Gunsmoke

[champagne1982]

theory number 37: DA is practicing to be a curmudgeon and doesn't want to like anyone's anything. But sometimes he can't help it.

Hey Ross, I got yer anything raight'chere fella...

 

[DeepAsleep]

I was just thinking. Why did DA feel sorry for liking my poem? ... <sob>

I wasn't sorry for liking it, I was sorry that I didn't vote for it. S'different.

 

[champagne1982]

I wasn't sorry for liking it, I was sorry that I didn't vote for it. S'different.

you are fun to tease ... I understood. I was being whiny-assed. I get that way when I get relegated to the same treatment as senior citizens... no wonder they're cranky.

 

[DeepAsleep]

you are fun to tease ... I understood. I was being whiny-assed. I get that way when I get relegated to the same treatment as senior citizens... no wonder they're cranky.

Well, I made you a bowl of a mush, and if you'll hold on, I'll walk you across the street.

 

[champagne1982]

Well, I made you a bowl of a mush, and if you'll hold on, I'll walk you across the street.

My crutches and my cane are made out of aluminum... <curmudgeonishness on>Be careful ya young whippersnapper or I'll give you an aluminum headache... </curmudgeon>

 

[DeepAsleep]

My crutches and my cane are made out of aluminum... <curmudgeonishness on>Be careful ya young whippersnapper or I'll give you an aluminum headache... </curmudgeon>

Don't make me break your hip, too.

 

[champagne1982]

upbj is going to be so disappointed in us for not writing a Glosa poem.

 

[DeepAsleep]

upbj is going to be so disappointed in us for not writing a Glosa poem.

I'm hunting for a good quote.

 

[champagne1982]

We could procrastinate for a year by looking for quotes. How clever of Ange to give me something else to do instead of writing poems .

 

[DeepAsleep]

Harrumph. Well spoken.

 

[DeepAsleep]

(I feel like I didn't do this quite right, but... s'ok.)

two verses from this song.


I wanted you to touch me first
with your hands.
then, with your mouth a slight plum,
you'd have kissed me counterside to whatever light
you were afraid to cast.

I told you: "When your shadow's sharpest
behind you, you ain't nothin' but a silhouette
cracking wide in the sun, the fissures between
your ribs turning fountain for a downpour of sweat."

the ravaged skin of puberty
can often be mistaken for beauty
at sunset. we were
damp cotton clouds,
forgot that we were apples,
you and I, shiny and bloody -
pure, inside.

One day, I asked you to leave.
I was a fool, you were my friend.

it took three years sharing a refrigerator
with someone else before i remembered
how we made it happen,
like spitting watermelon
seeds, slick and nonchalant,
halving pears in the late sun -
you took off your clothes.

what's left on the light when every
shadow's been shed?
You stood there so brave.

With your hands cupped,
you tipped cherry pits
into a sinkful of hot knives,
I remember each seed
outlined against the setting sun.
You used to be shy.

 

[champagne1982]

what's left on the light when every
shadow's been shed?

This makes me want to have sex. I love that light imagery!

 

[DeepAsleep]

This makes me want to have sex. I love that light imagery!

Strange. Thank you.

 

[champagne1982]

It's the stripping away of even shadows ... sex is a "baring" of much more than bodies, so asking what's left of light once those disguises or veils is burned away, leaves me thinking of the nakedness of emotion, body and mind during the raw act of fucking.

 

[Remec]

I always miss out on the fun.

Yeah, I know the feeling. Someone'd have to give me a quote, though, or a source of one at any rate.

 

[Angeline]

We could procrastinate for a year by looking for quotes. How clever of Ange to give me something else to do instead of writing poems .

I'm happy to supply quotes, but you know me. You'll be stuck with Yeats or maybe Dylan (Bob, not Tom).

 

[Angeline]

two verses from this song.


I wanted you to touch me first
with your hands.
then, with your mouth a slight plum,
you'd have kissed me counterside to whatever light
you were afraid to cast.

I told you: "When your shadow's sharpest
behind you, you ain't nothin' but a silhouette
cracking wide in the sun, the fissures between
your ribs turning fountain for a downpour of sweat."

the ravaged skin of puberty
can often be mistaken for beauty
at sunset. we were
damp cotton clouds,
forgot that we were apples,
you and I, shiny and bloody -
pure, inside.

One day, I asked you to leave.
I was a fool, you were my friend.

it took three years sharing a refrigerator
with someone else before i remembered
how we made it happen,
like spitting watermelon
seeds, slick and nonchalant,
halving pears in the late sun -
you took off your clothes.

what's left on the light when every
shadow's been shed?
You stood there so brave.

With your hands cupped,
you tipped cherry pits
into a sinkful of hot knives,
I remember each seed
outlined against the setting sun.
You used to be shy.

Far be it from me to argue with people stretching forms. Good poetry is born from that, I think. This is very good poetry except I don't like the bloody apple. "shiny and uh I can't think of anything else at the moment." But apples don't make me think of bloody. Tomatoes maybe, but not apples. Just my uninvited two cents.

 

[Remec]

I'm happy to supply quotes, but you know me. You'll be stuck with Yeats or maybe Dylan (Bob, not Tom).

That could work, nice little jazzy bluesy piece from when he was being his most lyrical...I could see it.

 

[Remec]

Oh, and I thought this discussion might warrant a trip down memory lane to a previous glosa
thread. And I saw a few more on my search, although this was the one I remembered.

 

[unpredictablebijou]

Thank you. Can't go much wrong with Yeats. There is a poet who hasn't been here a while who told me I have a "Yeats Affection." Or maybe it was a "Yeats Infection." I forget. (Did I make you snort?)

Latte Fu!

As to a source for quotes: do what I did. Cheat. Go here and type in an author, celebrity, etc.

I know now that was pretty tangential - I wasn't thinking in terms of using poetry quotations, but I got lucky with Anais Nin cause she's so poetic even in her prose. So maybe for poetry it wouldn't be quite as good.

Thinking that once I recover from the myocardial infarction I may try to revise that piece and make something worthwhile out of it. Maybe.

I must confess I told EVERYBODY that I won a gunfight. Okay, okay: Against a sedated cripple. I get a lot of blank stares. Kinda the same congratulations you'd give a 6 year old who's all excited about getting the part of the Beet in the class production about the four food groups. "Good for you, honey!"

Snowed in yesterday and we're still using burnt sticks and birchbark to communicate out where I live, so I was really excited about getting to work today...

Must go catch up.

bj

 

[unpredictablebijou]

This makes me want to have sex.

The finest and best compliment a poem can ever receive.
Except maybe for "this makes me feel like I just had sex."


bj

 

[Angeline]

Latte Fu!

As to a source for quotes: do what I did. Cheat. Go here and type in an author, celebrity, etc.

I know now that was pretty tangential - I wasn't thinking in terms of using poetry quotations, but I got lucky with Anais Nin cause she's so poetic even in her prose. So maybe for poetry it wouldn't be quite as good.

Thinking that once I recover from the myocardial infarction I may try to revise that piece and make something worthwhile out of it. Maybe.

I must confess I told EVERYBODY that I won a gunfight. Okay, okay: Against a sedated cripple. I get a lot of blank stares. Kinda the same congratulations you'd give a 6 year old who's all excited about getting the part of the Beet in the class production about the four food groups. "Good for you, honey!"

Snowed in yesterday and we're still using burnt sticks and birchbark to communicate out where I live, so I was really excited about getting to work today...

Must go catch up.

bj

It's an incredible piece of writing. Of course you have to tweak it. I can think of two places off the top of my head that I bet would love it.

And you better watch calling the Alberta Clipper a sedated cripple. She's feeling better, I can tell. She'll want to do sestinas next.

Isn't the snow wonderful? It's so pretty but my gawd it's up to my knees out there!

 

[unpredictablebijou]

It's an incredible piece of writing. Of course you have to tweak it. I can think of two places off the top of my head that I bet would love it.

And you better watch calling the Alberta Clipper a sedated cripple. She's feeling better, I can tell. She'll want to do sestinas next.

Isn't the snow wonderful? It's so pretty but my gawd it's up to my knees out there!

We only got three inches, but it shore is purty.

I'm only calling her a sedated cripple so everyone is clear on the true merit of my "win." As in, if she had been working at even half capacity she'd have kicked my ass up and down the street. Shot me down like a skinny dog, then hitched me up behind her horse and dragged me through the sagebrush for a few miles, and then scattered my bones fer the buzzards and worn my scalp on her belt.

That's all I'm sayin'.

bj

 

[Angeline]

We only got three inches, but it shore is purty.

I'm only calling her a sedated cripple so everyone is clear on the true merit of my "win." As in, if she had been working at even half capacity she'd have kicked my ass up and down the street. Shot me down like a skinny dog, then hitched me up behind her horse and dragged me through the sagebrush for a few miles, and then scattered my bones fer the buzzards and worn my scalp on her belt.

That's all I'm sayin'.

bj

And dances. I think she dances, too.

 

[unpredictablebijou]

And dances. I think she dances, too.

I'm a reasonable dancer. But something tells me that in a dance-off, even with the current knee situation, she'd kick my happy ass there too.

she's awful cool, our champy.
thanks for being in here to distract me at the moment. Need that currently.

bj