Archival Review

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Now here's one to think about — just how innocent {or not} is this?


Exploring Romp
by smithpeter©


squinting
with effort through a slit
with choice as
my companion

you allow him to enter
your name in his mouth

I see it roll and fall out
with other things
of yours
from his face

how was the mounting
I designed?

you look happy
seeing me smile
and his shuddering shoulders.
he shook my hand


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Now here's one to think about — just how innocent {or not} is this?


Exploring Romp
by smithpeter©


squinting
with effort through a slit
with choice as
my companion

you allow him to enter
your name in his mouth

I see it roll and fall out
with other things
of yours
from his face

how was the mounting
I designed?

you look happy
seeing me smile
and his shuddering shoulders.
he shook my hand


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Oh my ... *pants*

Very sexy write here smithpeter ... I came, I read and then
wanted to jump ... your picture. :eek:


LeBroz, all I can say is, you inspire us all with your commitment to nothing but the best ~~ Thank you for taking the time to post all these wonderful writes.


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Once again, the power of internet anonymity exposed. Creativity unstifled, unsullied by unwanted, vile feedback.


Exposed
by dorksicle©


Behind my papers,
behind the barrier of miles,
like some internet exhibitionist
that wears clothes in the shower
but strips for strangers on the net,

I only share my words
with those I can't hear,
with those who can't shrivel my tongue with a look.

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The meeting goes on, but are there any absences? And do they care?


Exposure
by Toward A Word©


they step into the elevator
going to the same meeting
smile for each other
did you see that web page I sent?
yes, it was hilarious

a piece of paper drops from his notes
flutters to the floor at her feet
as she picks it up
he recognizes it
panic
should I snatch it back?
oh please don't read it

she begins to hand it back
but notices it is handwritten, not printed
and reads it

she looks up at him
the color drains from his face
to be replaced by crimson embarrasment

is this for me?
I mean, about me?

he stares with glassy eyes
opens his mouth
no sound

she blinks slowly
revelation in her eyes
she begins to speak

he reaches to her
she reaches to him

elevator bell rings
door opens
two people wait for them to exit

the meeting goes as scheduled
as if they cared
as if the world hadn't changed

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When I read this at the beginning of the week and was in serious mode, this one seemed like such a waste; reading it today, it's a perfect way to end the long week. Now go read it and have some fun.


Exquisite
by Reltne©


Peagles and poogles and boogles, the bitch
Sometimes she scratches where I don't itch
Beadles and boodles and peadles that's rich
When I think of all of the bellies I skritch



Breed: Hound X - (squisite)

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Now then, I seem to remember someone saying something about a possum problem...


exquisite possum
by smithpeter©


intro: coincidental slow gait
1-2, 2-4
for the measure

it walks, it talks with a possum,
slightly accented French with lisp
and limp from years ago

very sexy
on the tip of things
all strung out
all accepting

IT, the thing came in
on the wisp of a chair hind
………..

wait, this is stupid, my waiting
Donna or Suzanne will be my guide
to sound effects that affect my thang
I pick Donna, who holds my hands
all four

the possum squirms

she (the possum) is oriented north so we
follow
gripping grips, fists to fist
through gate and trellis

I am first to suffer cuts and bleed
needing to view closer with mag glass
bent plastic

bright self powered lights are needed
down in the tubes
we have bags for sleeping on
the mostly hard stone floors

down deeper to the possum's exquisite hole
Donna's braided hair seen only
in the flashlight glare of the Possum's Lair

end of part one, part II for good boys and girls sports tight riding jophers and khaki slacks
Preview of part II:
Donna slides down a slippery hole boots first while the Hammond organ player reaches symbolically, her silk gloved hand ending in waving motions.
her partner of choice, the tympani player with the very muscled black biceps bangs big, bold and beautiful for the twosome treading tenderly.

oh hell,
rough sketches, in gray…
the possum plays cards ruthless
she has a family, they are frightened
they are sheltered only by a tree
a cedar
frosted and christened

Andre' learns but gossips little
he gets hay for beds
gnaws a hole for the full moon
to fall in. There is a screaming guitar
that makes no sense. The Doug at the house
structure that makes no sense but made this.

Wink to all, and to the Donna,

© I love us exquisite possum with a mustache productions~

end of part I

011903






damn choirs
and their satisfying hard
base chords with voice


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What a day for Doug — from possum hunting to lifelines and lifetimes; metaphysics and ethical concerns.


extended tether
by Palau©


biographer birth to death
not my mud nor home brew
chalk on wall, down dark hall
it took many noisy foot falls to get here

tit for tat is typical for anger that does not debate
stolen ideas
applied to the concept of forgiveness
precarious atonement
tapestries of other peoples lies
difficult verse
complex lives
simple survival

one plus one
no matter
results

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Is it anything like this, when you have a poem just bursting to get out?


Extract
by dcpoet44©


EXTRACT

sometimes poems
can be like
slivers in the hand
where it hurts enough
and becomes necessary
to focus on the pain
until it all comes out
before we feel any better.

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It's that last strophe that ought to get to you, with its mention and attention on a single vase. It must have special significance, so it leaves the reader wondering — and brings home the emotional impact of all that's been covered in the poem.


Extraction
by Miss Oatlash©


In my mind it’s so clear:
You get the furniture in the den.
I’ll take the living room.
You get the master bedroom suite.
I’ll take the futon.

I can divide our belongings
fair and equitably
down to the most insignificant
material object.

But tell me, please:
Who gets the heartbreak?
Who takes the blame?
Who gets the guilt?
Who takes the anger?

And which one of us
will keep the little blue vase
that sits by the side of the bed?

~

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You want dark? Here you go, a perfect piece to start off a work week.


Eyeing The Wallpaper After A Walk
by DeepAsleep©


Flowers dot these walls
ringing with roses and sweet green leaves
a room where dreams have yet to free themselves
from clutching ivy and the vices that lie
within momentary lapses of judgement

Lapsing from madness to madness
pounding letters into this desk
with fingers stiff and cold from ill use
on windy walking days
where the sound of shoes on pavement is drowned
only by the beat in the center of my head

Every traveling day,
the thought is the same:

Today, I am the beating heart
of every wasted Sunday
I am the angry grief
of moments cast aside

And I have been grief
and I have been anger

And
let's be honest
I have been a fool

Chasing lovestrings like bits of paper in the wind
sewing with blood beaded fingers and a clumsy needle
tatting patterns on the skin of my heart
awful needlework I hate you
I hate the necessity of knowing

and I hate not knowing

Skittery fingers on stone floors
probe every crevice with precision -
precisely what are they looking for?
salvation redemption absolution
nirvana enlightenment
all means to an end
peace

If this thing is not in you
where do you find it
what kind of eyes must look

how much fear sleeps in what they must see?

I will find a mirror of spirit
so that I can see these eyes
that blind me to myself
but I will not find it here
in this little room
or on any road that never shows its end
to a man blinded by his own sight

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Anyone still looking for their Prince Charming?


Eyes Sewn Shut
by darkgoddess2478©


A golden locket with a
Lock of Hair
And a Picture of a fairytale
You call home.

We forced you to eat a meal
That tastes of rotting flesh.
A great concoction for the blind
For those who never give themselves
A chance.

We forced you to share our lives
So you could tear us
Limb from limb
With paltry parsel-tounge
Fake, even from your own mouth.

We forced a poison down your throat
A bitter elixir that reeked of
Roses and chocolate candy,
Poetry and moonlight,
And walks down sandy beaches.

Pretty Princess sleeping on a
Bed of nails,
waiting for a prince in
Rusty armor to
Rescue you from your
Tower and ride you off on his
Trusty mule.

You make it seem wonderful to
Live in ignorant bliss
Unknowing of who and what you
Think
Feel and
Are.

I would never trade my open eyes
For those that have been sewn shut

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Today's a hollow-day; that's how I feel. The E's are done so I'm taking a break before hitting the F's tomorrow. So go and write a poem or two. Or three... Or even give a look at today's fine New Poem offerings.
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Since I really do so despise links, here you go with the full satirical version. Won't say much more because it won't be too intelligent at this stage, what with all the wine it took to wash down the pizza {but it sure do feel good}.


End Times?
by LeBroz©


Hurricanes come and ravage the land,
they all foretell of punishment due;

so saying says Minister Pat
it's time to pray, and pray a lot.

Tsunami and earthquakes strike over the world,
they all foretell of an end that's near;

so saying says Minister Pat
it's time to pray, and pray a lot.

Birds are ill, yes chickens too,
they all foretell of impending doom;

so saying says Minister Pat
it's time to pray, and pray a lot.

The earth's in pain, death stalks the land,
they all foretell of end times nigh;

so saying says Minister Pat
it's time to pray, and pray a lot.

Salvation's near, it can be yours,
call us now and make your pledge;

so saying says Minister Pat
it's time to pray, and pray a lot.


© Leon Brozyna 2005

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Oh yes, take me away to where the voices that speak to me are kind, gentle, and loving.


Facile words
by RazzRajen©


Blown away......such facile words
Be well......also words
Fill me with those
self-serving meanings

......Sometimes I will sit and
eat mangoes
and watch the world go by
......Sometimes I will sway to that
cadence I hear in the winds.

More often the ghouls fill
shrouds and take Me away
......where is everyone
where are the shades
.......My mind is a slate
then where is My canvas,
pristine and clear

.......Dischorded sounds, fill
My ears
My senses
reel and the voices still

......Take me where gentle ones
keep Me sane

They will be Mine , I whispered
to the breezes
They should be Mine, I whispered
to the seas
They have to be Mine,..I whispered
to the bubbling stream
......cascading off stones and crags
lowering over the sheened water
.......look deep and see Me looking back

She is Mine , I whispered
to the roiling lava
Did anyone Listen?

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Take hold of the title and let it guide you in this brief piece.


facing loneliness anew
by Senna Jawa©










crystal ball
hovered
on the two beams
from the eyes

and went down
stopped in the throat
before sinking
in the stomach





wlodzimierz holsztynski ©
1996-01-12

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We can start off today with a little Greek.


Faidros on the 7th pepper shot
by MinorMonster©


Plato said that Socrates
said to Faidros about Lysias
(hidden under the
youngster's robes)

Must it not be,
that all text
stand alone?


And yet, these lines
are crowded with greeks.

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Funnel cakes? Funnel Cakes?! A poem like this that starts with funnel cakes is surely most brilliant. I'll have mine dripping with strawberries; so deliciously sloppy. I remember one of my favorite times at Atlanta's Annual Yellow Daisy festival consisting of mink teddy bears, exquisite Christmas ornaments, and piles of funnel cakes.


Fair Country
by irishcatsmeow©


Funnel cakes
Tempting. Beckoning.
Who knew fried dough
Could be so mouth-watering?

The Cage of Rage
Taunts. Maligns.
Swoosh! Down he goes.
His words gurgling as he drowns.

See the great bull
Massive. Potent.
His sperm for sale.
He doesn’t reap the benefits.

The horses of the carousel
Stately. Magical.
Going round and round.
Reclaiming innocence again and again.

The bearded woman
Lost. Wistful.
No longer allowed.
Now pushes a broom while no one stares.

Chainsaw art in 75 minutes
Chiseled. Magnificent.
A tree trunk and a power tool
Create the unexpected.

House of Fun
Surprises. Anticipation.
He didn’t know when he looked in the mirror
He would see countless reflections.

Talent show
Varied. Mediocre.
Where else can a young baton twirler
Compete with a grandma who whistles a polka?

Blue ribbons
Honor. Glory.
Does anyone wonder
Where they will be ten years from now?


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Here's a little something with an almost surreal feel.


Fairy Tale
by Angeline©


Green bench. Summer day
paints patterns, spotlights words
between my hands.

Green bench. Summer day
tickles hair against my cheek,
impatient hand brushes back.

An oak branch taps my shoulder,
whispers~

Turn the page.

It’s lost on me,
the eight or ten years of me.
Years of bony knees
folded tight against my chest,
faded shirt years, unaware
of bare toes, ladybugs,
or how my skin luxuriates
along the dusty wood.

Green bench. Summer day
recedes into a throne.
An ancient lonely emperor
bids a fluting nightingale
pray flee its guilded nest,
fey huntress lifts a golden apple
to her lips, tin soldier melts,
and match girl burns ice bright.

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You don't want surreal? You want a more down to earth fairy tale? Okay, here, have 'em all.


Fairy Tale Ending
by Selena_Kitt©


I want the fairy tale,
so I keep kissing frogs,
but you don’t want an ugly duckling.
You say you want a swan
and rooms full of spun gold.
I do know your name,
but do you know mine?
That's me, the little red cheeked
innocent, a timid puss in boots
riding through your hood.
I'd walk on shards of glass
just to feel you once
lost in my wonderland.
Rapunzel unfurled herself to you and
Sleeping Beauty awaited your kiss and
Cinderella the right fit.
All I want is one chance
little piggie
to blow your house down.

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Let's dedicate this poem and its spirit to those NY Giants as they help New England set a new record tomorrow. In the meantime, y'all have a great Groundhog Day!


Fait Accompli
by tungtied2u©


my nemesis waits by the door
I sip my drink
in the cellar bar
celebrate momentary escape
from his shadow

but he is patient
knows I soon must emerge
defenseless against his
insistent urgings
as I drive home
to the tune of his whispers
hissing aloneness and despair

even climbing into bed with me
he is bad company
crowds me in my sleep
elbows me into awakeness
when all I want is peace
to rest and dream of possibilities
he says will never come

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The shortest, simplest ones give you serious grounds for thought.


Faith
by cward2©


You wanted hope
But found me:
A little boy
Curled up
Inside your dreams

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The difference between Vegas & Wall Street? It's all about gambling and sex, but in Vegas the screwing's done with clothes off and there's no pretending that it's anything other than gambling.


Fall from the third floor
by _Land©


Staring down
at busy commodities
risky stock
lost options
jump

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New England cuts down that Giant tree, those NY fans all softly crying. Isn't poetry wonderful? You can get it to say anything. {Whoops — except that ain't the way it ended now, is it?}


fallen rain
by bluerains©


captured in the arms
of fallen branches

roots whispering
in death chants

cradled sigh softly
falls to the ground
as the rain stains
the soil in silence

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Word choice and arrangement can have such an impact on the reader's perception of the scene portrayed, as in the following.


Falling
by Jamison©



Sunlight makes the white
so much brighter, backlighting clouds.

They look like snow,
yes, smell like it too.

Morning air frosts pumpkin
and golden leaves that linger still.

Lovers walk, stirring
those that lie, are crunched
under boot heels.

They fall, but they are not dead,
at least not yet,
not yet

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