Archival Review

[LeBroz]

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Taking that title as all the clue needed, hers sounds like a life of willing service and privation.


For a Mastiff
by RazzRajen©


Walking to a beat,
.....sometimes forlorn sometimes bitchy,
often cadenced but finally home
.....Did she reach the place?
Was she ever always there as she needed to be
.....she knows and They do
slowly the circle completes
.....revolves as the turns take one elsewhere
and yet what brings around that succour
.....looking and seeking,
Taking and giving
..........................ahh giving till it hurts
.....and then it doesn't ,
cause once at the place
it comes back as it always was meant to
.....Should she have known?
Sometimes the answer is in front and
We don't see it
.....and Yet the birds always know
and whispered breezes tell All

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[LeBroz]

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No, it's not the Easter you remember. You're no longer 10. Now it's you who has to go running to the store to get all the Easter fixins for the baskets and the dinner. Now you're just too busy fixing things and buying things to enjoy life. Think about it.


For 211 1/2 E. Laural St.
by postobitum©


*Please keep in mind, dear reader, that sonnets are not my forte!*

We bitch and moan about the price of gas,
bemoan the fact we must have a tivo,
forget that we were happy in the past,
back in the days we gladly moved so slow.
You go to work before I am awake,
before I know it five o'clock is here.
And I am in the kitchen, shake and bake.
The fridge is full and we are fat, it's clear,
we're better off than we once were, I know,
but still, I can't help but look back and wish
that it was in the cards for us to go
Back to the time we could live on a kiss.
For just a moment stop, listen to me,
close your sweet eyes and see what I still see.

Look back, before the day we settled down,
the place we rented for a dime and song.
A steep staircase; the walls, they all were brown-
still feels like home, although we weren't there long.
With no a/c the rooms got really hot,
The only place to chill was the garage,
although mosquitoes covered us in spots,
but it sure beat the upstairs heat mirage.
The yard was just one big dead parking space,
our feet brought in the sand pound after pound.
And what the outside walls did lack in grace,
the neighborhood around made up in sound.
Oh, God we were so poor it almost hurt,
but we were happy on that pile of dirt.

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[LeBroz]

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Those relationships that don't last manage to leave so much residue behind.

Now, y'all have a fun eveining. I'm heading out for quite an Easter evening spread.


for a social worker
by JCSTREET©


FOR A SOCIAL WORKER 7312240TT/LAW

By JCSTREET ©

We couldn’t live together and
after drifting
apart like dodgems couldn’t
live that way either . . . I

follow women on the street afraid
to admit they’re not you, Ann

says there’s a man in Vancouver
whose morning whiskers
gouge your belly where
my head once lay, in

the end I am left only
with your Christmas gifts the
shirt faded, the Dunhill lighter
pockmarked but still
a warm fire in the night


--30-- December 24, 1973, Ottawa


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[LeBroz]

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She comes into port in such an alluring fashion. Is it any wonder that those that sail think of their transport as 'she'?


for beauty
by 2rivers©


acute pattern of ripples
chase schooner swift
of Port A cutting
to Port B with cargo
meant for draping,
wrapping,
cinching

pulling intimate to pier
Captain calls ahoy
to lay abouts
to fetch his dear,
for his fruits of
charm and anklets
silver beam will grace
her smooth and mound

flutes, hand drums and whistlers
follow her skirts
as she moves not
stepping but swanlike
to the wharf and her single
gift of ten fingered adore,
his bow is pert and lingers
her curtsy signals an hour
of gaze, full embrace

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[LeBroz]

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Here you go with another fine "show, don't tell" piece. This one speaks volumes with so few words.


for d.b.s
by pink_tulip©


two years later
I found a bottle cap
in my Asian fern
that sat on the table
by your chair covering
the army of bottles
that shattered in the trash
when I dragged it
downstairs in the
mornings while you
drank your way
to sleep

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[LeBroz]

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How about something with a touch of the surreal to it?


for dear Polly
by 2rivers©


for dear Polly who never forgot about me and my falls.
She would wait outside my fence. I would wave as the time-clock-line
shortened.
One time she blew a kiss and it hit old Henry instead of me.
He blushed and handed it to me. It was still a little wet. We tasted it together later.
At Polly’s mother’s house under the black light. Our lips glowed because
there was a leak
at the factory
upstream.

we are fine.

we giggled because Henry kept the kiss for maybe a whole 4 seconds making funny
lovey,
dovey heart shapes in the air with pencil fingers, sketching in the air, the spheres
of the moment.
his lunch box art is for another poem, too. always Henry and spheres.

there’s a chance we never got to Polly’s mother’s house. we wanted to dip our feet
in the calm pond. she loved to talk about saving swimmers with her arms and legs.
she let me touch her lungs, the outsides. one time I kissed her outside lungs.
one time each
she let me the first time
asked the second and got all underwater breathy

in this way, Polly and I live to have
memories, funny things. pink moons,
falls and skinned knees.


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[LeBroz]

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Not quite a love poem nor erotic, yet if you let yourself get lost in this you can sense a bit of both within.


For Diane
by RazzRajen©


Sometimes in the heat of the stygian night
she lies and tosses and, thinks
would it be better to be anywhere else
what can she do ,
what can she say
Make it all go away
......Does it work?
sometimes the call of the bird ,
flying high on a wire,
reaches down
takes a soul and flies with it
......Watch the little people scurry and go

Be not one of them, take the time
and stay a while
......see the love that oozes from the petal form
that rapt look , the sibilant sound
is that a growl , or merely a resonance
......Yet she will prevail......and knows it

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[LeBroz]

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And here is one of those rare Razz pieces that is easy to comprehend and follow, displaying more emotional involvement on the poet's part than is usually seen in a Razz poem.


For His selenium
by RazzRajen©


Sometimes in the soft rain
I sit and watch the beads
Run off her planes and
sometimes I make the
beads well up

whatever I do
her eyes follow me .
like a doe waiting
That rain cascading
off her shoulders
off her raven locks
off her eyes deep as midnight falls

all the colours mixing
and merging
That symphony
rising
as I work
My hands moving in trails
across that canvas I have

Alone and together wrapt
entwined and ever taken
Taken again and Yet again.

Once more with feeling
He asked, she gave her
whole and then He
rose in the falling misty rain
a strident call
Out in the drowning clouds
Bayed His Wants and made
His marks as He would

Needs he that canvas ever before him
she will never
leave till he says Yes
and he
will not as
she feeds him
like no other.

And still she does, far
north she came for Him
she was his need
Answered in runnels, grooves
He made of their song
in her, marked her His
Evermore


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[LeBroz]

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Janis Joplin — nothing else need be said.


For Janis
by Selena_Kitt©


A wild henna mass of tangled hair,
glowing, sweat-drenched moonround face,
honey thick and dripping down a waxy comb.
She had her goddess moments,
eating microphones and wailing,
layering boas, bracelets and tattoos
to adorn her lush and glorious form.
No smile ever brighter, more alive
or more compelling.
Her voice, an instrument of god,
wide open feeling essence,
a grainy, gutteral lulluby.
No man would ever know
the fragile, tender heart that moved it
to its edge of madness and beyond
or how the fifth of Southern Comfort
seeped into the cracked open places
in her soul and filled the holes
where that radiant light moved
through her being
only wanting to be seen.

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[LeBroz]

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Here's a touching love poem to lighten your day.


For My Love, (on his birthday)
by champagne1982©



Let me celebrate my knowing
all those small delights,
that bring a smile
up from the depths
and let a laugh bubble
over my heart,
when I hear it from your lips.

We have made a journey
few are blessed to take,
without a map to point
the way or even crumbs
upon the path, but darling
we have blazed a trail and set
markers where we should stop again.

See the road as it wends
through the dappled glen,
mysteries await around
each corner and I am eager to see.
Let's travel through another year,
breathless and willing
to find our joys together.

It is overwhelming
to have this in my soul
to love each waking moment
that I can call you mine.
I want to make a gift
of my very essence
that you can carry with you.

It is a light, lit to show you
the way to my heart,
a song, sung on days when music
becomes a prayer;
a verse of love and gratitude,
a poem, from my heart,
a love to wrap around you.

I give you this and more.

Always.

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[LeBroz]

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In this age of the internet society where normal social niceties are ignored, this pill ought to be considered a pharmacological necessity.


for my...
by Senna Jawa©

for my rudeness
i had to swallow
a pill of politeness​

wlodzimierz holsztynski ©
1995-10-17


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[D A Stone]

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From a November 2003, Same Title Challenge, there are five postings still remaining on the site, of which I've selected three to post here tonight and tomorrow. Did you ever have a dance partner quite as daring as this?


Elaborate Décolletage
by D A Stone©


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I haven't thought of this poem in a long time. I'm glad that someone still enjoys it. It was interesting to use the sestina form for it.

 

[LeBroz]

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Looks like a tale of sexual shenanigans as she leaves him for another couple.


for now
by oxalis©


you pretended to love
all my music
and then you moved to the other hut
where the jazzx was
and then the classy shit

you say, "no diff, what's the diff?"
I barf

Mine was ready for you and my mac and cheese too
and you were over there on your hiney back side
smiling

leaving an imprint of your ass tattoo
on his sheets and his wife's knee highs
rubbed in and rubbed during the game


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[LeBroz]

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The hint of times more pleasant make this all the more poignant.


For One
by ishtat©


It seems so odd to shop for one,
but shopping’s done,
and now for tea but not for two.
My usual please.
“Madam,
Is yours hot chocolate or tea
and Eccles cake or currant bun”.
It seems so odd to shop for one.

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[LeBroz]

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With such simple words used here, torn emotions are revealed. As in, that man can be such a prick!


For R.
by Willow Rain©


Nettle as a man,
you call to me.
Like a child I reach for your pristine white flowers
only to feel the itching sting.
No matter how tender my attempt,
invisibly fine
needles pierce me.
I cry out
in desire and pain.
Unable to touch,
suffused with longing,
I lay down by you in the spring grass
and count your petals.
You ask me how I am
as casual as an acquaintance at church.
And I want to pour words all around you like sunshine,
but I clip my heart short.
“Happy and Busy,” I say.
As if I have not missed you.
I lift my pen,
and touch it
to your memory.

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[twelveoone]

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With such simple words used here, torn emotions are revealed. As in, that man can be such a prick!

I would like to see why you think these are effective uses of words, not falling for nor playing to emotions.

For what it is worth...

 

[LeBroz]

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A little repetition goes a long way to dampening what some might see as overly sentimental expressions. Seems to give it some balance. See what you think.


for Sarah
by senwood©


For Sarah, whom I miss so much

It’s no good, when you’re not there,
The landscape’s bland
And bleak
And bare.

It’s no good when you’re not there,
Sitting naked in your chair
By the window,
Over there.

It’s no good when you’re not there,
Running your fingers
Through the deepest charcoal of your hair.

No, it’s no good when you’re not there.

Through imagined memories I trace
The treasured outline of your face.
And linger in regret.
See…

It’s no good when you’re not there.

It’s no good when you’re not there,
Lying beside me
Ready to care
And share
Together.
It’s no good when you’re not there.

I can’t see your voice
Or taste your skin
As it rustles past me.
The excitement of your touch.
It’s no good when you’re not there.

I can’t wish for more than to lock our eyes
Together
Everywhere we were
And say: please listen,
It’s not too late, Sarah:

It’s no good at all when you’re not here.
Beside me.
Naked.
At my side.

I conjure up the strength to dare
To say I love you.
There.

I’ve said it. I have dared
And now You know,
Why it’s no good when you’re not there.

A piece of me is missing,
Sarah.

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[LeBroz]

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Okay, this is a bit long and not quite politically correct at times and maybe a tad disquieting when discussing sexual identity. But perhaps being emotionally torn is what gives this a compelling feel when reading it.


for sean
by DeepAsleep©


this poem is about a faggot.

you can see it in the way that
he arranges himself
under the spotlights -
even empty hands hold signs
if you're looking with
the right kind of eyes.

he carries his sexuality
between his elbows and his shoulders,
arms cocked back like self-
consciousness would look
on a straight boy. with his
hands folded across his stomach
he is just uncertain enough
to be mistaken for feminine.
his long hair curls
just so
in front of his ears and he is
just tragic enough to get inside my head
just pretty enough (like Jim Carroll on
a wet new york night)
& he falls apart with such grace,
wants "you are pretty" to rhyme with
"i love you" so bad that i think,
"i could never let the pieces
of me rocket for the bottom,
never make such accidental,
hip-shot beauty look so easy."

he bums a cigarette from me,
on the walk to his ride, complaining that
it's a menthol, but smoking it, anyway
and i want to tell him,
stop him with my fingertips on his knuckles
as he reaches for my lighter, say
"i am not a gay boy, telling you you're pretty,
but i am a boy
and you are beautiful.
keep my three dollars,
i don't want your chapbook,
i'll remember the poetry of your shoulders forever.
none of you was afraid up there,
not like i am now."

but we didn't talk much beyond me telling you
how wonderfully you performed -
speaking as gently as i know how,
with my focus locked on your nose,
because your eyes scared me, too -
so i never told you,
"i've been called a fag more times than i
can count, mostly for not being afraid
to say anything
to anyone
and i wear my self
across my back, not in the crooks of my elbows,
or at least i think i do -
and maybe that's enough; to grin a little
at the pointless names that people call out
with tongues like rags in their mouths,
dripping worse than mundane poison, worse than
acid, spraying their ideas about what's what
and where it's at like any of us would
let the cold paint of bitter bullshit mark up
the signs we carry
though, they make us feel dirty
and that is worse, sometimes,
than killing us." but
if harsh and angry tongues can't color you
differently, then my stupid mouth won't matter,
either - and i'd just be one more boy saying the same things, anyway, so i was too scared to say,

"i am not a gay boy -
but one fag to another -
i'll love you better because i will never
use three words to get inside your pants, i'll
just say it because it's real and
i am not afraid."

but i was,
and i am,
& i'm sorry.

Courtesy of Reluctance Press, copyright 2006

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[LeBroz]

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Here's one from Razz that is unusually clear and has a soft romantic feel to it.


for Songuvlove, Memories
by RazzRajen©


Time changes thrice
in the morning , at midday and at dusk
I like the dusk best as it is a time for reflection
sitting alone and watching the light fade
It is then that I see the golds and the pinks
the fuschias and the purples
all slowly turn darker and darker in shade
and finally be taken over
by the darkness that is night

Yet One sits and watches
and the skies are filled slowly with pinpoints of light
and the stars all come out and light up the night skies

The Ancients used to say
when We pass on
We go to that place in the sky and become little stars

I wish upon a star that song is there tonight
looking down on Us
as We sit and chat
Talk and play,
and sometimes cry
As it was for her,
that song is sung forever

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[LeBroz]

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From the profane and material to the sacred and spiritual, this one pretty much covers it all.


For the celestial girl
by RazzRajen©


Evenings are
the best times
for reflection
....those hues fill the sky
and wander into our hearts,
twisting lazily
in the breeze as the
batons of cheerleaders
legs splayed......skirts arising

should not
every male flush
why then do I see
a flush on that cheek
elsewhere
the stroke of My palm
that feeling of numbness,
after so many risings
and fallings

Man builds and then
time erodes
nothing is the same,
sifting sand dunes
eclipse the wonder of the moon,
Shall the sidereal motion
of celestials body,
turn the whirling one
.in His grave
....Nay what graves

ashes we will be
Percy said,
and to dust returned
..sprinkled as so much fodder
over the weedy flowerbeds


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[LeBroz]

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Strong and romantic beyond mere words without becoming weepily sentimental.


For the Silent One
by RazzRajen©


He slept in silence, unknowing
She came to Him as in a dream
Touch, she trailed fingers in His mind
Whisper, she spoke breath into His ears,

Sometimes, He woke and watched
Her face, genteel and ethereal,
A doll? Porcelain she was not.

Strong as the oak , stronger than the wind,
Together they stood and do,
Against all odds,
All of life’s machinations.

They are twined and ever will be,
Her Name on His heart, His on hers

Who else would look to them. And
Then someone did…and made them whole

Again.

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[LeBroz]

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The essence of the surge of the fling so perfectly captured I can feel it. Now excuse me while I roll over and go to sleep.


for two days I tried but
by SeattleRain©


there is no nice way to say it
"fucking a stranger"

fucking a stranger
is like Ben-Gay

yes, ben gay

at the time
all about the burn
the tingle
mindless
pure sensation

leaving behind the
blissful
numbness of death,
of non-existence

I would never do this
so I must not exist,
thank God


I think this as
he rubs his lotion
into my skin

once for the numb
once for the armor

I feel invincible to the pain
held in the open palm
of my true lover,
just waiting for the clench...

numb, protected,
I feel untouchable
for about
ten minutes

which is ten more
than I had before

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[LeBroz]

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A mite long but rich with powerful youthful emotions; can't get much more real than this.


For V., "I Love You Laughingly."
by DeepAsleep©


Remember sitting at the drive-in?
Remember toe prints on my windshield?
I remember the heat
August made us sweat
on the hood of my car.
You said you'd get hot dogs, if only
I bought the soda.
We laughed at the movies
even when things weren't funny
because silence sat between us.

Remember the concert?
Remember you beating up that girl?
I remember the throat I elbowed,
a boy that called you a goth dyke,
while you beat up his girlfriend.
You said you had band-aids.
I had the stitch kit.
We laughed at your sloppy sewing,
my sloppy fighting,
because we won.

Remember being inseperable?
Remember being called a team?
I remember being glued to your side
with your arm around my waist
red, red hair just above my shoulder.
We said we'd live together forever,
Roommates, friends. Almost siblings.
We laughed at guests,
from under piles of dirty laundry
Because it was silly.

Remember when I saw you naked, that time?
Remember how much you blushed?
I remember taking my pants off immediately
so you wouldn't feel like the only one,
we went naked all the time, afterwards.
You said it didn't matter.
I agreed, secretly thinking you beautiful.
We laughed and made shadow puppets
against the blinds
with various body parts.

Remember when I found out you cleaned in lingerie?
Remember how you said you'd kill me if I told?
I remember you hitting me with a potscrubber for
saying, "Just as long as I can jerk off..."
I made you a martini for an apology,
bought a G-string just to clean the tub.
You always rolled your eyes.
We laughed and settled in,
domestic and crazy,
happy with each other.

Remember how you chased off all my girlfriends?
Remember how I chased off all yours?
I remember the one you threatened with a knife,
because she wouldn't leave me alone.
I ran one off by hanging my nuts
out the fly of my boxers,
every time I saw her,
always pretending to an accident
We always laughed, after,
went to get chinese take-out.

Remember it was only me that made you smile?
Remember talking for hours on the roof?
I remember you said I understood,
said too bad about my cock.
I shrugged and ruffled your hair,
said it was ok.
You said I could get an operation.
We laughed because fate's funny,
snuggled together in punk t-shirts,
slept in the open air.

Remember when I kissed you?
Remember how wide your eyes got?
I remember how you held my jaw
in the cup of your palm,
said, "This isn't a movie, honey."
I shrugged and planted another one
in what I hoped was fertile soil.
You laughed and called me crazy,
with that twinkle in your blue eyes,
because I never give up hope.

Remember the look on my face?
Remember I didn't understand, after all?
I remember how hot my cheeks were
when you pushed me away,
said you didn't like boys.
You touched my face
I stared at your striped knee-socks.
We laughed at how dumb we were,
but I didn't think it was funny.
I loved you, not your girly-bits.

Remember when I called you?
Remember how drunk I was?
I remember I told you not to go
I didn't want you to move.
You left anyway,
said you had to.
I said you might be right.
We laughed because we were crying
and didn't know why.
You drove away and I bought more beer.

Do you remember running into me?
I remember how good it felt to hold you.
I remember the gaps in my life
filling up for a few minutes
when you looked up from under my arm.
I said I missed you.
You said you missed me.
We laughed at all the time between.
Even though I bawled for days,
I remember letting you go.

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[LeBroz]

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Here you go with a valentine's wish expressed like no other; mushy and romantic — not! And still it manages, in its own weird way, to unload those three little words. Go figure.


For You
by lexitopoi©


For somebody jaded enough to consider
taking a plunge through the thin ice crust
into a hell recently frozen over,
this is for you.

For somebody high enough to see
the world in macrovision, full kinetic
high definition, with a bloody TiVo on top
and super seven point surround, impeccable
reception for your supersized perception,
yeah, shut up and listen, this
is for you.

For somebody slushed out on Gatorade
and chewing early morning hour
conversation in cheap chats and
pricey bars, lying through your teeth
on origins of scars,
this is for you.

This is scribblings on the rim of reason,
a holler in the blackout, flashlight flaring
in defiant resistance.
......'Come in, stay the hell out,
......walk this way, keep the distance.'

This is the simplest of statements,
wrapped in too many words. Not even poetry,
the wise would say, and still, from my hands
to your head. This
is for you.

I love you.

And with that nail wedged stuck between
loath and confusion, this text will fade,
redundancy backwind itself out of comprehension,
and I with it. I am not important,
this is
for you,
whoever you are, and wherever
you wish to be.

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[LeBroz]

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After going through all those three dozen new poems from today, here's an older piece with some haunting and seductive imagery {and scents, perhaps?}. There's just something about the scent of apple and cinnamon. What other scents turn you on?


Foreign
by Carillon©


Perhaps we have never spoken because
Canadian tongues buck uneasily
around the vowels of your name.

Or does long silence
outweigh deep-eyed glances
tossed through open doorways?

What incense fills your hall,
my mind,
shadows me to class?

A fog of apple and cinnamon
floats heavily, with a trace
of another spice my language
has not yet claimed
and named.

Your scent melts in my mouth,
makes dragon breath in my veins
through fifty minutes
of aromatic hydrocarbons

but I am still waiting
for chemistry to discover your secret,
though my nose found it weeks ago.

I wonder –
If asked, would you give up
the recipe of your scent?
And what would it mean? A map
of a land I have never visited.

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