Poetry in Progress ~ construction zone

[Angeline]

I just liked the way azure and embraces sounded together
i considered cobalt and indigo..
what do you think of either of those?
I also wanted to avoid it sounding "cold" they are embraces to be welcomed

I prefer cobalt because it sounds colder to me. I think corpse, I think cold--but maybe that's too morbid an image for what you're trying to say with this piece. And I'm not saying your poem is morbid! (Since we know how much you liked me saying that last time hehe.)

 

[BooMerengue]

Well, in for a penny, in for a pound, right?

The first 3 stanzas made me think 'we' were visiting someone already in their coffin. Thats why I looked for 'dead' words. Azure isn't one, and I'm not sure cobalt is...

 

[Tathagata]

You are, in fact, being visited "by" the dead..or at least, your memories of them
So it is a " stiff" embrace..but I didn't want it to be a cold embrace..does that make sense?
I used stiff to give the 'corpse' feel without have to use a cold word.
I'll give indigo a shot and see how it sounds.


How this poem came about was the way we sometimes " feel" friends or relatives especially at holidays.
and how some people consider that sad and don't want to discuss it, or talk about it, etc etc.
I always, in my mind anyway, tell those that I miss that dinner is at one and you are always welcome.

and because, of course, some day we'll all be in the dirt condo and our only neighbors will be the dead we have denied for so long.


thank you all for your input
a rewrite is in the works

 

[Tathagata]

Befriend the dead.
Welcome stiff indigo embraces
from grandpa's tobacco scented coat.

Rest your cheek
on cool tombstone shoulders
and hush the clicking jaw.

Familiarize yourself with the dead,
the wasted wounded waylaid shadows
of this circus realm.

Seat them at holiday tables
and pour them the finest whiskeys,
afford them absent pleasures.

Talk with them and listen,
as they dredge up dessicated memories of times gone,
and learn their ragged lessons.

Ignore the blood, bone, smell of origin,
dark,rotting mushroom wood ,
and swamp side miasma.

Adore the dead for
someday
they will be your only
companions.

 

[PatCarrington]

Befriend the dead.
Welcome stiff indigo embraces
from grandpa's tobacco scented coat.

Rest your cheek
on cool tombstone shoulders
and hush the clicking jaw.

Familiarize yourself with the dead,
the wasted wounded waylaid shadows
of this circus realm.

Seat them at holiday tables
and pour them the finest whiskeys,
afford them absent pleasures.

Talk with them and listen,
as they dredge up dessicated memories of times gone,
and learn their ragged lessons.

Ignore the blood, bone, smell of origin,
dark,rotting mushroom wood ,
and swamp side miasma.

Adore the dead for
someday
they will be your only
companions.

tath – just a thought.

you might consider going more minimalist with this. i know it’s not your style, but i don’t recall seeing a piece of yours that shouted out “bone me down” like this one does.

i see why you might want a “blue” there, but is it needed? there are other spots as well that have nice but unnecessary adjectives and images that seem to me they might be clogging.

it’s something to think about anyway.

here’s my playing:


Welcome the dead,
the waylaid shadows
of this circus realm,
the stiff embrace
of tobacco-scented coats.
Rest cheeks
on tombstone shoulders,
hush the clicking jaw.

Seat them at holiday tables
and pour the finest whiskeys,
light cuban cigars.

Talk and learn their ragged lessons.

Adore them.
Someday, they will be
your only companions.

 

[Tathagata]

tath – just a thought.

you might consider going more minimalist with this. i know it’s not your style, but i don’t recall seeing a piece of yours that shouted out “bone me down” like this one does.

i see why you might want a “blue” there, but is it needed? there are other spots as well that have nice but unnecessary adjectives and images that seem to me they might be clogging.

it’s something to think about anyway.

here’s my playing:


Welcome the dead,
the waylaid shadows
of this circus realm,
the stiff embrace
of tobacco-scented coats.
Rest cheeks
on tombstone shoulders,
hush the clicking jaw.

Seat them at holiday tables
and pour the finest whiskeys,
light cuban cigars.

Talk and learn their ragged lessons.

Adore them.
Someday, they will be
your only companions.

I know I've screamed " bone me down" on occasion but i didn't realize my work did too.


I wasn't happy with the grandpa coat line and usually what i do is build it up then chop..
I know it needs some trimming.
I'll give it a look later once this silly work stuff is out of the way.

Thank you Pat



( I hate to lose the " afford them absent pleasures" line... i love how it sounds)

 

[PatCarrington]

.....

 

[Tathagata]

Befriend the dead.
the wasted wounded waylaid shadows
of this circus realm.

Welcome stiff indigo embraces
hush the clicking jaw.

Seat them at holiday tables
and pour them the finest whiskeys,
afford them absent pleasures.

Talk with them and listen,
and learn their ragged lessons.

Ignore the smell of origin,
flaking jackets
and cardboard shoes.


Adore the dead for
someday
they will be your only
companions.

 

[PatCarrington]

.....

 

[flyguy69]

Stockyard

Draft two- comments welcome!

South Omaha settles
viscous about your feet, a
soup of slaughter and poverty
that retards each step; a pleading
stew that wraps your calves
like thick tongues bleating
for market. Tonight

the cattle wear silk, or pseudo-
silk from Brandeis, as they part
blue cigarette cones
and turn big eyes
on the hungry sea about them.
Lashes betray the youth
in their stares as they bounce
on slippered soles to keep from slipping
into a herd of broken-nosed
dreams. Cud is passed

father to father,
finger-in-your-scarlet-face promises
of asses turned to burger
before the sky bruises purple.

The killing floor is a Pollack
canvas of the sap of boys
hoisted on pikes of grown-up
bravado. In this emphasemic
circus Benny curls gloved thumbs
on a rope that bars his uncles
and binds him to a boy
he learns to hate. He flares

his nostrils and squeezes violence
from his pores. He hates
the brows, the Jesus
on his chest, the cross
that boy draws with his fist.
He coils hatred
around his throat, and clamps
fear in his belly
with a silicone sneer. Tonight

the poison of this place
will rain like blows and plastic cups
on that boy, and Benny will lift
his father’s arms in triumph.

But Monday he will skip
school, unable to muster the hatred
to face those swollen eyes
in English class. He will flee
the scrutiny of daylight
for the lowing fear
of the stockyard’s
dark windows.

 

[annaswirls]

Drumroll please

done! (I think)

Drumroll please

Sidekick Camille never seemed to mind playing
dog, pony and the village idiot
who always winds up on the soft side of the pie.

Pretending to sleep beneath a heap
of black body suits and baggy Chaplin pants,
he sees her form move under the blanket
of ragged costumes in sizes of girls past.

As always, he requires a drumroll introduction
of his record holding cock that disappears
like dark magic into many spaces.

Camille knew, despite the choking finger grip
and cruel disregard for dryness
it was good he was here with her.
Here he could only pick back up nasty ailments
he had already given. These generous gifts,
itching bugs with their sticky white eggs
and aching disease poured down to poison
sinful parts in a communal wrath of god.

Better he sleep here than in the town’s
hunting ground with the local push-up slut.
There is one in every town
disguised as a lady of proper breeding,
beg your pardon, Sir.

Just a short drive down the river, strings loosen
and formalities drop like panties in the mud.

Head hanging from passenger door
she takes his trick cock down her open throat,
no longer surprised by such intrusion.
Up on the hood, opened wide and pre-primed,
never a problem with full on plus two fingers.

Camille submerges into shallow sleep,
waiting for cramps to signal the inevitable splatter
of cum softened stool and retch of vomit soaked in gin.
Bucket between her feet,
she empties herself of him from both ends at once
remembers how mother held her hair,
rubbed her back,
Okay Camille, okay baby.

Sunrise, she paints her best Marcel Marceau face,
rolls the drum and announces
the next greatest thing.

 

[annaswirls]

Befriend the dead...nits and picks

this is awesome T and you know I love the subject. I have been watching this poem for a while, time for the nits and the picks. Please remember these are my after midnight brainstorm ideas.

delete and ignore all you abhor

(if only it were that easy )

~J

Befriend the dead.
the wasted wounded waylaid shadows <---is this too much of a good thing? (w's)of this circus realm.

Welcome stiff indigo embraces
hush the clicking jaw. <--whoa

Seat them at holiday tables
and pour them the finest whiskeys,
afford them absent pleasures.

Talk with them and listen,
[and] learn their ragged lessons.

Ignore the smell of origin,
flaking jackets<---having a difficult time imagining that
and cardboard shoes. <--damn!


Adore the dead [for]
someday
they will be your only
companions.<---surprised me first time, but have you considered another way of putting this? something like someday you will sit at their tables

 

[Tathagata]

Befriend the dead.
the wasted wounded waylaid shadows <---is this too much of a good thing? (w's)of this circus realm.

I thought so at first. I may have even had another "W in there some where..I like it in the first verse because it " revs" it up and get you off and running into the poem..if that makes sense.
I'll keep it in mind though




Welcome stiff indigo embraces
hush the clicking jaw. <--whoa

yeah this " reduction" and rearrangement worked out very well I must say


Seat them at holiday tables
and pour them the finest whiskeys,
afford them absent pleasures.

Talk with them and listen,
[and] learn their ragged lessons. <---I keep going back and forth on that too. I think it will depend on the last verse

Ignore the smell of origin,
flaking jackets<---having a difficult time imagining that
Flaking?...I kept seeing jackets that look like the old layers of felt you'd find as cushion or padding..flaking felt jackets?..or should I go with matted...

and cardboard shoes. <--damn!


Adore the dead [for]
someday
they will be your only
companions.<---surprised me first time, but have you considered another way of putting this? something like someday you will sit at their tables


I've known since day 1 i need to redo this..I've had them being "neighbors", I've had " someday they will return the favor", " someday they will invite you in"...I'm hoping once I finish with the top part the end will come. any suggestions are welcome.

Thanks Anna for your time and effort. It took a day for me to see/ admit it...but this is better pared down (yes Patrick you may do the " nyah nyah" dance down there in snow less Joisey .

 

[annaswirls]

elements (fly by title)

very rough. thinking of making this construction site my new home

pressed between your paper
like Queen Anne's lace and
four leaf clovers
we stain the sheets
of capture

skin on skin
muscle against muscle
prepositions under weight
draw me a map of our relative positions
above below within throughout
let us combine grammer and physiology
into the most well-read textbook on the shelf

we are rip and tear
folded figures that soar on paper wings

we are the need for
tips and edges
that cut and crease
pressing forms into function

we are the need for sparked touch
I lift my finger for your
skin trace static
pray tell me sir
how can I help you

buoyancy?

hell washed over by high waters
floods our meadow
blend and blur whirlpool of
pigmented passions
open to the possibility of
drowning down our confession

let go

hold only each other
as the spin presses tight
dissolving boundries into the merge

breath held
bite and clench
hook and eye we fit our pieces
with velcro burr and magnetic pull

let us grow gills
I could stay here forever
submerged in this solution


...

 

[annaswirls]

Flyguy's South Omaha ?

Dayum flyguy!!!

I do not want to touch this one!

okay I will but just a bit.

Draft two- comments welcome!

South Omaha settles
viscous about your feet, a
soup of slaughter and poverty
that retards each step; a pleading <--okay maybe it is pc but I really dislike that word. I know what you mean, just a personal thing. This soup and stew image really twists my stomach in a good way

stew that wraps your calves
like thick tongues bleating
for market. Tonight

the cattle wear silk, or pseudo-
silk from Brandeis, as they part
blue cigarette cones
and turn big eyes
on the hungry sea about them. *break?
Lashes betray the youth
in their stares as they bounce
on slippered soles to keep from slipping
into a herd of broken-nosed
dreams. Cud is passed

father to father, <--discudsting!
finger-in-your-scarlet-face promises
of asses turned to burger
before the sky bruises purple.

The killing floor is a Pollack
canvas of the sap of boys
hoisted on pikes of grown-up
bravado. In this emphasemic
circus Benny curls gloved thumbs
on a rope that bars his uncles
and binds him to a boy
he learns to hate. He flares *
his nostrils and squeezes violence
from his pores. He hates
the brows, the Jesus
on his chest, the cross <-god these are incredible images!
that boy draws with his fist.<--strophe break?
He coils hatred
around his throat, and clamps
fear in his belly
with a silicone sneer. Tonight

the poison of this place
will rain like blows and plastic cups
on that boy, and Benny will lift
his father’s arms in triumph.

But Monday he will skip
school, unable to muster the hatred
to face those swollen eyes
in English class. He will flee
the scrutiny of daylight
for the lowing fear
of the stockyard’s
dark windows.

* Can you explain how you chose these enjambments? I have never really been able to figure out their purpose in these situations. I am not a good judge -- just a willing student. Did you do it to avoid having lines starting in the same way?There is not always that issue


what a trip, Mr. Fly. Thanks for the ride,

~J

and you say my passion posts are scary?? you planned this one

 

[annaswirls]

PatCarrington--St. Christopher Dangling

Why is it I always see something nasty in your titles? First boning and now dangling. I must be a pervert.

okay
now I will get serious

St. Christopher Dangling


Everyone needs protection. It’s why
we have guns and catatonia. And,<--necessary?
I suppose you could argue, religion. --> I think that to suppose you could argue religion is a little too weak, wishy washy. Is it not a common sentiment that this is one of the reasons we have religion?
Safety comes in all sorts of shapes
and shines, with all kinds of chemistry.

My amulet hangs loose, a tiny shield <--great transition from the universal everyone to the individual. lovely.
on thin chain. Its alchemy promises
a method of defense from baser metals,
and last rites approved by the mightiest
of masters. Is it a man or saint

who shelters me with such small silver? <--!!!
He knows I am a pilgrim. And I know all
about him and the charming of highways.
How he carried people at crossings, even

Christ. He died at Lycia. I don’t know
where that is, or how it feels to be
chest-deep in a baptism of raging river
with the baby of God in your arms.
If I let him brush against my heart
long enough, I’ve been told I’ll find out.

nice work pc
how do you sleep?

 

[Tathagata]

Befriend the dead.
the wounded waylaid shadows
of this circus realm.

Welcome stiff indigo embraces
hush the clicking jaw.

Seat them at holiday tables
and pour them the finest whiskeys,
afford them absent pleasures.

Talk with them ,listen,
and learn their ragged lessons.

Ignore the smell of origin,
flaked felt jackets
and cardboard shoes.


Adore the dead
someday you will ascend
to their mute legion.



( yes I used ascend on purpose)

 

[duckiesmut]

Befriend the dead.
the wounded waylaid shadows
of this circus realm.

Welcome stiff indigo embraces
hush the clicking jaw.

Seat them at holiday tables
and pour them the finest whiskeys,
afford them absent pleasures.

Talk with them ,listen,
and learn their ragged lessons.

Ignore the smell of origin,
flaked felt jackets
and cardboard shoes.


Adore the dead
someday you will ascend
to their mute legion.



( yes I used ascend on purpose)

I miss 'wasted' in the second line, but respect your ability to pare down. (laughs...I'm not so good at that)

In the ninth line, the comma after 'them' has a space before instead of after it.

It's great fun watching the revisions.

 

[PatCarrington]

done! (I think)

Drumroll please

Sidekick Camille never seemed to mind playing
dog, pony and the village idiot
who always winds up on the soft side of the pie.

Pretending to sleep beneath a heap of i don't like the prepostion at line's end. i'd drop it down.
black body suits and baggy Chaplin pants,
he sees her form move under the blanket of here too.
ragged costumes in sizes of girls past.
As always, missing pronoun? requires a drumroll introduction
of his record holding cock that disappears record-holding
like dark magic into many spaces.

Camille knew, despite the choking finger grip
and cruel disregard for dryness, <---comma
it was good he was here with her.
Here he could only pick back up nasty ailments
he had already given. These generous gifts,
itching bugs with their sticky white eggs
and aching disease poured down to poison
sinful parts in a communal wrath of god.

Better he sleep here than in the town’s
hunting ground with the local push-up slut.
There is one in every town
disguised as a lady of proper breeding,
beg your pardon, Sir. consider italics for this line

Just a short drive down the river, strings loosen
and formalities drop like panties in the mud. great image

Head hanging from passenger door
she takes his trick cock down her open throat,
no longer surprised by such intrusion.
Up on the hood, opened wide and pre-primed,
never a problem with full on plus two fingers. oh, man

Camille submerges into shallow sleep,
waiting for cramps to signal the inevitable splatter
of cum softened stool and retch of vomit soaked in gin. we talked about the hyphen for cum-softened....i think you need it
Bucket between her feet,
she empties herself of him from both ends at once <--either a comma here or "and" at the start of the next line?
remembers how mother held her hair, rubbed her back. just a terrific image you added here
Okay Camille, okay baby. italics?

At? Sunrise, she paints her best Marcel Marceau face,
rolls the drum and announces
the next greatest thing.

this is powerful stuff, swirly....and nice title!

it is hard reading, in a good way......stark and painful.

 

[flyguy69]

QUOTE=annaswirls

South Omaha settles
viscous about your feet, a
soup of slaughter and poverty
that retards each step; a pleading <--okay maybe it is pc but I really dislike that word. I know what you mean, just a personal thing. This soup and stew image really twists my stomach in a good way This may be one of those words with so much baggage that I lose readers-- I can look for something better. I wanted to convey a sense not only of resistance to movement, but also resistance to advancement.
stew that wraps your calves
like thick tongues bleating
for market. Tonight

the cattle wear silk, or pseudo-
silk from Brandeis, as they part
blue cigarette cones
and turn big eyes
on the hungry sea about them. *break?
Lashes betray the youth
in their stares as they bounce
...
dreams. Cud is passed

father to father, <--discudsting! LOL-- the cud represents money (wagers) and well-worn cliche challenges
finger-in-your-scarlet-face promises
of asses turned to burger
before the sky bruises purple.

The killing floor is a Pollack
...
and binds him to a boy
he learns to hate. He flares *
his nostrils and squeezes violence
from his pores. He hates
the brows, the Jesus
on his chest, the cross <-god these are incredible images!
that boy draws with his fist.<--strophe break?
He coils hatred
around his throat, and clamps
fear in his belly
with a silicone sneer. Tonight
....

* Can you explain how you chose these enjambments? I have never really been able to figure out their purpose in these situations. I am not a good judge -- just a willing student. Did you do it to avoid having lines starting in the same way?There is not always that issue


Enjambment is a tool I am still developing-- thanks to Pat, Myke, Carrie and others for assistance in this area. I try to end lines on strong words without neccesarily considering the part-of-speech, but do try to avoid prepositions, articles, etc. (though I see I ended one with "a"!). If I can build a theme with enjambment I will try to do so, as in flares, violence, hate and hatred, or cross and Jesus. Strophe breaks I try to tie in with topical transitions. For instance, I would probably not use the one you suggest for stanza two because throughout that stanza I am describing the spectacle of the boys entering the arena. However, I ought to use one you suggest in stanza four because I start with a depiction of the ring and transition to Benny's hatred. Thank you, Anna, for your opinions and insights. I feel a little awkward explaining my poetry to someone of your talent!

 

[annaswirls]

QUOTE=annaswirls

South Omaha settles
viscous about your feet, a
soup of slaughter and poverty
that retards each step; a pleading <--okay maybe it is pc but I really dislike that word. I know what you mean, just a personal thing. This soup and stew image really twists my stomach in a good way This may be one of those words with so much baggage that I lose readers-- I can look for something better. I wanted to convey a sense not only of resistance to movement, but also resistance to advancement.
stew that wraps your calves
like thick tongues bleating
for market. Tonight

the cattle wear silk, or pseudo-
silk from Brandeis, as they part
blue cigarette cones
and turn big eyes
on the hungry sea about them. *break?
Lashes betray the youth
in their stares as they bounce
...
dreams. Cud is passed

father to father, <--discudsting! LOL-- the cud represents money (wagers) and well-worn cliche challenges
finger-in-your-scarlet-face promises
of asses turned to burger
before the sky bruises purple.

The killing floor is a Pollack
...
and binds him to a boy
he learns to hate. He flares *
his nostrils and squeezes violence
from his pores. He hates
the brows, the Jesus
on his chest, the cross <-god these are incredible images!
that boy draws with his fist.<--strophe break?
He coils hatred
around his throat, and clamps
fear in his belly
with a silicone sneer. Tonight
....

* Can you explain how you chose these enjambments? I have never really been able to figure out their purpose in these situations. I am not a good judge -- just a willing student. Did you do it to avoid having lines starting in the same way?There is not always that issue


Enjambment is a tool I am still developing-- thanks to Pat, Myke, Carrie and others for assistance in this area. I try to end lines on strong words without neccesarily considering the part-of-speech, but do try to avoid prepositions, articles, etc. (though I see I ended one with "a"!). If I can build a theme with enjambment I will try to do so, as in flares, violence, hate and hatred, or cross and Jesus. Strophe breaks I try to tie in with topical transitions. For instance, I would probably not use the one you suggest for stanza two because throughout that stanza I am describing the spectacle of the boys entering the arena. However, I ought to use one you suggest in stanza four because I start with a depiction of the ring and transition to Benny's hatred. Thank you, Anna, for your opinions and insights.


Thank YOU for your explanation of your enjambment and strophe (ick) breaks.


I feel a little awkward explaining my poetry to someone of your talent!


oh puhlease! I will not say what I want to say because I do not want to seem like I am fishing for compliments. But really, I know so little about poetry

(improved from last year this time when I did not know anything about poetry.)

and besides, you are intelligent, talented, a quick learn and I can learn a lot about poetry writing from you.

just keep writing, I will keep reading,

~J

it is thursday, I am not supposed to be here....sneaking out the back door before I get caught....

 

[annaswirls]

as Drumroll comments on pc's comments

this is powerful stuff, swirly....and nice title!

it is hard reading, in a good way......stark and painful.

Thanks!

Originally Posted by annaswirls
done! (I think)

Drumroll please

Sidekick Camille never seemed to mind playing
dog, pony and the village idiot
who always winds up on the soft side of the pie.

Pretending to sleep beneath a heap of i don't like the prepostion at line's end. i'd drop it down. thanks will do!

black body suits and baggy Chaplin pants,
he sees her form move under the blanket of here too.
ragged costumes in sizes of girls past.
As always, he requires a drumroll introduction
of his record holding cock that disappears record-holding damn it I hate the hyphen.
like dark magic into many spaces.

Camille knew, despite the choking finger grip
and cruel disregard for dryness, <---comma
it was good he was here with her.
Here he could only pick back up nasty ailments
he had already given. These generous gifts,
itching bugs with their sticky white eggs
and aching disease poured down to poison
sinful parts in a communal wrath of god.

Better he sleep here than in the town’s
hunting ground with the local push-up slut.
There is one in every town
disguised as a lady of proper breeding,
beg your pardon, Sir. consider italics for this lineyou know I lost both italicized lines because I pasted it from a word document duh! I will fix it.

Just a short drive down the river, strings loosen
and formalities drop like panties in the mud. great image

Head hanging from passenger door
she takes his trick cock down her open throat,
no longer surprised by such intrusion.
Up on the hood, opened wide and pre-primed,
never a problem with full on plus two fingers. oh, man

Camille submerges into shallow sleep,
waiting for cramps to signal the inevitable splatter
of cum softened stool and retch of vomit soaked in gin. we talked about the hyphen for cum-softened....i think you need it
1. I am not sure what you have heard about me, but I do not need cum softened stool, I could quit any time I wanted
2. I did not fix the hyphen because I like making you have to type it.

Thanks for your help on this one!


~Jennifer

 

[annaswirls]

submission to the manuscript-revision

~help me with the title please?~


pressed between your paper
like Queen Anne's lace and four leaf clovers
we stain the sheets of capture.

draw me a map of our relative positions
above below within throughout,
let us combine grammar and physiology
into the most well-read textbook on the shelf.

we are rip and tear
folded figures that soar on paper wings.

we are the need for
tips and edges that cut and crease
pressing forms into function.


hell is everywhere you are not.


let hell be washed over by high waters
that flood our wildflower meadow.
we blend and blur into a whirlpool,
stained by the pigmented
possibility of drowning in confession.

let go

hold as the spin presses tight
dissolving boundaries into the merge

bite and clench
hook and eye we fit our pieces
with velcro burr and magnetic pull

hold on

let us grow gills
float in the pulp
submerged in the solution
to your query,
baby, what do you want?

 

[PatCarrington]

.....

 

[PatCarrington]

.....