Dirty 30 in 30

[unpredictablebijou]

Dora, you're doing some solid stuff lately! And Drew (cute name, by the way), I like what you did there. Very tight, and quite evocative.

It's nice to see this thread livening up. I may play with a tarot deck myself, a little bit.

 

[Tzara]

Oh my! I don't think anyone's used me in a Cento before.

That has got to be about the most erotically provocative straightforward comment I've read here.

This week, anyway.








Hey, lady! (*shuffle, snort*) I wanna use you in a, a villanelle, y'know. Kinda really check you out, like, en répétons. (*snigger*)

 

[PandoraGlitters]

. . . . .

 

[PandoraGlitters]

That has got to be about the most erotically provocative straightforward comment I've read here.

 

[DrewberryLess]

DrewBerryLess gently reminds PandoraGlitters to please post her poems for today.

 

[Tzara]

03: Detour

Little Orphan Annie Turns 21

Leapin' Lizards! "Daddy" gasps.
She flamed through puberty overnight
it seemed—red straight slack shift
to spandex tights in nothing flat,
her Brillo pad of hair now Mohawk brush,
her tattooed hip makes Punjab blush.
Sadly, there were casualties: Sandy,
(Arf!) burnt to cinder in the fireball
of those fancy flambé cocktails she sips,
winking foot-long lashes at slim-assed guys
lighting her clove cigarettes. They swarm
like drones about a queen, hoping for
a whiff of pheromone, a few clock ticks
of bored attention, a kiss, a score.
Boris Sirob is our enemy no more,
Master, breathes the Asp, who now
must spirit Ann out of jams much worse
than Sunday snatches by incompetents.
What's she on this week? sighs "Dad,"
flipping mentally through pharmaceuticals
like recreational munitions:
OxyContin. Ecstasy. Coke, MDMA.
Contraception, hisses Asp, Ortho-cept.
Even Mr. Am cannot obliterate
the young's libido, more's the shame.
"Daddy," more uncomfortable
than he's ever been with weapons sales
knows that his darling moppet's change
is not what's worst. That's what's stayed same:
those empty ovals of her eyes,
a daughter's vacant, guileless stare,
relationships that never were.

.

 

[PandoraGlitters]

Eleven

. . . . .

 

[DrewberryLess]

a
red
lizard
hisses through
warm towels, winking
long lashes like a darling little
girl and hoping his
slim daddy's
amazing
love
stays


Cento, Fibonacci
Source: Eleven by PandoraGlitters and Little Orphan Annie by Tzara

 

[DrewberryLess]

if
she
offered
to split her
long slim legs and sip
fancy cocktails, perhaps you would
never change like those master leapin' lizards on coke

Cento
Source: Little Orphan Annie by Tzara

 

[Tzara]

04: With Apologies to Someone's Else's Dream

Seven Dollar Bill

It's legal tender somewhere, I'm quite sure.
I hope I kept my Dance Face on when you
(Oops!) slipped it in my jock. Some Janes prefer
Acknowledgement, some distance—how they cool
The unfamiliar heat. You aren't like them.
You looked directly at me, skipped my hip,
And pocketed your bill on "MBM"—
My Big Machine—bang on the fathership.
I liked that; liked a gal so sexual
To ruin counterfeited bills upon
Some swell appendage that kept you in thrall.
So know: I'm bold but also quite withdrawn.

Relationships are always pretty strange.
But seven dollar bills always get change.


.

 

[PandoraGlitters]

Twelve

. . . . .

 

[PandoraGlitters]

Thirteen

. . . . .

 

[unpredictablebijou]

I am blown away by the entries here this week. Y'all are doing really cool things. Keep it up.

 

[PandoraGlitters]

Oof

. . . . .

 

[bflagsst]

if
she
offered
to split her
long slim legs and sip
fancy cocktails, perhaps you would
never change like those master leapin' lizards on coke

Cento
Source: Little Orphan Annie by Tzara

This cento is excellent but I don't like the last line at all, doesn't make sense by ear or mind. This is the sort of place where I would've broken the form and did my own thing. The partial cento, or maybe recycled something else into the last line after "never change".

 

[DrewberryLess]

I had to work with the poems posted before me. May be you will enjoy this one a little more.


Some hold seven big bills; some go waiting for gold
some are tender, like snow; some are pretty and bold
some get deep and withdrawn; some reflect and look cool
some hope to dance with me; some kick me on the face
some relationships slip; some perhaps kept in thrall
some bang sexual black janes; some prefer them all strange


Cento
Source: Seven Dollar Bill by Tzara; Twelve, and Thirteen by PandoraGlitters

 

[PandoraGlitters]

Fourteen

. . . . .

 

[unpredictablebijou]

I was halfway through a sestina yesterday when I closed the window by mistake. *batters self with rye toast*

That is just kinky. And I like it.

And as to the sestina itself, I can only say,

Pandora, holy shit! You are amazing.

 

[PandoraGlitters]

. . . . .

 

[Tzara]

From Latin...

This is such a fabulous poem that I am afraid to comment on it. That it is also a sestina simply strikes me numb. Or dumb. Like, no feeling in my fingers numb. Fuzzy-headed numb.

Jesus, God.

PG: Take this down from Lit, right now. I mean that, seriously. Why I didn't quote the entire poem. You need to post this elsewhere. It is way good.

Tell me if you want the bit I quoted removed. My advice? You should.

Damn, that's a good poem.

You've graduated from here, darlin', summa cum laude.

 

[Tzara]

This is such a fabulous poem that I am afraid to comment on it. That it is also a sestina simply strikes me numb. Or dumb. Like, no feeling in my fingers numb. Fuzzy-headed numb.

Jesus, God.

PG: Take this down from Lit, right now. I mean that, seriously. Why I didn't quote the entire poem. You need to post this elsewhere. It is way good.

Tell me if you want the bit I quoted removed. My advice? You should.

Damn, that's a good poem.

You've graduated from here, darlin', summa cum laude.

I forgot something.

Showoff.

OK. Now I feel better.

 

[champagne1982]

I forgot something.

Showoff.

OK. Now I feel better.

It's true, but oh my! True in more than one thing, 'dora. That is a fabulous poem ...

 

[PandoraGlitters]

. . . . .

 

[PandoraGlitters]

Fifteen

. . . . .

 

[Tzara]

05: Dawdling along at 30/300 pace

Milk-Bone of the Erinýes

Disaster tracks me like a pack of spaniels
snuffling at the footprints of my life,
breaking out in little whines
where I have dropped a cigarette,
a pencil, some small autograph
of casual discomfort. I hear their nails
clacking on the pavement close behind, feel
the light breath of breeze fanned off
those frantic tails. Even when I've doubled back
across deep Lethe's stream, I sense
some little shiver in my back, the tense
of muscle waiting for one final, carnal nip.
Yet I still run. One doesn't offer bones
unwon to chthonic deities. Just blood.


.