Poetry in Progress ~ construction zone

[Angeline]

well I wanted to add you couldn't read the mick jagger part at a wedding but you know what I meant

what? you think mick is inappropriate for weddings? lol. he would be appropriate at mine (well accept as the groom; he's not my type--never was). if i ever had another. which i assure you i won't.

 

[Syndra Lynn]

Does this make sense to anyone but me?

Watsu Goddess

flesh?
indeed. exemplary specimen

Divine?
undoubtedly. respected healer

I am liquid poetry
and she,
the Goddess
who danced me into being

Dance me Mother! I am
an offering
to the sun god
Lift me up so he can see.

Dance me Mother! I am
one with water,
as we were
in the beginning.

Move me, swirl me, rock me
in our womb. We are one
flesh, one heart.

Offer me
to the breeze
that I may feel his kiss.

Hold me in your Earth arms,
cradle me against mortal
breast, let me feel
safe and loved.

Dance me in and out of spirals
of connection
until I no longer know
your heartbeat from my own.
Until the Mother Goddess
binds us
that you will always remain
a part of who I am.

Watsu Goddess
water dance me
out of body
secure in mind
one with shining
universe

 

[Angeline]

Watsu Goddess

flesh?
indeed. exemplary specimen

Divine?
undoubtedly. respected healer

I am liquid poetry
and she,
the Goddess
who danced me into being

Dance me Mother! I am
an offering
to the sun god
Lift me up so he can see.

Dance me Mother! I am
one with water,
as we were
in the beginning.

Move me, swirl me, rock me
in our womb. We are one
flesh, one heart.

Offer me
to the breeze
that I may feel his kiss.

Hold me in your Earth arms,
cradle me against mortal
breast, let me feel
safe and loved.

Dance me in and out of spirals
of connection
until I no longer know
your heartbeat from my own.
Until the Mother Goddess
binds us
that you will always remain
a part of who I am.

Watsu Goddess
water dance me
out of body
secure in mind
one with shining
universe

wellllll.....

it's really good syn. my only problem is that this:

flesh?
indeed. exemplary specimen

Divine?
undoubtedly. respected healer

I am liquid poetry
and she,
the Goddess
who danced me into being


is not connecting up well for me with the rest of the poem. Once you hit the next verse, it reads beautifully; it flows and feels cohesive. I understand what you're saying, I just think that first part may be an unnecessary introduction because to me everything you say in it is implied within the rest of the poem. And implied is better than to begin with a summary...

There are a few other little things I noticed, but they are very minor and I'll let others weigh in and see what you want to do before nitpicking.

Hope this helps. Just my opinion.



A.

 

[Syndra Lynn]

wellllll.....

it's really good syn. my only problem is that this:

flesh?
indeed. exemplary specimen

Divine?
undoubtedly. respected healer

I am liquid poetry
and she,
the Goddess
who danced me into being


is not connecting up well for me with the rest of the poem. Once you hit the next verse, it reads beautifully; it flows and feels cohesive. I understand what you're saying, I just think that first part may be an unnecessary introduction because to me everything you say in it is implied within the rest of the poem. And implied is better than to begin with a summary...

There are a few other little things I noticed, but they are very minor and I'll let others weigh in and see what you want to do before nitpicking.

Hope this helps. Just my opinion.



A.

Thanks, it does help. i can drop the first 2 couplets without a wince, but I love the next bit! I hate when I have to throw out a piece I love. But sometimes it happens. I'll give it more thought.

Has anyone ever had a Watsu?

or even know what it is?

I highly fucking recommend it.

Syn

 

[PatCarrington]

Thanks, it does help. i can drop the first 2 couplets without a wince, but I love the next bit! I hate when I have to throw out a piece I love. But sometimes it happens. I'll give it more thought.

Has anyone ever had a Watsu?

or even know what it is?

I highly fucking recommend it.

Syn

syn,

i like it a lot.

i think the poem should start with:

I am liquid poetry
and she,
the Goddess
who danced me into being

though i would reword "into being". i think it is too ordinary for the rest of the stanza, which is lovely.

i also do not like the last stanza. to me, it seems cliched and not up to the rest of the poem.

the whole Watsu comparison with the womb is a wonderful idea.

 

[Angeline]

Thanks, it does help. i can drop the first 2 couplets without a wince, but I love the next bit! I hate when I have to throw out a piece I love. But sometimes it happens. I'll give it more thought.

Has anyone ever had a Watsu?

or even know what it is?

I highly fucking recommend it.

Syn

Well I can live with Patrick's recommendation (for once lol). I was going to say start there, but thought it somewhat flowed better without it--but really it's 6 of one, half dozen of the other as they say...

I have no idea what a Watsu is. Is it anything like the Watusi? That I know.

 

[Syndra Lynn]

I have no idea what a Watsu is. Is it anything like the Watusi? That I know.

It is indeed! It is a form of relaxation/massage therapy done in a pool where ya sort of float and dance like a leaf on a stream. Or in a dream!

It was really good.

Thanks Patrick! I'll work on that last stanza. (You shoulda seen the therapist! Holy Mama she was hot!)

Did I mention we were both naked?

Tath should be dropping in any minute now.


Syn

 

[PatCarrington]

Well I can live with Patrick's recommendation (for once lol).

are you gonna start?

 

[WickedEve]

Syn, I read the poem a few times and I agree about starting with "I am liquid poetry." It's a very good poem.

 

[Syndra Lynn]

Syn, I read the poem a few times and I agree about starting with "I am liquid poetry." It's a very good poem.

 

[Angeline]

Version 3

I love your big Mick Jagger lip,
your saddest eye. I even loved you
when you got that ugly sty.
I never count the days that
piled up to now. I never look ahead,
but welcome every moment yet
to mow us down in glorious discordant
harmony.

I even love you when you lie to me.

I've loved you, love you always,
even as I can't explain
how blind affection swallows pain.
We're naked strutting emperors,
our loopy foibles on parade,
cascading with the march of tears
that hail our reign of circumstance
for this is love, our passion true
was born of chance, but over time
made tangible. We've surpassed fear,
made mockery of mere romance.

Here two have come to grow
as twisted wildflowers do,
insisting through a sidewalk crack.
Our weedy strength is sustenance,
existing hard by rusted ties that straggled
north along forgotten railway track.

I simply love you Terence,
and always hear your song ring clear.
Even when music fails, I always
hold you tight, in every jaded day,
through every jangled night,
even when reason pales.

 

[Angeline]

are you gonna start?

Are you suggesting I stopped?

 

[PatCarrington]

Are you suggesting I stopped?

so, it's just a continuous phenomenon....like time.

 

[Angeline]

so, it's just a continuous phenomenon....like time.

That's the role I am meant to play in your life--to argue with you about poetry, but sweetly. It's a tough job, but I'm a tough cookie.

 

[flyguy69]

Stockyard- draft 5

This one is nearing completion. Please share your impressions!

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

the cattle wear silk, or pseudo-
silk from Brandeis, as they push
through 100 watt balls
of smoke 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 the herd of broken-
nosed dreams. Cud is passed

father to father, wagered
finger-in-your-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,
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 uncles’ arms in triumph. Joy

will slam green lockers, a jab-
by-jab recounting rasped
in thankful tones for blood
spattered into the front row.
Benny will bask in iron
glory, chin high to block
the sucker punch
of that boy’s throbbing departure.

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.

 

[PatCarrington]

This one is nearing completion. Please share your impressions!

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

the cattle wear silk, or pseudo-
silk from Brandeis, as they push
through 100 watt balls
of smoke 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 the herd of broken-
nosed dreams. Cud is passed

father to father, wagered
finger-in-your-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,
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 uncles’ arms in triumph. Joy

will slam green lockers, a jab-
by-jab recounting rasped
in thankful tones for blood
spattered into the front row.
Benny will bask in iron
glory, chin high to block
the sucker punch
of that boy’s throbbing departure.

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.

it's a very good piece, fly.

my first thought is to reconsider the line-breaking in the entire thing. though it is about violence, there is no action. it seems contemplative instead, written from afar, and i think it might benefit from a slower pace.

the last stanza is a perfect example (though if it were mine, i would start at the top) - i see no reason to break at "skip" in the first line, or at "stockyard's." here's a rework, just for you to compare and see what you think:


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

there are some vivid and fresh images. really well thought-out and written.

 

[Tathagata]

It is indeed! It is a form of relaxation/massage therapy done in a pool where ya sort of float and dance like a leaf on a stream. Or in a dream!

It was really good.

Thanks Patrick! I'll work on that last stanza. (You shoulda seen the therapist! Holy Mama she was hot!)

Did I mention we were both naked?

Tath should be dropping in any minute now.


Syn

you rang?
sounds like a combination of massage and sensory deprivation tank.
I've always wanted to try one of those though I suspect my mind would try and eat it's own tail being left to confront itself with no external stimuli.

and besides this naked stuff sounds much better.

 

[Tathagata]

Kelli O' Leary
appeared in front of the Erie pub,
by the salt scalded sign post
that points absent sons of the sod back across
the Atlantic
to Dublin, and Mayo, and Athenry.

There on Cape Cod
beside an orange dinosaur
on a 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 her childhood
abandoned for precision.

Sheathed like a stiletto,
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
petite fashion cigarette.
Everything is a statement.

Kelli O'Leary
( with an "i")
was down here for the weekend
with a phantom husband I never saw,
and a daffodil daughter,
whom she danced with in her murderous heels
and abrupt black skirt
in front of a hall full of people.

We all watched.
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 they 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 shoe.

 

[PatCarrington]

this is ucomin' 'round, tath. (and i hope you at least took a picture)

some quick suggestions:

salt-scalded signpost

that points absent sons of the sod
back across the Atlantic
to Dublin and Mayo and Athenry.

dot her i's
"with an i"

form-fitted

to resume her get away.
The phrase flew of her lips with the practice
of a hawk launched
from a master's arm.

 

[WickedEve]

Monkey, I think her description is just a tad too much.

Sheathed like a stiletto,
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.


I like the part about "heels, open toed and spiked" and then the continuation: "crucifying heels." But the description is a bit long and I'd be tempted to trim a few words away. I'd definitely drop carefully.

 

[Tathagata]

Monkey, I think her description is just a tad too much.

Sheathed like a stiletto,
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.


I like the part about "heels, open toed and spiked" and then the continuation: "crucifying heels." But the description is a bit long and I'd be tempted to trim a few words away. I'd definitely drop carefully.

i'm not sure how to explain it...her hair was done in such a way to suggest that it was wild and she hadn't touched it.
Does that make sense?
i found it to be another example of her carefully ( there's that word again) crafted image

would another word do?
or if I trimmed another part of the description?

she was all window dressing so she could pretend she didn't want the attention basically

 

[Tathagata]

this is ucomin' 'round, tath. (and i hope you at least took a picture)

some quick suggestions:

salt-scalded signpost

that points absent sons of the sod
back across the Atlantic
to Dublin and Mayo and Athenry.

dot her i's
"with an i"

form-fitted

to resume her get away.
The phrase flew of her lips with the practice
of a hawk launched
from a master's arm.

Is that a good thing??

ah yes...hyphens
I say we ignore them...like the metric system

thank you sir

 

[WickedEve]

i'm not sure how to explain it...her hair was done in such a way to suggest that it was wild and she hadn't touched it.
Does that make sense?
i found it to be another example of her carefully ( there's that word again) crafted image

would another word do?
or if I trimmed another part of the description?

she was all window dressing so she could pretend she didn't want the attention basically

No, don't trim if you feel all the words are needed. I can understand seeing someone who requires a lot of description. lol

 

[WickedEve]

another suggestion

Sheathed like a stiletto,
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.

You could make the last few lines a separate stanza so the reader can pause. That may help with the long description, and besides, the part about bored sexuality sums her look up. So, it works fine as its own stanza.

 

[Tathagata]

Sheathed like a stiletto,
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.

You could make the last few lines a separate stanza so the reader can pause. That may help with the long description, and besides, the part about bored sexuality sums her look up. So, it works fine as its own stanza.

you're so smart

Thanks Eveypoo

I'll break up that verse