pick one of your poems and tell me all about it

[butters]

just a mini bump for the newbies, prodigal sons and little lurkerers

 

[BooMerengue]

Here's a bump...

HyperSleep


This body has for so long been a tomb
so dark and cold; no place for life to spring
awake, and yet your hands begin to sing
and chase away the comfort of the gloom.

The light pours in and basking in its glow
this corpse does rise enrapt in your romance;
allows your song to lead me through the dance
to wash away the shroud that holds me low.

Then as we dance the Stars put on a show
The Sun and Moon competing for our glance
for in this Universe we reign supreme!

Yet now this heart, alive again, does grow
and quickly do I spin into your trance!
So happily I miss your dark eyed gleam

While demon like you reached into my womb
with lips so cold my soul becomes a thing
to shatter as my ears begin to ring
and now your song changes to one of doom.

Enshrouded once again in death I seem
to once again be plagued by foolish dream.

I liked this even after I wrote it. I don't always. Is this a true sonnet? I don't know. I think it needs some more punctuation, which I hate, but not sure the nuance comes through w/o it. God knows I despise editing and just won't do it. My philosophy has always been "In my mind, out my mouth!" One could add, "Out my mouth- done. fini. kaput. Keep walking. Don't look back."

Whaddya think? And please- no canned applause. I love it when you hurt me. Here. Only. lolol

Be serious, Boo.

 

[darkerdreamer]

just a mini bump for the newbies, prodigal sons and little lurkerers

1 out of 3 ain't bad, just don't ask Meatloaf.

One of the few poems I like is Memory of 73rd Street. I wrote it about a year after leaving my hometown to follow a girl where she was moving for school, despite me having no college to attend, no job, nowhere to stay, and we had already ended our relationship. Being young and a romantic I thought we could work everything out. After a month living in my car in an awful neighborhood, one in-person conversation at an impersonal diner in downtown Chicago, and a year passing with no resolution I realized I was wrong.

We didn't love each other anymore, or even care for each other after everything that happened before the move and everything I did to her. Even still, some nights I wanted that old feeling from before I was a monster, when we were teenagers and hopeful and uncomplicated and in inevitably-doomed-love. That story is far less interesting when put on paper--screen--interweb?

--

On plastic lawn chairs that never made it to the lawn
still dormant on the porch, we realize
when all is said and done
all we have left are the dregs of a bitter brew
of excuses why it didn’t work and why we both left,
opposite and nearly identical reasons.
I tip my mug regardless, tongue searching for the remnants,
not like it’s all that addictive, just what’s left,
and there’s something enigmatically alluring in that property.

On a plastic lawn with new chairs
somehow uncomfortable and nearly identical to the last, I realize
when what’s done is done
I should have saved a sip for some night when everything aches,
not that it would have been all that soothing, just familiar,
but there is something comforting in that property.

I brew another cup on lucky nights in plastic lawn chair dreams,
taking thirsty gulps, disregarding conservation,
praying for the taste to remain on my tongue when I wake.

 

[BooMerengue]

bumpity bump

 

[butters]

Here's a bump...

HyperSleep


This body has for so long been a tomb
so dark and cold; no place for life to spring
awake, and yet your hands begin to sing
and chase away the comfort of the gloom.

The light pours in and basking in its glow
this corpse does rise enrapt in your romance;
allows your song to lead me through the dance
to wash away the shroud that holds me low.

Then as we dance the Stars put on a show
The Sun and Moon competing for our glance
for in this Universe we reign supreme!

Yet now this heart, alive again, does grow
and quickly do I spin into your trance!
So happily I miss your dark eyed gleam

While demon like you reached into my womb
with lips so cold my soul becomes a thing
to shatter as my ears begin to ring
and now your song changes to one of doom.

Enshrouded once again in death I seem
to once again be plagued by foolish dream.

I liked this even after I wrote it. I don't always. Is this a true sonnet? I don't know. I think it needs some more punctuation, which I hate, but not sure the nuance comes through w/o it. God knows I despise editing and just won't do it. My philosophy has always been "In my mind, out my mouth!" One could add, "Out my mouth- done. fini. kaput. Keep walking. Don't look back."

Whaddya think? And please- no canned applause. I love it when you hurt me. Here. Only. lolol

Be serious, Boo.

i'm not an expert on forms at all, Boo. my basic knowledge (and wiki ) tells me that it should be 14 lines long, not 20..., and, while you begin with the italian form, the structure of that style peters out. having said that, this is a delightful piece in pentameter, though i tripped slightly with L18 on 'changes'... the emphasis seemed to fall on the wrong syllable for it to feel as natural as the rest for me. so ... if this is a sonnet, in a more erudite form than my simple understanding recognises, then well met, little sonnet. if not - heeyyyyyyyy *fonzi stylee*

14 lines long
Lines 1-8, the Octave, introduces a question, situation, or problem.
Lines 9-14, the Sestet, answers the question, resolves the situation or problem
The point that divides the Octave from the Sestet is the Caesura.
Iambic Pentameter
Two types:
Shakespearean/English (abab cdcd efef gg)
Petrarchan/Italian (Abbaabba cdecde)
Spenserian (abab bcbc cdcd ee)


Must have 10 syllables and 5 beats per line

 

[butters]

1 out of 3 ain't bad, just don't ask Meatloaf.

One of the few poems I like is Memory of 73rd Street. I wrote it about a year after leaving my hometown to follow a girl where she was moving for school, despite me having no college to attend, no job, nowhere to stay, and we had already ended our relationship. Being young and a romantic I thought we could work everything out. After a month living in my car in an awful neighborhood, one in-person conversation at an impersonal diner in downtown Chicago, and a year passing with no resolution I realized I was wrong.

We didn't love each other anymore, or even care for each other after everything that happened before the move and everything I did to her. Even still, some nights I wanted that old feeling from before I was a monster, when we were teenagers and hopeful and uncomplicated and in inevitably-doomed-love. That story is far less interesting when put on paper--screen--interweb?

--

sighs

I brew another cup on lucky nights in plastic lawn chair dreams
that's quite a line, encompassing a world of hurts and regrets thankyou for sharing this. lord, some of this stuff we show is so intimate ...

 

[BooMerengue]

TY Butty. I have never taken the first poetry lesson aside from what I had in school. So that part of it is Greek to me. I run on instinct. It just comes out. I see now tho that I need to learn. I agree about 'changes'. Knew when I wrote it it was the wrong tilt. But I lacked the right one. I might redo this one, cuz I do like it and its goin in The Book. I'll let you know if and when. Maybe you could help me? Thnx Babe!

 

[butters]

TY Butty. I have never taken the first poetry lesson aside from what I had in school. So that part of it is Greek to me. I run on instinct. It just comes out. I see now tho that I need to learn. I agree about 'changes'. Knew when I wrote it it was the wrong tilt. But I lacked the right one. I might redo this one, cuz I do like it and its goin in The Book. I'll let you know if and when. Maybe you could help me? Thnx Babe!

the only poetry lesson's i've had were in the writing, editing, and critting of my own and other people's stuff i've learned more about technique on here than any other site previously, with the topics discussed and some of the great 'how to's and working with the challenges set by some that involve form!

if i can be of any assistance, time permitting, i will be glad to help.

 

[Commendatore]

Ok, here's an untitled of mine:

Your mouth on me stops time
and all else is meaningless
I'm your plaything; I beg
I float in leaden weightlessness
and burn underwater,
mastered.

All suspended, body a live wire of want
as you pull my strings
dance me
love me
own me
and then I break
flying apart

deliciously


~~~~~

I wrote this when an inexperienced friend asked, "What does a blowjob feel like?"

 

[butters]

Ok, here's an untitled of mine:

Your mouth on me stops time
and all else is meaningless
I'm your plaything; I beg
I float in leaden weightlessness
and burn underwater,
mastered.

All suspended, body a live wire of want
as you pull my strings
dance me
love me
own me
and then I break
flying apart

deliciously


~~~~~

I wrote this when an inexperienced friend asked, "What does a blowjob feel like?"

i love this!

 

[Commendatore]

i love this!

Thank you so much!

Here's another along those lines:

-Reincarnation-

Let me tell you what it feels like
my body is solid ice, iron
there is no moving in it
it is a tomb

Until you whisper your secrets to it
Where your tongue tells me,
I begin to melt
ever so slowly

Only the outside is unthawed
Inside, your majesty spreads throughout me
like a prairie fire
or word of a hanging

Oh, Christ
in those fatal seconds
I can see
everything
in me
flying
supernova
(so much together, then all far away)

Fuck what the poets say
This is not a little death

This is reincarnation

 

[butters]

*nods* now this is the sort of poem i'd like to see being published on the big publishy bit of Lit, instead of the stuff that tends to masquerade as erotica there (with certain exceptions, the authors of which tend to post here)...

it's engaging, sensual, has a sensitive touch... please keep posting. having said that, this is a thread for the 'tell me about your poem' thing, so tell us!

 

[Commendatore]

Well, I was writing pretty prolifically for a stretch, and I started dating this woman after working for her at a temp gig. First night we went out, she nearly sucked my mind out through my cock on a hotel room balcony. She smirked,"Write a poem about that, smartypants!"

So I did.

 

[Commendatore]

Oh, and thank you for the very kind words! My impatience showed its heels to my manners, I should have said this first.

 

[butters]

*smiling*

it's fine, i'm over in the uk thread (in the Playground) and we're o.d.ing on disco and x-factor. i just think it's great that a stunning bj inspired your writing. how very apt.

 

[greenmountaineer]

Ok, here's an untitled of mine:

Your mouth on me stops time
and all else is meaningless
I'm your plaything; I beg
I float in leaden weightlessness
and burn underwater,
mastered.

All suspended, body a live wire of want
as you pull my strings
dance me
love me
own me
and then I break
flying apart

deliciously


~~~~~

I wrote this when an inexperienced friend asked, "What does a blowjob feel like?"

This is really good. I love the enjambment of

"....I beg
I float..."

given the theme.

I might have attempted a title:

Flute Music?

 

[Commendatore]

This is really good. I love the enjambment of

"....I beg
I float..."

given the theme.

I might have attempted a title:

Flute Music?

I wanted to go with something more obtuse/suggestive, because I like to balance it. But none of the things I tried fit, so I left it w/o. It speaks for itself, I guess.

Thanks for your feedback, ya'll. It helps with the process.

 

[butters]

I beg
I float

was just right ... as was 'burn underwater'

 

[champagne1982]

TY Butty. I have never taken the first poetry lesson aside from what I had in school. So that part of it is Greek to me. I run on instinct. It just comes out. I see now tho that I need to learn. I agree about 'changes'. Knew when I wrote it it was the wrong tilt. But I lacked the right one. I might redo this one, cuz I do like it and its goin in The Book. I'll let you know if and when. Maybe you could help me? Thnx Babe!

Remember the hypersonnet challenge the 'hyndeline' invented.. It may have been Lauren alone, but I suspect that Ange may have had a hand in it. Your form is perfect from what I can tell if it's a hypersonnet. Lemme look it up and see.

Here it is the thread on Hypersonnets

 

[kikmosa]

.....

 

[enrapturedmoon]

Farewell

A rend in my life's fabric
A bloodied rip across my heart
My body cries for your touch
yet you deny me, you back out through the room,
through the door and into the unknown.
I am alone
left craven with tears and a body that you've touched.

The marks, your marks
The bruises, your bruises
Gone.

The blood that surged and rushed in elation,
in joyous pain
Now still.
I've not sure if it still flows.

Am I alive still?
Surely my heart cannot beat?

I don't know how to bear this quiet
this solitude of one.

You promised, I gave.
You raised your hand and I offered.
Now this flesh mourns and is bereft.

This woman was yours
Now she lives in the limbo
of survival.

The company of tears and dulling memories.
So little to hold within the hands
too onerous to hold within the heart.

Farewell Sir


Fairly much self explanatory. The end of time with my Dom. He, as most men do, promised to never hurt me. Though you know it is an impossible promise in you deepest logical heart, and though I was the one who ended it, the sharpness of the loss always takes your breathe and crushes your being. How does it change from being so alive, so full one day and the next just an empty taste of ash within your mouth? But, I survive, we all can survive and pit our hearts, our bodies with forward thrust to the blade once more. It is life and without the pain and scars of loss, the memories of love and warmth, we cannot say we lived it. I loved, I lost, I learned. I live.

 

[greenmountaineer]

Farewell

A rend in my life's fabric
A bloodied rip across my heart....

Farewell Sir


Fairly much self explanatory. The end of time with my Dom. He, as most men do, promised to never hurt me. Though you know it is an impossible promise in you deepest logical heart, and though I was the one who ended it, the sharpness of the loss always takes your breathe and crushes your being. How does it change from being so alive, so full one day and the next just an empty taste of ash within your mouth? But, I survive, we all can survive and pit our hearts, our bodies with forward thrust to the blade once more. It is life and without the pain and scars of loss, the memories of love and warmth, we cannot say we lived it. I loved, I lost, I learned. I live.

Any poem that starts with 2 lines like that would certainly get my attention. Nicely done; the last line not necessary in my opinion, fairly obvious conclusion by what precedes it.

I don't know the answer to your question, but it's one of those mysteries I sometimes think about.

I really liked the poem.

 

[enrapturedmoon]

Any poem that starts with 2 lines like that would certainly get my attention. Nicely done; the last line not necessary in my opinion, fairly obvious conclusion by what precedes it.

I don't know the answer to your question, but it's one of those mysteries I sometimes think about.

I really liked the poem.

Thank you for your kind comments. The last line is there as the poem was copied straight from the site I put it on, one where I knew he would see it. I have left it as is, because it is a farewell note to him. But yes, for placing on other sites I will remove the last line as you say, it is unnecessary.

 

[greenmountaineer]

Over and Over Again

Intrigued, I start again,
Sometimes over coated,
Stopping by woods when snow begins
The darkest evening of the year

Or when the morning shines,
Singing words, or slinging them
Like Whitman did,

Perhaps lamenting them,
Parsing one more line,
Seeing in its photograph
Images I treasure
Or images I fear:

The first caress, the showing of skin,
Some -scopy for the body,
War,
Dreaded confessions,

A kiss,

And when it’s done
Before the final breath
When some have said the pain will end,
The sweetest lyric ever said
Over and over again.

Just thinking about all of the puzzles in life and the part that poetry plays with them, at least for me.

 

[butters]

thankyou so much for this contribution, greenmountaineer. it get me thinking. and that's good.