Today, let's remember two who are no longer with us. In this context, the title of the following carries extra meaning.


End of an Era
by Reltne©


End of an Era

As of Yesterday
telegrams have gone away
Western Union stop​

1-28-06

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[LeBroz]

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From another poet no longer with us comes this poem that's far more than just about the end of summer. Take your time and treasure this as it ranges through all the seasons. I especially like the way he ends it with a springtime note.


end of summer poem
by smithpeter©


end of summer poem

the first sweatshirt day

not turn of maple,
slow hued deep science that alerts the sudden change of season and attitude of north and equatorial girth to batten soon,
it is hurricane and dancing flakes
we fear

wind as condition, chin high drifting
blankets so piled the doors unopen

basements float, living boats
enjoy the end of parties while just as alive
resting in the lagoon, on level heard about,
smacked down by the anchor of downward
moving weather

: dear under ocean and/or bay:
: we know about each other but have not met
: till now. I calmly rest upon your bottom
: my keel and rudder.
: you are too kind to host my slight
: mishap and reason for inventing this
: cause to adore you while hiding inside
: a poem about the end of summer.​

the end of summer is the opposite
of the way a toaster works.

love does not die at summers end
like it does on the moon with
impolite atmosphere
and waterless seas in question
but outrageous gardening sport,
my prize winning carrot
my lovers enormous squash

does anyone consider
the fall of each season?
each vibrant display?
each followed punishment?

not so naughty
as ample spring
when the regret
scabs completely

fruit flowers
do sex with themselves
and others
attended by stinging messengers with wind behind

encouraged by lambs,
baby bunnies,
test tubes
with Pyrex® logo intact

a marathon of procreation
as opposed to
The End Of Summer


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[The Mutt]

 

[LeBroz]

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A creative lament for the loss of the natural world to the world of asphalt and concrete cages.


End of the Universe
by tungtied2u©


The asphalt glass sparkles
Stars turned topsy turvy
Over under a white wisped
sea of blue

We have trapped our universe
underfoot
Cocooned it in charcoal grey
Suffocated it with fumes
Drowned it in diesel

The ocean above rages
to see its sister strangled
but its tirades cannot crack
this hardened shell apart
cannot permeate its surface
breathe life into her lungs

Mortal and mummified
this universe is finite
tumbling to its grave
buried beneath mans ignorance
entombed
while we drive
upon the funeral mound

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[LeBroz]

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On reading this, I am wondering, "How ripe are those socks?"


end of the world, again
by smithpeter©


I am plucking socks
Like some pick apples
Or earlier in the year
Ripe sour cherries

my face is not as red
but my kiss is as sweet
and sour forcing grins,
potency must count
for something

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[LeBroz]

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With the last minute to-do lists demanding attention, let's try some simple word play today. Just a thought — I think she meant to spell the first sea as 'see'.


English for Beginners (Part 1)
by Gaia_Lorraine©


English for Beginners
(Part 1)

Welcome my alien friend,
so you have landed upon the land
of the earth of the Earth.
We grant you permission
to land on our land
but you cannot sea on our sea.
You will need a guide,
I will lend you my hand
while I translate by your side
but I will not sever it free
Sit and listen, and after you have sat
I will teach you my tongue
No you pervert, not that!

Are you past, present or future
From whence you came?
Looks at the present that you did bring
Unwrapping what you brought
A beautiful thing makes me sing
and after the song that I sang
I ask what it is that you seek
and is it the same that I sought?
I match what you matched
And catch what you caught
I mind as you minded
And buy what you bought
I find what you found
And teach what you taught.
Ought you should learn,
Head down, a pig in a trough.
Sway through the words as a bough on a tree
Though a cough is often enough
through the moldy dough
of the words that are thoroughly rough

Moving on without moving
I sense you are deaf
If you need a rest the rest is up to you
But there are two sides to this
I know that I am right
And I notice you have left

© Gaia_Lorraine 2006


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[LeBroz]

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Some more fun word play, appropriately silly for this time of year. The better of the pair in my estimation.


English for Beginners (Part 2)
by Gaia_Lorraine©


English for Beginners
(Part 2)

Welcome back my alien friend
Like a hole in your head
I hope I didn't bore you.
This time we will lessen the lesson
We will talk about plurals
They are easy, just add an 's'.
So spouse becomes spouses
And house becomes houses
Pronounced houzes.
Your turn now a mouse becomes?
No you got it wrong, mice
Possum is possums
flagellum is flagella
But alga is one and algae is more
And the plural die is dice
The circus is a ring
though a boxing ring is square
please don't despair
visit all the circuses and see with two eyes
two eyes? there is no such plural surely
until radius becomes radii

Again I beg do not despair
The plural "s" is still there
Alive and well, as in boxes and foxes and oxen
And as you go to sleep don't forget
To count the sheep


© Gaia_Lorraine 2006


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[LeBroz]

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Just not getting into the Christmas spirit? Or any other holiday mood? Not even into any sort of spirits? Sounds so bleak; perhaps this describes your state of mind.


Ennui
by jthserra©


The drift of fog, so dense
bridge towers strangely disappear
into a dense, pervading gray

breath is liquid, lungs bubble
as light becomes cotton candy
almost sweet to taste.

Distant horns announce themselves
their sound muffled in mittens
held tight to chilly ears

and pillowed voices, like whispers
float past in bubble bath, the words
slow, opaque orbs float silently away.

A tide of air washes ashore
claiming land in its gentle surge
all it touches surrenders to cloud

darkness glows: an odd halogen yellow
ink fades to diffusion, a rolling wet
morning's gloaming still so far away.

Windshields weep droplets of sky
as wipers chatter, eyes suddenly blink
and the hard chair aches again

a clock on the wall, the second hand
dripping in syrupy banks of time
as minutes slowly fog in surrender.

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[LeBroz]

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Some experience the season with the wrong type green.


envy
by 2rivers©


private conversation on public sidewalk
obvious lovers holding hands
fold in delicate intent
I do not possess

they will remember the chill
in my gaze

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[LeBroz]

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Not much Christmas cheer to be found here, unless you're experiencing a Blue Christmas; but that's another tale.


Envelopings
by RazzRajen©


Azure waters, sinking in
the fluids envelop
slowly permeate,
Is it a dream?
that floating,
..............that sinking,
...........................that open-eyed look,
taking all that is clear,
Take all that is warm,
drown herself she did.

cold waters swallowed,
eerie lights, senses slowly filling.
Sometimes, its warm and often not,
The Sun came down, lapped the wave tips
Stretched out a hand,
whispered a breeze caresse
as she lay in the embrace
she needs.

Cares taken, and made
into puffs of
scudding clouds
blow, see them scatter,
..............pearls before
sparkled glints
her hair a moving mass
of writhing trails

He was caught and twined again.
was she done ,
..............Or did He accept
Waves always lap,
and she rent asunder ,
offered Him what
He needs and what Feeds Him.

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[LeBroz]

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Ahhhh envy, so much more worse than jealousy. Simple jealousy is so innocent in comparison; I wish I could have that which someone else has. Envy is really corrupting of the soul; if I can't have that which someone else has than I don't want them to have it either.


Envy's Eyes
by champagne1982©


You lie awake with eyes sewn tight
nevermore will you yearn
for rewards you have not won
nor, in your lifetime, earned.

Envy has you in its frozen grasp,
your cold heart, icy fingers bind,
it is not hunger that feeds and gnaws
upon your churning, burning mind.

Need, twisting deep inside your soul,
a choking, clinging vine,
sucking up your happiness,
leaving a hollow man behind.

My friend, love not these things
That others sow and reap,
Love, instead your fellows
Valued treasures you must keep.

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[LeBroz]

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Here's another from cymry's series of poems inspired by gaelic phrases.


Eo`in Bhlianach
by cymry©

Eo`in Bhlianach:
Birds of Prey

A sharpened bearing
shrieks
brittle strength
while tearing
at the bonds of wisdom.
Keen intentions mark
clever mantles
with virtue
but fail to hide
the bruised flesh underneath.
Inescapably,
veiled corruption
will burst forth
in all its stinking glory
under the grieving eye of
truth.​

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[LeBroz]

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Here's a piece in which the entire poem is an expression, in Razz's unique style, of the title without once slipping down to the mundane level of explicitly using the word ephemeral. That could provide for some interesting Same Title Challenges — to write a poem without once using the title in the poem's body or refer to it directly, in a style similar to this poem.


Ephemeral
by RazzRajen©


When the morn rose
............wrapt in its sombreness
........................birds flocked in droves
................................alighting here then everywhere

............picking, and lifting
........................sometimes pecking
............What is left when the rains arrive
melding All that remained into Gaia

old dust made us and to the dirt we will go
Is that a cry of the soul
or simply Mans crime against man
entrails fall, as W/we are disembowelled everyday
............Who knew what the night was
save it is black

.....Where are Mine eyes,
who took My sight
Can I see the wondrous splendour of My beloved
Or Shall she remain

etched on the eyelids of My mind?

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[LeBroz]

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Read this a few times, then give it to a philosopher friend you may know and watch him run through several shades of the rainbow as his eyes roll up into his head. Pure fun.

Epiphany
by Liar©


........I read about poetry
words about thoughts on words

........and wrote a poem about it
words about thoughts on words about thoughts on words

........when I realised the feedback loop futility
thoughts on words about thoughts on words about thoughts on words

........and wrote another poem, about that

words about
..........thoughts
................on words about
..thoughts
..................on
words........about
....thoughts
....................on words

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[LeBroz]

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Now that's why I include a link to the original poem. Sure, you can vote {some poets might appreciate that}, or you can tack on a late comment. Or, like me, you can just read the other comments. As a result of that on the preceding poem, I found a connection between Liar's poem and Angeline's, which is why I'm jumping waaay ahead of myself to share this one with you now. You can read Liar's poem and feel your head spinning and see that spin reflected in Angeline's Liar-inspired write.


Metapoetics
by Angeline©


Metacognition
is the act of thinking about thinking
thoughts that spiral like shells whorl,
or multiply like a mirror in a mirror.

The more you think, try to understand
what you are thinking, and however *that*
idea was related to your original thought,
the more you have new thoughts, stepping
your understanding that much farther
from whatever it was you were thinking
about in the first place.

All this jumping-bean thinking
gets chaotic, confusing, so you should
not tell in poems. You should show,
which may be easier to do if you are not
a writer.

Anyway showing is more fun, c'est vrai?

Bite a strawberry. Let its sweet tart run
cold over your lips. Lay on your back
and paint the clouds into stories. Listen
to the whisper of your own words in your ear.
Slide skin on skin.

Would you rather read about it?

I write a poem anyway,
and the words explain just how
my particular poem can press
its fingers on your senses,
scratch or slowly rub.

Feel that?

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[LeBroz]

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The question of parody arose today and Susan Strict's parody of The Destruction of Sennacherib (George Gordon, Lord Byron (1788–1824)), came to mind. If you're familiar with Lord Byron's original than you can better appreciate the parody. While it is well suited to the Lit scene with its Femdom theme, you can't help but appreciate its comic effect, which is a key element of parody. And if you're not familiar with the original, well, there's the link above so you can make your own comparison.


The Destruction of Free Will
by Susan Strict©


"It wasn't like this at Sennacherib"

(with apologies to Lord Byron)

Their Mistress came down like a wolf on the fold,
Like a Goddess she shone in black leather and gold,
With the crack of her whip men would kneel or would flee
As she captured and twisted the minds of the Free.

Like a whirlwind she filled all around her with dread
Like a plague she invaded each heart and each head
With a single command she exerted her power
As she grasped at their souls men would yield and cower.

Like an Angel of Dominance, her rage like a blast
She breathed power in the face of each man as she passed.
When the eyes of that victim went glassy and dim
Then she knew her control was complete over him.

So they lay in submission, her slaves one and all,
Every man at her feet, on her bed, at her call,
Every spirit was broken, just toys at her whim,
Every body was hers, every face, every limb.

Then she turned on her heel; she looked down on the scene;
She saw nothing remained of Free Will that had been.
Her destruction complete she strode swiftly away,
One more conquest was hers, now she sought other prey.

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[LeBroz]

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Okay, I've had several tougher reads for you the past few days. Let's try for something simpler, softer, with a pleasant image in one of Art's better pieces.


Epitaph
by My Erotic Tale©


I sat on a hillside
freshly mowed
and watched the river bend

I bought some land
for my eternal slumber
where eternity and I will blend

Tall pines rise
along the forest rim
like sentries against the wind

A lone big oak
shades the sun’s showers
filled with moss pencil thin

Six feet south
by the rivers mouth
surrounded by woods and a farm

A nice serene scene
for my last day dream
wrapped in mother earth’s arms


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[LeBroz]

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And sometimes all you need from a poem is to come away with pleasant feelings; don't seek deep thoughts or cosmic secrets, just enjoy warm pleasant feelings.


Epitaph
by Gaia_Lorraine©

Dedicated to Lizz

Shed no tear for me, My Love,
For I do not do so
I know you and your life, My Love,
The gift you did bestow.

To hold you as my friend, My Love,
Was my greatest prize
I shed no tear for you, My Love,
We shared each other’s lives.

Do not cry for us, My Love,
One day we’ll see the dream
The beauty of it all, My Love,
In heaven’s colour green.

©Gaia_Lorraine 2005​

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[LeBroz]

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Holy guacamole! Here's a real play with words piece best read aloud, with all its alliteration and assonance. Enjoy!


Equilibrium Intruded
by Liar©


At the tip of my tongue
hung a scandalous thought,
too terrible and too tasty
to either choke back
or spit out.

Slick and stinky,
sweet and soft
it lingered on confused buds,
sending scrambled signals back
up to my super ego,
unable to forego
it's own reaction
and sickening satisfaction
in all fruity forbidden fabulous
fuckitall fanfare
fanatic
fantasmagoria
fnah fnah fnah...

A kickstart to my cowering libido.
A trigger to my stomach turning.
All at once,
all the same,
in a moment
exploding
just behind
my teeth.

A scandalous, scavengous,
cosmic scale idea.
Idealism in grand, golden bloom
through inversion to perversion,
so disturbing, so alluring.

One of those fucked up things
on a renegade streaking raid
from my subhuman, supercultural
subconscious.

Those things that we think,
dreamed up from phobias
and frantic obsession,
but can't even write
poetry about.

But damn, so terribly dangerous,
delectably delicious,
this delirium desperado
moment.

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[LeBroz]

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Brings to mind a cool summer night, laying on the warm grass under a star-filled sky.


erased
by My Erotic Trail©


grasping starlight with hopeful eyes
through the milky way which has been my life
wondering if heaven is beneath my feet
wishing for a shooting star to scar the night
perched on the edge of a full moon river
a pin head of knowledge of the vastness of space
like a flower in an enormous meadow
gone like the night, erased

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[LeBroz]

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Well now, good morning y'all. Here's one for ya with which you can exercise those mental muscles.


Erosion
by Lauren Hynde©


Know no principle or silence—
every morning erosion robs you
of the first sun, acid light inlaid
in the metal of time—every morning
dogs hesitate, obscure Eros
before dust's speech, and bark, limpid, in the slow
economy of the clay, they bark, transfigure
the scale, the rigor of the tired
fountain—every morning a body
unfreezes and climbs undulating the rope
of muscles (minute instruments
of commerce)—every morning
a body among others spills upon other
sculptures of solitude—

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[LeBroz]

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Okay, so maybe that last one was a bit much to swallow on this final day of the year, especially for those who, on the other side of the world, woke up with a throbbing head. Perhaps this little work from Liar will be a bit easier to swallow.


erosion
by Liar©


eventually
all other rock
will have been ground
to sand and sand
eventually
will fall apart
to dust and dust
as well disintegrate
and then the teeth of time
will have no choice
than try to do the same
with stone the stone
within that wears
you out and out
of where it turns
to sand and sand
to dust to air
a song will fill
the empty void
and resonate
in all and all
will soar in tune
with you
eventually

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[LeBroz]

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Not a very cheerful vision with which to start the New Year; flashbacks provide quick glimpses with which to measure her current state. Very sad and moving.


Erosion
by wildsweetone©


It’s not a rocking chair she sits in now,
staring through a sparkling clear window
into the past, remembering
sleepovers and Sunday
prayers, watching the wind whisper
secrets of sunny delight-filled days
of marriage and children.

Shadows grow long as he lays bound
to iron machinery,
turned like a rotisserie chicken
to avoid bed sores,
but he doesn’t last long.
Death’s right steals him away

then she lives for her children,
spoilt, passionate, unable to forget
nor forgive. A gnawing ache eats her mind away,
maggots on a rotting corpse. As winter draws near
her once solid frame whittles to a skeletal hue
and reliance on wheels becomes necessary.
Muscles weaken, the mind forgets. Tea,
a ritual of old, is taken, the cup not held
by her own hand.

She stares, but sees only a reflection
of her younger, vibrant self and wonders
who the stranger could be.

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