Poetry in Progress ~ construction zone

[tungtied2u]

Re: late moon

Hot Moon

a stifled moon rides
undulating hills
bathing her hunting path
Earth Mother seeks mate
gathering heat
rolling her hips
distracting porch-reclined men
who’ve come out
hoping to catch a whisper
but all they catch is their breath






It's not brilliant but I wrote something. ok?

Syndra aint' dead

undulating hills.....

rolling her hips.....

all they catch is their breath....

I love those Syn! More than something, I'd say!

 

[Syndra Lynn]

Re: Re: late moon

undulating hills.....

rolling her hips.....

all they catch is their breath....

I love those Syn! More than something, I'd say!

thank you TT. but, truly you are too kind



Syn

 

[Tathagata]

mad poet Lynn Mass 1980's reworked again

.....

 

[Syndra Lynn]

Re: mad poet Lynn Mass 1980's reworked again

My doppelganger smokes Chesterfields,
crumpled packs, tossed-away ideas
hidden under 3 legged sofa's, balanced
atop stacks of records
like land mines.
Step on one and the cellophane crinkle
brings an explosion of fur
and cat claws, darting out
from folded sports page teepee's.





Now i just laugh.
I bow to him,
(I think he laughs too, once I turn away)
he is my patience Buddha.
Sometimes our lessons are right there.



I am neither happy nor sad in my other life,
I just am,
and I write about just being.

Jesus, Tath. You're a fucking God! I would have quoted the whole thing, but you were right about too long! But what the hell would you cut?!? It's ALL wonderful.

.Skulks off to work with poet envy

Syn

 

[Kundalinguini]

Hey Tath,

I completely love the imagery in the first "verse/stanza/strophe"...oh fuck it... the first part.

Great stuff!

 

[Tathagata]

Hey Tath,

I completely love the imagery in the first "verse/stanza/strophe"...oh fuck it... the first part.

Great stuff!

and where have you been??

Good to see you back

I'm gonna tinker with it a little more...
then stop
this is one that will never be done

 

[Randi Grail]

Anybody here who wants to take this under the looking class? I feel something is not quite right about it but I can't find what is bugging me.



Still bare arms on a blanket

Stop just like so for a moment
your silhouette above me,
against what goes for zenith
when solstice is a shrinking dot
on the horizon.

Stop, Alejo, and inhale,
remove your fingers from my hair
to touch other roots,
and your whispers from my ear
so I can savour the scope
of a pivotal day.

The scent of a summer
that clings on by white knuckles,
it's panic of impending season length fall
folds the air into fragments.

Persistent pixies
plunders comfort out of every atom
that once hummed in chorus
with the sand breeze blowing Crete,
now only clay, this way.

Alejo,
did you listen like you sometimes do?
The sparrows were silent
and even leaves rustled more carefully.

As if suddenly aware
of their mayfly destiny,
huddling from the mark
of another daybreak.

I know you say no wonder,
all has been before
and will unfold anew each year.

But Alejo, tell me this;
how many summers can you send to sleep,

before your own knuckles are too white
to hold on
and the sparrow in your heart
stops singing?

 

[Tathagata]

Anybody here who wants to take this under the looking class? I feel something is not quite right about it but I can't find what is bugging me.



Still bare arms on a blanket

Stop just like so for a moment
your silhouette above me,
against what goes for zenith
when solstice is a shrinking dot
on the horizon.
But Alejo, tell me this;
how many summers can you send to sleep,

before your own knuckles are too white
to hold on
and the sparrow in your heart
stops singing?

you're kidding right??
except for punctuation on first read I thought it was wonderful
lemme read again in a few but
damn
that trip did wonders for your writing
: )

 

[Randi Grail]

you're kidding right??
except for punctuation on first read I thought it was wonderful
lemme read again in a few but
damn
that trip did wonders for your writing
: )

Thank you. That's nice of you to say. Not very helpful, but nice.

Actually I think I have found my beef about it. Some lines really don't follow the style of the rest of the poem. I'll try to work it out and repost. You'll see it can get better.

 

[Tathagata]

Thank you. That's nice of you to say. Not very helpful, but nice.

yeah that sums me up


ok I can't wait to see what you do with it

 

[Tathagata]

.....

 

[Syndra Lynn]

second edit

Where is Joy?
she has left this life
and me crying in the dark

she flew in the night
her sins to erase
no Joy, no Joy

my empty spirit
hollow rings
no comfort ever now can fill

the Joy of my life
is beyond reach forever more
no Joy, no Joy

don’t leave me here to eat
my heart out
alone in the chocolate dark

why could you not see
my love would not break you
nor dessert you, only lift you

nothing left to do
but wallow among
3 lined strophes

poorly written
sad little lines with
no Joy

did I ever know Joy?

Hell yes!

I know Joy!
I know her
she is me

we are sisters
twins, she and I
fraternal, eternal

sisters in sickness
holding the same sick
secrets in our souls

but while I capture them
in sad 3 line strophes
she flails and fails

to see the connection
while drowning we must accept
oxygen from others

sisters, brothers
who press their lips to ours
and breathe us

for us
until we remember
how to breathe

yes, I know Joy
know Joy
I want to breathe her

until her wings remember
where to fly
want to love her

until her reflection cries
I know Joy, know Joy
here she is

 

[Syndra Lynn]

suggestions plese

This is more an incomplete thought than a poem. Seeking suggestions.

Syn


Hot Moon

slowly she stalks
gathering heat
rolling her hips
distracting porch-reclined men
who’ve come out for a smoke
hoping to catch a whispered breeze
but catch only their breath

street lamp’s out
but a stifled moon rides
undulating hills
bathing her hunting path
Earth Mother imprisoned
in labyrinth of asphalt and stone
haunting the streets in her need
primal need


skirt slit to hip
glimpse of golden thigh
echoeing her footfall
roses nod at her passing
but their bright fire,
soft fragrance
are not her quarry this night
she longs to fill
more than her spirit
she seeks a magick
dark and hard as her desire

 

[Tathagata]

.....

 

[Randi Grail]

Still bare arms on a blanket
take 2

Stop just like so
for a moment your silhouette
above me, a ridge
against what goes for zenith
when solstice is hailing
from a distant horizon.

Stop, Alejo, and inhale,
remove your fingers from my hair
to touch other roots,
and your whispers from my ear
so I can savour the full and the whole
of a day rebound
but running out
rapidly.

The scent of a summer
clings on by white knuckles,
it's panic of impending season length fall
folds the air into fragments.

Days roll,
persistent caress
plunders comfort out of every whisp
that once hummed melodic,
with sand breeze blowing Crete closer.

Now only whispers
and clay.

Alejo,
did you listen like you sometimes do?
The sparrows were silent
and even leaves rustled more carefully.

As if suddenly aware
of their mayfly destiny,
huddling from the mark
of another daybreak.

I know you say no wonder,
all has been before
and will unfold anew each year.

But Alejo, tell me this;
how many summers can you send to sleep,

before your own knuckles are too white
to hold on
and the sparrow in your heart
stops singing?

 

[flyguy69]

Happy to hear suggestions!

Ghost House

Lawnmower roar is silent against
the white pall of that house,
shades drawn to shield death’s eyes
from the light of life outside.
Shadows slide past the windows, anticipating
the glide of ghosts inside
whose arrival has been assured
by hospice announcements
and reassured
by softly held hands.

Snarling scythe
swings its blade, weaving
base paths and soccer pitch
closer to an unseen line in the grass,
the threshold between laughter and sorrow,
promise and conclusion.

Sun burnt salt stings my eyes as it flows
over lash and cheek, weeping for work.
As I mop my brow with sweat-wet cloth,
dry eyes in that house wonder
what I have to be sad about
as a brow is mopped with cool damp cloth.

Out-of-state plates assemble
at the curb and in the hall.
Seeds strewn far return
to sit outside of a room made
click-whir silent by oxygen that blankets
like midnight snow
and to meet the new pastor.

I press hard into the stillness
surrounding that house
and reap playspace from thicket.
In tall grass the blade binds,
and for a moment it seems
the grass might win.

 

[Tathagata]

.....

 

[PatCarrington]

.....

 

[Angeline]

I want some kind of simplicity.
I don't know what, how to reduce.
Books, music fill me with some
ineffable sustenance. Anyway
even with no heft of binding
in my palms or an infinity of circles
bearing notes, it all piles up in me.
Symphonies of word, the warm pluck
of strings clutter me with necessity,
invading dreams in topsy-turvy
references, even without the thing
itself like Plato's shadow it's there

anyway

what could I lose? The clay dove
from Mexico smooth to the touch,
smooth like the sea, but brown
and jungle green, insisting
placidly, but speaking culture,
speaking to me like little porcelain
Oliver Twist, beseeching me, lifting
up his bowl, asking Please? More?
How can I give up an orphan like me?

I've lost whole cities of people.
They fade like ink, aging on paper,
trickle off me like tears. Sometimes
they simply disappear into ether,
or once ripped away, no goodbye,
just gone and cold settled
into the space once occupied.

I lose pieces of myself only
to find them safely harbored
in your eyes, offering back
passage to the empty bottle
of Merlot, echoes of laughter,
whispers and sighs of memory.

I feel like Prometheus lives
within me carrying this world
of experiences stuffed in my arms
and legs, and I walk lightly
with this unfathomable burden
that no one even sees.


[Hep me out, please.]

 

[Angeline]

Re: mad poet 5th Lynn Mass- 1980'S

My doppelganger smokes chesterfields,......
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


It's Waaaaaaaaay too long isn't it??

In the interests of space, I've shortened it for you.

BUT!


It's a genius of a poem, Tath. It has such presence, such voice. I love its narration and that is why the length is fine. Read Robert Browning or TS Eliot for heaven's sake; some of their longest pieces (think Andrea del Sarto or Prufrock, not to mention The Wasteland) are the best things they wrote. Brevity is a wonderful thing; haiku is exquisite and, god, some of Yeats' shortest poems are brilliant, and y'know I could go on (but Eve will insult my windiness yet again, lol). Long poems can be very very good dear--like yours. They have a place, yes? Long bad poem? Ewwww. Long great poem? Marvelous.

Ok?

 

[Tathagata]

I like when you shorten it for me...
but there aint much to work with
oh the poem
yes well


thank you nashomeleh
I consider all these pieces sketches
that, as i become wiser, can go back and add or chop as needed
: )

this one would be hard to cut back....but i've been reading Bukowski.....and it just seeped in


thank you for everything
smooooooooches
I'm still thinking about that yiddish koph
; )

 

[Angeline]

I like when you shorten it for me...
but there aint much to work with
oh the poem
yes well


thank you nashomeleh
I consider all these pieces sketches
that, as i become wiser, can go back and add or chop as needed
: )

this one would be hard to cut back....but i've been reading Bukowski.....and it just seeped in


thank you for everything
smooooooooches
I'm still thinking about that yiddish koph
; )

You made me laugh again. And it's kopf, goyehleh.

I sent you a pm. And read my poem and tell me what you think. Please? (Ain't too proud to beg, baby.)

 

[Tathagata]

what could I lose? The clay dove
from Mexico smooth to the touch,
smooth like the sea, but brown
and jungle green, insisting
placidly, but speaking culture,
speaking to me like little porcelain
Oliver Twist, beseeching me, lifting
up his bowl, asking Please? More?
How can I give up an orphan like me?

I've lost whole cities of people.
They fade like ink, aging on paper,
trickle off me like tears. Sometimes
they simply disappear into ether,
or once ripped away, no goodbye,
just gone and cold settled
into the space once occupied.

I lose pieces of myself only
to find them safely harbored
in your eyes, offering back
passage to the empty bottle
of Merlot, echoes of laughter,
whispers and sighs of memory.

I feel like Prometheus lives
within me carrying this world
of experiences stuffed in my arms
and legs, and I walk lightly
with this unfathomable burden
that no one even sees.

this part is fine


and this


~I lose pieces of myself only
to find them safely harbored
in your eyes, offering back
passage to the empty bottle
of Merlot, echoes of laughter,
whispers and sighs of memory.~

oy
; )

That's sweet

The first verse seems out of place almost and not the same enotional intensity as this...
were they written at different times??

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I want some kind of simplicity.
I don't know what, how to reduce.
Books, music fill me with some
ineffable sustenance. Anyway
even with no heft of binding
in my palms or an infinity of circles
bearing notes, it all piles up in me.
Symphonies of word, the warm pluck
of strings clutter me with necessity,
invading dreams in topsy-turvy
references, even without the thing
itself like Plato's shadow it's there


the " anyway' just doesnt seem to be anough of a bridge
is there a way you can tie them together??

yeah i know.... easy huh??
lol



I want some kind of simplicity.
I don't know what, how to reduce.
Books, music fill me with some
ineffable sustenance.

the me i know and love
but who is as fragile as dream smoke



even with no heft of binding
in my palms or an infinity of circles
bearing notes, it all piles up in me.

stirring hidden dregs of olden days
this miasma of time
that forms my armor



Symphonies of word, the warm pluck
of strings clutter me with necessity,
invading dreams in topsy-turvy
references, even without the thing
itself like Plato's shadow it's there



ok Horrible examples but..you see something to tie the mood into the second half??



otherwise i'd just submit the second half
its sweet writing babe

 

[Angeline]

this part is fine


and this


~I lose pieces of myself only
to find them safely harbored
in your eyes, offering back
passage to the empty bottle
of Merlot, echoes of laughter,
whispers and sighs of memory.~

oy
; )

That's sweet

The first verse seems out of place almost and not the same enotional intensity as this...
were they written at different times??

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I want some kind of simplicity.
I don't know what, how to reduce.
Books, music fill me with some
ineffable sustenance. Anyway
even with no heft of binding
in my palms or an infinity of circles
bearing notes, it all piles up in me.
Symphonies of word, the warm pluck
of strings clutter me with necessity,
invading dreams in topsy-turvy
references, even without the thing
itself like Plato's shadow it's there


the " anyway' just doesnt seem to be anough of a bridge
is there a way you can tie them together??

yeah i know.... easy huh??
lol



I want some kind of simplicity.
I don't know what, how to reduce.
Books, music fill me with some
ineffable sustenance.

the me i know and love
but who is as fragile as dream smoke



even with no heft of binding
in my palms or an infinity of circles
bearing notes, it all piles up in me.

stirring hidden dregs of olden days
this miasma of time
that forms my armor



Symphonies of word, the warm pluck
of strings clutter me with necessity,
invading dreams in topsy-turvy
references, even without the thing
itself like Plato's shadow it's there



ok Horrible examples but..you see something to tie the mood into the second half??



otherwise i'd just submit the second half
its sweet writing babe

I'll tinker--I like the first half, even though I know the poem started in one place and, as usual, went somewhere completely different. Anyway, I want to find a way to keep that Plato reference. I like it.

Thank you dear friend.

 

[Tathagata]

I'll tinker--I like the first half, even though I know the poem started in one place and, as usual, went somewhere completely different. Anyway, I want to find a way to keep that Plato reference. I like it.

Thank you dear friend.

dont thank me