I'll give you the Title - you give me the Poem

[HomerPindar]

Re: my attempt !!!!!!!!!!!

Third floor window

orange lights.
Strung out on the pearl necklace ,
of the city.

Lit squares.
Stacked TV's, playing out a nightly,
Soap opera..

(edited)

Clean air
I remember from my child hood home
No longer mine ,

Ever play with Renga's stargirl32? Think that might be worthy of a thread actually... bright fellow i am to think of it after rambling for a line and a half...

HomerPindar

 

[stargirl32]

Re: Re: my attempt !!!!!!!!!!!

Ever play with Renga's stargirl32? Think that might be worthy of a thread actually... bright fellow i am to think of it after rambling for a line and a half...

HomerPindar

i write a lot of stuff like this ,, but untill you mentioned the word , and i quickly looked it up ,, lol ied never knew about it ,, can you tell me some more ,,,?

and please call me star ,, xxxx( or even star g , seeing as stars a very very populor name ,, wink ,,)

 

[HomerPindar]

Re: Re: Re: my attempt !!!!!!!!!!!

i write a lot of stuff like this ,, but untill you mentioned the word , and i quickly looked it up ,, lol ied never knew about it ,, can you tell me some more ,,,?

and please call me star ,, xxxx( or even star g , seeing as stars a very very populor name ,, wink ,,)

reminds me I was suppose to start a renga here... oops?

Well, look for a new thread on it and jump right in... I'll offer the explinations at the onset..

HomerPindar

 

[The_Fool]

Window on the Third Floor

distance from it all
offers separation of feelings
disconnect from reality
at least the pain
But I know that is real
from the brown patches
of wind-dried grass
and dead leaves in summer
leftover from last fall
occasional breeze
offers sounds in the silence
smells from a neighbor's cooking
memories from the past

 

[average gina]

Hi guys.

Just checking in for a little while; I need to get my head back into writing again.

Before I take an evening stroll, I wanted to ask what floor is this window on? I'm thinking 3rd, but the higher it goes, the more the perspective changes.

 

[Francisromantic]

Window on the third floor...

sometimes, semi-conscious, I awake and look across the street,
so high above the patterns of the aimless, shuffling feet;
I wonder if you also wake and cast your gaze to me,
the mystery man across the way who gives you much to see...
I've seen you watching over there as I disrobe, and shower;
I've felt your passionate eyes upon me, watching by the hour,
I feel your heat from off the street, and sometimes, with a start
I realize with some surprise that I hear your beating heart.
Does it beat for me? I wonder, can I really say
What happens when you look at me from there, across the way...
I only know, your gaze on me is steady, and direct,
And that my body leaps to it! And pulsing, and erect,
I take my manhood in my fist and stroke it without measure,
Hoping, as you watch, that masturbation gives you pleasure,
And that, as you are watching me from over on your floor,
Your face is flushed with pleasure, and that we will play some more...

 

[ewopper]

A simple challenge with many possibilities.
The title is Window On The Third Floor
Maximum length is 6 stanzas/36 lines.
One restriction: you can only use "window" in the title - not in the poem.

Window on the Third Floor

From her perch looking down
she could see for miles around
standing there nude as could be
she wondered who viewed her scenery

all anyone had to do was look up
and marvel at the stroke of luck
of seeing that rare treat
from one so modest and unique

but all the rushing passersby
seemed not to gaze toward the sky
and her being very shy
made no extra motion to catch an eye

yet from her modesty she wanted to break out
and leave her closet of confusion and doubt
and reveal for all to see
her new found sense of sexuality

but as no one at the port hole gazed
and she came out of her fleeting phase
of wanting men her beauty to look upon
the lady put her clothes back on

 

[DeepAsleep]

(I thought I was someone else, I think, I think)

Third floor looking, glass

her eyes not quite
shut, smiled, said,
"go home, fool"
down to where I
stood silent sidewalk
watching her smile thru
curtains(hair,glass)
i thought the casement
shut, smiled, said,
"What if I never lie
in that bed again?"

not desperation,
quieter,
not loneliness,
stronger
not love,
less selfish (& more)

jagged venetian nightlights
three am streetlights,
i thought the casement
shut,"go home, fool,"
smiled, said.
"But I miss," wood met
wood and that was that
didn't smile when I said

never did lie
in that bed
again

 

[Seduceros2]

A sense of barrenness captured well.

Window On The Third Floor

the saddest of times
that invisible pivot
at the end of the party
of silent concurrence
everyone collects
their belongings
their lighters and jackets
their raincoats and dates
one last beer hanging
from plastic rind's five fingers
perfunctory remarks
seemingly insincere
acknowledge the hostess
and leave
shutting the door

and in the utter silence
the party's wake
as voices recede down the hall
she sits facing west
perched in striated light
and considers a leap of faith

Yes, I know this time. I'm particularly struck by some of the ambiguity created by the lack of punctuation; for example, "the saddest of times/that invisible pivot/at the end of the party/of silent concurrence" can be understood in at least two ways: "the invisible pivot at the end of the party, the invisible pivot of silent concurrence" as well as "the invisible pivot at the end of the party of silent concurrence" that is the "party of silent concurrence." This latter image strikes me as stark and empty and feeds the emotion of the hostess (soon to be ex-?). There are several of these ambiguities and they all add to a haunting poem. Well done indeed.

Seduceros2

 

[cherries_on_snow]

Window on the Third Floor

Painting the Coleman building in summer, we rolled
cream smoothly on walls until all that was left
was trim.

"Looks good" he said, just behind me
pulling the overall strap down over my shoulder.

He was behind, around, over me, so much larger
his hands on my waist between the tube top hugging my ribs
and the overalls, loosened, sliding down

one large finger enough to fill my need
moving with purpose under thin panties.

My fingers sank through the cream, gripping wet
wood as his pants dropped, his body curved to push inside
hands over mine. My body, sex crucified against
paned glass, shattered in petite death
after petite death, shuddering to a crumple.

On the muslin tarp, we breathed.
Light tiled our panting flesh.
Fingertips painted his palm.