Poetry in Progress ~ construction zone

[Angeline]

Revision 2

We won't be doing that reading together.
I could still take your photo, prop it up
on a stool and read your poems, but now
I can't call you then tell the audience,
assuming there is one, that this
is my goofy friend who lives in a fog
in Wisconsin. He's a poet, too.

They would have laughed, I know it.
I'd have been very charming, Say hello
to him, and everyone would shout

Hello Douglas

and I could imagine you at the other end
with a bag of microwave popcorn or a pizza,
sitting curled to the telephone, grinning.

I can imagine that.

Andre draped on the rug, relaxed,
balefully aware of night, noises,
but mostly the pizza. I can imagine
that because I have to or you don't
even exist. I have to because how
can someone who continues to whisper
at me and make me giggle and write
the way you insist I must be nonexistant?

Have you met my other ghosts?
They're a friendly lot. They'll listen
to you anytime because they see
how I loved you, so they do, too.

You'll like them. They're very cooperative
and sometimes they play jazz.

 

[PatCarrington]

We won't be doing that reading together.
I could still take your photo, prop it up
on a stool and read your poems, but now
I can't call you then tell the audience,
assuming there is one, that this
is my goofy friend who lives in a fog
in Wisconsin. He's a poet, too.

They would have laughed, I know it.
I'd have been very charming, Say hello
to him, and everyone would shout

Hello Douglas

and I could imagine you at the other end
with a bag of microwave popcorn or a pizza,
sitting curled to the telephone, grinning.

I can imagine that.

Andre draped on the rug, relaxed,
balefully aware of night, noises,
but mostly the pizza. I can imagine
that because I have to or you don't
even exist. I have to because how
can someone who continues to whisper
at me and make me giggle and write
the way you insist I must be nonexistant?

Have you met my other ghosts?
They're a friendly lot. They'll listen
to you anytime because they see
how I loved you, so they do, too.

You'll like them. They're very cooperative
and sometimes they play jazz.

this reads WAY better to me now, ange.

i think it should end with You'll like them.

'cooperative' feels ill-fit, and the jazz reference feels too personally shared to have poetic impact.

it's really simple and tender, and very human.

 

[BooMerengue]

I'm disagreeing, Pat. I think a jazz reference in a poem of Ange's is sort of a trademark. I think it's who she is- a JazzyPoetess! For those who don't know Ange I think its still okay- it shows how she shared her love of jazz with SP.

 

[flyguy69]

QUOTE=Angeline
We won't be doing that reading together.
I could still take your photo, prop it up
on a stool and read your poems, but now
I can't call you then tell the audience,
assuming there is one, that this <-- your self-deprecation seems unneccesary, here.
is my goofy friend who lives in a fog
in Wisconsin. He's a poet, too. <--must be an east coast thing!

They would have laughed, I know it.
I'd have been very charming, Say hello
to him, and everyone would shout

Hello Douglas

and I could imagine you at the other end
with a bag of microwave popcorn or a pizza,
sitting curled to the telephone, grinning.

I can imagine that.

Andre draped on the rug, relaxed,
balefully aware of night, noises,
but mostly the pizza. I can imagine <-- I would drop "can"
that because I have to or you don't
even exist. I have to because how
can someone who continues to whisper
at me and make me giggle and write <-- This seems verbose, and you change the parallel structure a bit
the way you insist I must be nonexistant?

Have you met my other ghosts?
They're a friendly lot. They'll listen
to you anytime because they see
how I loved you, so they do, too.

You'll like them. They're very cooperative <--I agree with Pat, here, though don't mind the jazz reference. Perhaps better in the previous stanza.
and sometimes they play jazz.[/QUOTE]

 

[PatCarrington]

Pat? I'm an instant gratification freak, so in 25 words or less, can you teach me to write like you? Please???

read free verse, NOT form poetry (that should be worth a black-stockinged spanking from ange)

read these poets: bob hicok, bill knott, sharon olds, linda pastan, anne sexton, charles simic, jay wright.

write often. (that's 25)

 

[Tathagata]

This is perfect!

Syn

LOL
you are biased
but thank you

 

[Syndra Lynn]

Biased?

LOL
you are biased
but thank you

Yes, I am. But...

Mortality is close today.
My nose to the air
and wait.
Yes, close.

I see the picture, you sniffing, death so close you can smell it. It's sparce, simple, tight,

Inspiration or a dagger

Your choice, simply stated. A person's point of view determines all. And you fit it into 4 words.

Guess which hand?
fear is a motivator,
and a joke
so depending on my reaction
I write or laugh.

Point of view is all powerful, again. This is playful and truthful, razor sharp. Frightening and laughable at the same time.

When I said it was perfect, I was not making light, or expressing my bias. I was simply being lazy when I should have taken the time to tell you why it is perfect, as is.

 

[Tathagata]

Yes, I am. But...



I see the picture, you sniffing, death so close you can smell it. It's sparce, simple, tight,



Your choice, simply stated. A person's point of view determines all. And you fit it into 4 words.



Point of view is all powerful, again. This is playful and truthful, razor sharp. Frightening and laughable at the same time.

When I said it was perfect, I was not making light, or expressing my bias. I was simply being lazy when I should have taken the time to tell you why it is perfect, as is.

well it seems perfect to you because you understand it

and i have to say
you got everything right
makes me happy that we had the " vulcan mind meld' there

that's what we all aim for isn't it??

I will submit it as is..because i know it works as is
thank you sis

namaste'

 

[Angeline]

read free verse, NOT form poetry (that should be worth a black-stockinged spanking from ange)

read these poets: bob hicok, bill knott, sharon olds, linda pastan, anne sexton, charles simic, jay wright.

write often. (that's 25)

I think Yeats, Adrianne Rich, the Beats, and poets from other cultures like Rumi or Neruda or Farouk Farrokhzad should be on the list, too.

Ok, maybe not to write like Pat, lol, but to have a good mix of writing inspriation. This is a great idea for a thread.

Oh and I forgot the Harlem Rennaisance poets. Especially, if you're American and you haven't. And it's full of the blues.

 

[flyguy69]

Gift

“What is it?” she asks, picking up this half-
finished thing and turning it
on its elbows. She prods
buttons to see if battery-powered
light bulb
flash
motor
clicks and whirrs
and makes a leg kick
or poetry issue from its rudimentary
mouth.

“Mostly words,” I say, my skull whiplashed
from investigation. “But there’s some of me
and some of you, too.” She pries
its eyelids back for trademark
or bloodtype confirmation, sights
along the barrel at my chest.

“What do I do with it?” she asks, donning latex
gloves and probing for inevitable
leaks. She smiles
at the curious flow
and dabs her stain
upon my shirt.

I push my shoulder
between my lover
and my love and take
it fragile in my grasp.
“you can treasure it as I do,” I
respond, and press my lips
to its fine steel hair.

 

[PatCarrington]

I think Yeats, Adrianne Rich, the Beats, and poets from other cultures like Rumi or Neruda or Farouk Farrokhzad should be on the list, too.

Ok, maybe not to write like Pat, lol, but to have a good mix of writing inspriation. This is a great idea for a thread.

Oh and I forgot the Harlem Rennaisance poets. Especially, if you're American and you haven't. And it's full of the blues.

start a thread then, poet chick.

it would be interesting to see who everyone likes to read, where their slants lie and where their influences are born.

i would have put neruda on my list, and eliot and auden and dylan thomas and e.e. cummings, but boo limited me to 25 words, like a cereal box contest.

 

[Syndra Lynn]

“What is it?” she asks, picking up this half-
finished thing and turning it
on its elbows. She prods
buttons to see if battery-powered
light bulb
flash
motor
clicks and whirrs
and makes a leg kick
or poetry issue from its rudimentary
mouth.

“Mostly words,” I say, my skull whiplashed
from investigation. “But there’s some of me
and some of you, too.” She pries
its eyelids back for trademark
or bloodtype confirmation, sights
along the barrel at my chest.

“What do I do with it?” she asks, donning latex
gloves and probing for inevitable
leaks. She smiles
at the curious flow
and dabs her stain
upon my shirt.

I push my shoulder
between my lover
and my love and take
it fragile in my grasp.
“you can treasure it as I do,” I
respond, and press my lips
to its fine steel hair.

I love the last stanza even though I have no clue what the treasure is.

Ok, I'll go get my coffee and try again.

Syn

 

[Syndra Lynn]

I love the last stanza even though I have no clue what the treasure is.

Ok, I'll go get my coffee and try again.

Syn

Unless, she has discovered your secret life as super poet!

In which case it all works except the leaky fluid part.

Bright Blessings!

Syn

 

[flyguy69]

I love the last stanza even though I have no clue what the treasure is.

Ok, I'll go get my coffee and try again.

Syn

This one will not survive a hose beating. Just touch it to your tongue and savor the unusual tang of kumquat and peat smoke.

 

[Angeline]

start a thread then, poet chick.

it would be interesting to see who everyone likes to read, where their slants lie and where their influences are born.

i would have put neruda on my list, and eliot and auden and dylan thomas and e.e. cummings, but boo limited me to 25 words, like a cereal box contest.

ok. later, when i feel better.

 

[Angeline]

This one will not survive a hose beating. Just touch it to your tongue and savor the unusual tang of kumquat and peat smoke.

gee and all i have is hazelnut coffee.

 

[PatCarrington]

.....

 

[Tathagata]

Kelli O' Leary
stood in front of the Erie pub
by the weathered sign post
that point lost souls back across
the Atlantic
to Dublin, and Mayo, and Athenry
Right there in the middle
of the miniature golf course.

Kelli O'Leary
used to dot her I's with little hearts
and smilie faces
Now she just says
" with an I"
the symbols of that childhood
abandoned for precision

Form fitted black
sleek, shimmer of 5th avenue silk
nyloned legs and heels
open toed and spiked
crucifying heels
her hair an explosion
of carefully controlled abandon
and her make up
a still life
of bored sexuality

She was used to the door being held but
thanked me anyway
and again when I lit her
oh so feminine thin cigarette

Kelli O'Leary
( with an "i")
was down here for the weekend
with a husband I never saw
and a daughter
whom she danced with
in her murderous heels and short black skirt
in front of a hall full of people
all of which watched her
they had no choice

we saw the perfect thigh tops flex
smooth jungle muscle
swinging her child
and we felt those thighs flexing
against our ribs

all the boyos exchanged glances over their pints
and the ones with girlfriends or wives
made sure the studied the paintings on the wall
or the menu
the whole time she danced.

Kelli O' Leary
told me to enjoy my evening
as she strode back inside
to resume her get away
the phrase flew of her lips with the practice
of a hawk launched from
a masters arm
it had no more emotion
than the cigarette she annihilated
under the toe
of her genocide shoes

 

[Angeline]

Namaste, sweets.

Excellent narrative piece. I put a few edits in in red.

Kelli O' Leary
stood in front of the Erie pub
by the weathered sign post
that points lost souls back across
the Atlantic
to Dublin, and Mayo, and Athenry
Right there in the middle
of the miniature golf course.
these last two lines don't make sense to me; does the whole encounter happen on a mini golf course? in Kelli's mind? the narrator's? Maybe you need to expand it a bit to make it clearer

Kelli O'Leary
used to dot her i's with little hearts
and smilie faces
Now she just says
"with an I" see space after quote mark closed
the symbols of that childhood is "that childhood" her childhood? do you even need "that"?
abandoned for precision

Form-fitted black
sleek, shimmer of 5th Avenue silk
nyloned legs and heels
open toed and spiked
crucifying heels
her hair an explosion
of carefully controlled abandon
and her make up
a still life
of bored sexuality

She was used to the door being held but
thanked me anyway
and again when I lit her
oh so feminine thin cigarette

Kelli O'Leary
(with an "i") see space after parenthesis closed
was down here for the weekend
with a husband I never saw
and a daughter
whom she danced with
in her murderous heels and short black skirt
in front of a hall full of people
all of whom watched her
we had no choice

we saw the perfect thigh tops flex
smooth jungle muscle
swinging her child
and we felt those thighs flexing
against our ribs

all the boyos exchanged glances over their pints
and the ones with girlfriends or wives
made sure the studied the paintings on the walldelete "made sure the"--it should be they, but "studied" is really all you need, imo
or the menu
the whole time she danced.

Kelli O' Leary
told me to enjoy my evening
as she strode back inside
to resume her getaway
the phrase flew of her lips with the practice
of a hawk launched from
a masters arm
it had no more emotion
than the cigarette she annihilated
under the toe
of her genocide shoes

Great ending!

Still needs punctuation, but I guess you're waiting till you're done fiddling with it to add that, right?

 

[Tathagata]

Namaste, sweets.

Excellent narrative piece. I put a few edits in in red.
Great ending!

Still needs punctuation, but I guess you're waiting till you're done fiddling with it to add that, right?

still fiddling like Tevye
; )
Thanks for the edits..
the golf course was off to the side of the pub
i may drop that part
she was beautiful and knew it and she ' graced me" with conversation while we stood outside

 

[Angeline]

still fiddling like Tevye
; )
Thanks for the edits..
the golf course was off to the side of the pub
i may drop that part
she was beautiful and knew it and she ' graced me" with conversation while we stood outside

Tevye never fiddled. It was the guy on the roof. Or Nero.

 

[Tathagata]

Tevye never fiddled. It was the guy on the roof. Or Nero.

what do i know..I'm a shagetz

 

[PatCarrington]

what do i know..I'm a shagetz

what are all these strange words?

we have a broadway hit in the making here.

"Dublin Meets Tel Aviv."

 

[Tathagata]

what are all these strange words?

we have a broadway hit in the making here.

"Dublin Meets Tel Aviv."

Tippler on the Roof

 

[Angeline]

what are all these strange words?

we have a broadway hit in the making here.

"Dublin Meets Tel Aviv."

No it's more like Dublin meets the Lower East Side. I oughta know. I'm living it. lol.

And you're both shaygetzes. EE too, but he's developing a wicked NYC-derived mimic from hanging around me.