new poems

[Angeline]

Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Reviewer update:

Well, a broken string woudn't actually prevent him from singing, unless the string was a vocal cord, now would it?

#L, plugger of loopholes

Well no, and I love his singing voice but the guitar *does* add to it significantly....

Damnit I want the guitar, too! I'm greedy that way.



PS--Lauren, I'm not chit chatting in this thread anymore, but you can't be mean cause look at my AV...

 

[JCSTREET]

THURSDAY'S REVIEWS

Doing this in the order I see them--not in any order or preference. I don't have Jim Serra's command of critical language
so I'll do it in my own off-the-wall way:


Wicked Eve starts the bidding with Into the Mountains

which seems at first humorous but has deeper undertones.

That old snake trail
has wicked winding tail
that'll rattle bones
and bite your soles

seems witty at first - like the rhymes used in children's games, but

She cries his name,
sheds tears of want
that muddy the way to her door
where you'll knock no more.

is a powerfully bittersweet image which takes the reader into a darker realm of love and loss

neoneurotic seems less concerned with the more gothic aspects of love and seeks instead a simple visit from a Muse to light his pages, in A full coffee cup

and seeks her in a coffee cup

Tonight let me be
consumed by this
wicked caffeine fix
because tomorrow
my cup may be dry

is successful and then thinks of moving on to clutch another dream in his hands

I grin ear to ear
with cream on my nose
found my muse
in a full coffee cup

Easily, all this I visualize

—now to indulge in
the real cream dream

I almost had to take a personal break after that one

Syndra Lynn changes the mood with a strong childhood reminiscence or a grandmother, which recalls the hard times of union busting and depression in Grandma is a Goddess

brave warrior
stole coal from train cars
to heat their home
started work at 12
to feed 11 young siblings
helped the garment union
get fair wages for women
worked hard all her life
widowed too young

and then gives us an insight into Granny's personality with:

"It was darker than a stack a black cats"
the night her grandma died

LIAR gives us a dose of cynicism with Explanation Sought

What is it with love,
really,

when air
moves like concrete,
exhausting to inhale,
suffocating
to keep in,

and gives us vague memories of Subterranean Homesick Blues with:

and pilgrims pray
at gunpoint
while answers flow
like manna from
the skybar big screen
spectacle.

(or is it more like a lyric from the late Tim Buckley)

RazzRajen pens a paean to
Rejeanne

Watch the crinkles in her eyes,
the light that shines grows
tendril webs that cross the air,

and adds an 18th century English classical touch with

Would that I could bask
like the clouds kiss the blue skies.
Would that I could take of her warmth
and distil that wonder

(is it Wordsworthian? I'd have to check)

lostandfounder has his prolixity excised by the blade of his Domina in
thanks (to 22)

leaving the reader to contemplate who "22" might be

bluerains weaves magic images in
the gathering

her meadowed grace awaits the discharged
Celtic thunder and the dismount of the sky-rider
whose lamenting created such tempest
since his guild longed for the treasure of her home

Uncle Pervey spurts a whole bunch of poems into today's mix, including
Popeye the Fixit Man

He loves his girl named Arleen,
She sure ain't no movie queen!
He wants to eat her, but he just beats her,
She won't keep her pussy clean!

Reminds me of Charles Bukowski's approach to women although that writer was so deeply in the bag during many of his encounters that he might not have known the difference between an unclean pussy and a toupee

nevertheless--it's a dilemma that many face daily in those rooming houses below the tracks, where the Midnight Express runs ruby red in coffee cups

Many of the regulars are missing from today's batch of roughly 47 poems (hard to scan down the list with the human eye which is what I'm equipped with

Hope the URL's work since this is my first time writing HTML in a formal setting

Carl

 

[WickedEve]

Great job reviewing. Did you enjoy it?

 

[Cordelia]

Re: Re: Re: Reviewer update:

Oh God! I made us sound like party girls... ones you pay! lol And catbabe is available anytime!

I'm in Nevada. It's legal here.

And I've already been signed up for Sunday.

Grinning wickedly,



Cordelia

 

[WickedEve]

Re: Re: Re: Re: Reviewer update:

I'm in Nevada. It's legal here.

And I've already been signed up for Sunday.

Grinning wickedly,



Cordelia

so, are you making good money? are you able to write poetry while "working"?

 

[Cordelia]

Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Reviewer update:

so, are you making good money? are you able to write poetry while "working"?

Umm.... money? neo?


And someone asked me why I kept using more than one metaphor in some poems... why there was no continuity in some of what I wrote. May I use "working" as an excuse?


(And, JCSTREET.... excellent job of reviewing.)



Cordelia

Lauren... this is NOT chit chat. It's pertinent. Really...

 

[Guest]

to JC - good job!

 

[JCSTREET]

EMENDATIONS

1. meant to quote lostandfounder's poem but it fell out while I was fooling with getting the URL in

2. re Grandma/Goddess - should read

reminiscence OF a grandmother--not OR

3. Thanks for the vote of confidence--was hard work

4. To WickedEve - well I enjoyed the poetry LOLOL - maybe I'll try doing it in Notepad next time

5. To Tristesse--white panties are my terminal fetish (although I generally wear black) - I'm pretty much out of it for the rest of the evening now--having seen your new AV--you debbil woman

carliebear

 

[Guest]

Re: THURSDAY'S REVIEWS

neonurotic seems less concerned with the more gothic aspects of love and seeks instead a simple visit from a Muse to light his pages, in A full coffee cup

and seeks her in a coffee cup

Thank you kindly, Carl for the read, mention, and time. You did a great job on the reviews.

Also, thanks for those who took the time to utilize the Public Commenting—much appreciate that too.


- neo


Editted to add a thank you to Syndra for her mention of my poem as well Thanks, darlin'

 

[Syndra Lynn]

Humble thanks

Thank you Carl, and all who took the time to read and comment on my tribute to Grandma. She has been gone 9 years and 2 days. She was just one hell of a woman.

Syn

 

[Liar]

Thk you Carl for a good first review session, very good readin and an insightful perspective on each recommendation. looking forwars to next Thursday.

And thanks a bunch for the mention of my poem. Glad you liked it.

#L

 

[Liar]

Also wants to thank all of you who left so many embarrasingly warm comments on my radiation leak. Had no idea that a rhyming couplet (I think that's what it is called) about over emotional teens could yield such reaction.

#L

 

[RazzRajen]

First reviews

Great job Carl....and your time is much appreciated.
Thanks for the mention of My poem for a very good friend. It was written originally on the back of a napkin at a lunch we shared.

Thannks again

Razz

 

[JCSTREET]

Re: First reviews

Great job Carl....and your time is much appreciated.
Thanks for the mention of My poem for a very good friend. It was written originally on the back of a napkin at a lunch we shared.

Thannks again

Razz

and shorter pieces--incl. haikus-- on the back of drink coasters?

yes I have heerd of thees theengs

I'm keeping all mine for donation to the University of Toronto library on my death

Carliebear

 

[Tathagata]

Re: Re: First reviews

and shorter pieces--incl. haikus-- on the back of drink coasters?

yes I have heerd of thees theengs

I'm keeping all mine for donation to the University of Toronto library on my death

Carliebear

All your drink coasters??
That would qualify as an endowment wouldn't it??

 

[JCSTREET]

Re: Re: Re: First reviews

All your drink coasters??
That would qualify as an endowment wouldn't it??

you bet--line 193 on supplemental form 1047

 

[Tathagata]

Re: Re: Re: Re: First reviews

you bet--line 193 on supplemental form 1047

I could do that with my beer bottle collection.......
but that has nothing to do with poetry huh?
damn....

gimme a minute

 

[JCSTREET]

Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: First reviews

I could do that with my beer bottle collection.......
but that has nothing to do with poetry huh?
damn....

gimme a minute

it's got everything to do with poetry

 

[JCSTREET]

jthserra gives us

and, like the night bloom of the cirrus
we shined by the moment
riddled with only desire
then slipped away
before breakfast

"night bloom of the cirrus"

masterful

 

[Tathagata]

Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: First reviews

it's got everything to do with poetry

only an irishman would understand that
'Sláinte

 

[Liar]

FRIDAY

Holy Hippos.

Here I come to the New Poems list, makes a quick scan and thinks that this would be easy peasy reviewing today. Only 13 new poems for me to yawn my way through and then pick out a handful good ones to read over again so I could find something smart to say about them.

It turned out that I found nine of them that I just HAD to include in my recommendations. Damn you poets, don't be so bloody good.



----------------------------

Hot Blood by tarablackwood22
The day starts off with a totally unashamedly raunchy poem full of intense eroticism about the predators of the night. But who's the predator and who's the prey?
[color=33AA55]they know
by my shadow,
my cold eyes,
nefarious,
by my mouth
dripping scarlet.[/color]

----

Some Crushing Ecstasy by jthserra
A homage, an eulogy, a conversation through time? A heartfelt poem of regrets. Jim is quite hard to typecast poetry-wise, but I still felt that this was different from his regular body of work.

----

Inner Beauty by alpha1one
A sensual prose poem of sorts, but more like a feverish rambling dialouge than a piece of prose actually. Some might find the irregular punctuation and sentence structure off putting, but once you get into the flow of the text, it will reveal itself in a new light. It did to me at least.

----

Work Of Art and One Snow Day by SoundsErotica
Poetry debutant SoundsErotica had four poems up today, and those two are the best. 'Work Of Art' is a pretty straightforward, raunchy piece of erotic poetry that is very well written and tastefully crafted, something you don't see every day. But 'One Snow Day' is what really shows this poet's potential. A warm poem about a cold day.
[color=33AA55]Crystalline moisture
diffracts through the glass
our flickering yellow ambience;
and shares it with the silent world,[/color]

----

Why do you breathe? by flyguy69
Is this an angry, cynical poem or just a piece of mildly twisted wit? Both? I don't know really. But what I do know is that I really like this kind of poem, that can take a crazy idea and just run like hell with it.
[color=33AA55]Do you think you’re good at it?
I know lots better breathers than you.
Some folks breathe deeper, louder, better than you do.
Yeah, one time it sounded good, but so what?[/color]

----

The Colour Green by RazzRajen
Razz contemplates colors of an early spring, in his own almost annoyingly eloquent way. It's a delight to read.

----

Kitchen Muse by Angeline
A flashback to a little piece of childhood magic memory. It seems Angeline have had muses whispering in her hear for quite some time. I'm jealous.

----

And finally, my top pick for the day:

Place of Peace by *Catbabe*
Catbabe has a way of making the most simple observation seems like magic to this reader. Place of Peace is a description of a scenery that made me want to buy a plane ticket to wherever and share a big stone with her.
[color=33AA55]Sea bitten cliffs
littered with rounded rocks,
some big enough to sit on,
some small enough to throw,
they all sink, slowly swallowed,
by the softness
of the red island clay.[/color]

----

Now, why are you still reading here? You should be reading the poems. Or writing your own.

#L

 

[WickedEve]

Re: FRIDAY

Holy Hippos.

Here I come to the New Poems list, makes a quick scan and thinks that this would be easy peasy reviewing today. Only 13 new poems for me to yawn my way through and then pick out a handful good ones to read over again so I could find something smart to say about them.
#L

About 14 more for today just popped up. There could be more on the way. I'm going to go read them all now.
ta ta

 

[Tathagata]

Re: Re: FRIDAY

About 14 more for today just popped up. There could be more on the way. I'm going to go read them all now.
ta ta

you said

" popped up"








Thank you

 

[JCSTREET]

It was Tathagata's beer bottle post

which got me started on this - and in noting that "it was not poetry" he invoked our fears of Lauren twitting us for wandering off-topic as we impiously do no matter how many good resolutions we make upon arising

and then there was Tara's new poem today - a harsh furnace-breath on my loins - (with the image of WickedEve's posterior now fading I needed fresh impetus) and . . . like . . . you know . . . stuff, eh!

and I managed to eke out this little ditty (which I've submitted already so I think it's Ok to put it in here).

If there are any tall, skinny girls who read it -please PM me and I'll send you a first class ticket to Nice and a limo voucher to the Hotel Metropole, Beaulieu-sur-Mer )please bring your own cane)

I ADMIT

By JC STREET © 2004

I admit it’s
easy
to stray in here, to
slip and stagger by the wayside, slipping
into mischievous chitchat what’s
needed is a stern

schoolmistress who
brooks no slips not
banter

of this kind, she

is wearing:

watered silk blouse open
just enough to flash the lacy
bodice of her slip her
hair in a bun pulled
back so severely that it
tightens her face her
hard intellectual face her
beautiful face with the
gold-rimmed glasses – down a little
on her prim nose a

long cotton skirt falling
to her sensible shoes, what
color is it – is it lavender with vague
flowers
occulted by distance and under
underneath she wears a small white
brassiere
not to lift but
to hide the nubbing nipple from her
outer topography, she

wears a white
garter belt with eight
straps to hold
her silk seamed stockings
under the loose silk panties from
waist almost to stocking tops, I

kneel down and bury
my face
on a velvet Ottoman
while she flexes her cane while
she slips down my
white intimates the
turbid air is warning of her strike the
pain is pure white light
behind the scrunched eyes if
I were a girl I would
kick up my right foot coltishly and

AGAIN!

Oh My, the sting and
slight of it, the
blinding light of it and then

THWACK!

again and
after pleading
after the 12th stroke with
blood hot enough to sizzle the griddle she
relents
and stands back shaking
her hair flung loose by the beating her
face red-glistened and wanton, stands
back
a drizzle of saliva down her lip she
quivers and makes a small
unwonted sound as I
slowly rise and turn to face
this . . . this

transmogrification, gravitas
now a tattered coat as I
rise and turn to face and
move to her she

drops the cane her eyes
are those of the deer at the watering place, turning
to the spear, she

shivers and quivers and
mewls a little
fearing her joy I
touch a palpen finger to her eyelid she
shrinks as though lightning struck and I

cup her cheeks and move them
closer to my quick breath I
touch my pursed lips to her forehead and
touch her hair
fleshing out its half fullness to a rout of silk a
rout of silk it is
lovely in its graceful fall to the white
silk of her blouse which
I open slightly with a pushing out of
one button and
lightly kiss the lovely
curve
of neck rounding into shoulder, shoulder so
white, the map
of light and shadow on her
bony shoulder and my fingers
behind her neck burrowing
into her loose-wild hair like
small feral animals
delight from her lips a harsh cry then
a smaller moan I

trace my smooth nails
over her scalp—scratching
in a calculated tease and
kiss again
her eyelids and her nose
delicately and again
this time her cheeks and again her lovely neck and again

I kiss

now one hand on her spine moving her
moving her to the place
where she would be, the
place she most fears her
eyes closing her
breathing sterterous,
harsh and uncontrolled her
body quivering like the canary
swallowed by the cat and

with one more button parted
I trace my lips to the red
flush of her chest slathering
my slick-thick tongue
cell by cell
across the chart of her rising
pulse this

undressing is a langor thing so
timeless in its slow wend so
unremembering so
exquisite and
with time there will be
time and time as
the sun floats down to thistle Hell in the late
of the day, as
the flowers fold their arms to sleep,
as the nightingale
greets the nightling sky, there is
time she

is contained now my
arms constrain her to a tighter place and I
feel her being
softening for surrender I

grasp her flung-wild hair with a harsh hand and
seal
her lips to my hot breath she
asks no quarter I
possess her with my mouth and tongue driving
like Rommel perhaps
deeper into secret Egypt in the slick-glisten
of a desert night with
no retreat envisaged with
only the prize in view she

knows now
that she is possessed it
is not her doing she
worries no longer she
is not responsible she
knows now for whom
the whistling cane
strikes quivering flesh she
knows now she is

bent backward now
sniffy-breathing and
relenting to the relentless
caress
of insistent fingers
down the slim silk of her spine down the

first boyish curve
of her hips the
tight round swelling
under her skirt and now
she quivers and moans with rising
interest with

less shyly returned kisses
to my own cheeks to my own
eyelids to my
own and

slowly words are forming . . . yes . . . oh
oh yes
oh

parting her blouse pushing it down
her slim white arms and
over her thin wrists it
parachutes down, teasing

the white child straps off her shoulders and
then the light entrancing lick
from the lovely round
to the edge and
down her upper arm I

step back slightly to raise her arm and lick
the virgin
skin inside her elbow I
sense there the faint
Tantalus the
faint Tantalus of the scent she touched
to her pulsing wrist
for an instant in the first rise
of the day and then

contain her again in my arms with a long
shuddering kiss I
am in fear that my knees will not hold that
I will fall from the sweetness the
sweetness of this love-thing the
sweetness of her I
fear

and then
she whispers and all is
once more well she
whispers “darling” whispers
and moves her ins to my outs her
convexities to my
concavities her
sweet mouth again onto mine her
fingers lilting on my face her
breath now
zephyr-light and warm her
tongue as slick as olives in the grove
of falling day she

whispers now more intimately she
savors the
freedom of surrender now it is not her
not her who
wantonly unbelts me the small
light hairs on my thighs hackling
hackling with a tickle she

releases me with an impious
pull downward of my under-clothing which
stings a little over the russet
quiver of my caned flesh and

I have already teased down her
cotton skirt
past the soft silk of her delicates but

not to be outdone in this
deconstruction she
harshly tears
the shirt from my back the buttons’


pleasant pitter-patter on the parquet seems
only the sound of almonds—thrown to birds I

will devour her now
devour her with my colonizing tongue
devour her with fingers
that I can detach and leave to wander
so fulsomely that she believes me
multiple beings believes me

to be many tongues and mouths about her
as we fret and twist in the last
divesting of garments though
we leave the stockings and the garters
in their lovely places and now

our cannibal kisses
consume the liquid in our mouths
displace it on our bodies on the now
nubbled pinkness of her breasts
on the now quivering belly and this is the moment
in our love when
all becomes inchoate shall we

move to the velvet sofa, collapse on the bear-rug, maneuver
to the oaken table shall I simply
lift her to my belly and plunge
into the seeding flower which has opened in the love light
but no

instead we
stumble to the table I bend her
bend her backward and
thumbs behind her knees I
fold them to her cheeks

feed carnally on the mounds and groves, the
interstices and declivities the
tiny spring which magically erupts
from the garden
of her flowerbox of earth her

maidenly heart and she is
touching and stroking me now she
has found my measure she
grows confident she
grows knowing now as the breast-pulsing blood
quivers her and

when we unite and meld I
do not quite know the moment but
we were sudden-melded and then it was all changed I
brought her face up to mine and while
my grasp was cruel—pulling her into my thrust my
kiss was kind my
kiss was a wandering minstrel of delights across her face a
poem to her lips it was
so tender now
as though we were two, half
human and half beast my kiss
belied the carnage down below the
slick-slapping belly sweat the
cruel grasp of my fingernails on her round flesh the
conterpoint
of sonata and gavotte for I

now murmured endearments to my love I
now told her of my care I
now held her in close regard and worshipped
the lovely outlines of her face, worshipped
with light surprising kisses and light licks light
licks to her eyelids, her perfumed ear, lightly-blown
breath against her lovely face she was
now lovely to me
all in the moment the
endless moment yet

all below was turmoil and thrashing and
suddenly
we could no longer lightly dance
against each others faces we
could no longer hold back the grunts and harsh cries the
moaning sobs the cries that would bring
authority rushing to the door
crashing with nightsticks to
restrain the murder within but

this was no murder she was
risen from
the torpor of her life the
dull round of her days she was

where she would be

(end of Canto I)

Kingston Ontario May 28 2004

And we came not upon a midnight drear’

 

[Tathagata]

Jesus Christ man............
I'm trying to watch a ball game here and now I'm all fuckin' bothered

and that's not a comfortable feeling when you are watching 9 men in white pants and cleats







ok
seriously
Nice fuckin job
I'm with you on this one
but don't tell anyone