Poetry in Progress ~ construction zone

[Angeline]

"What's with all the death?"
they ask,
perplexed foreheads that pass for concern
now some hieroglyphic question mark of annoyance
"ghosts and graves and mausoleums.
You depressed,
unhappy?
Do you want to talk?
You can talk to me."

So I tell them:
In old paintings there was always
something,
off in a corner
or under a table,
that represented death,
because
it is always there.
That's how I see things,
that's all.

They look at me moon faced,
blank,
as if I had just handed them a dead pigeon.

You see?
I can't talk to you
and now I've ruined paintings for you too.

Perhaps I should have shrugged
and smoothed the carpet of mortality under their feet.

Some days I just don't feel like dancing.

Held his face in my hands, thought
about corpses, cold hard plastic not
even skin anymore. I've touched that,
said goodbye to it thousands of times

even when it's just my imagination
because grandpa is in the next room
and daddy says I don't have to go
in there. I just want to remember

the lilac bushes, the way his hand
closed mine around the shovel
and we lifted dirt not to throw
it down on a pine box but to make

flowers grow. I could hold your face
in my palms, look into your eyes
and understand everything I wish
I never knew, painted on me indelibly.

 

[Tathagata]

Held his face in my hands, thought
about corpses, cold hard plastic not
even skin anymore. I've touched that,
said goodbye to it thousands of times

even when it's just my imagination
because grandpa is in the next room
and daddy says I don't have to go
in there. I just want to remember

the lilac bushes, the way his hand
closed mine around the shovel
and we lifted dirt not to throw
it down on a pine box but to make

flowers grow. I could hold your face
in my palms, look into your eyes
and understand everything I wish
I never knew, painted on me indelibly.

we had to go to the rooming house
saw other winos and drunks
walk lead footed and jelly kneed
in and out

the manager was dough faced but
herded us in to the office
"they're bringing him don't...you can come in here"
and we heard the trolley bump down the stair case
i thought of the jolts
but they didn't have to be careful

no one had cleaned the room
it was up to us
desecrated sheets
that's what i see
his final act
too drunk to rise
too drunk to turn his head
too drunk to take his insulin

he was bloated
i thought he looked like a frog
no one had thought to check on him for two days
i thanked the morticians for what they had done
i knew they were embarrassed they couldn't do more

he remains a stranger
the few good memories i have are blurred
the bad memories are like
shards in my eyes

its taken me years to be able to look on that discolored face
and feel compassion
and to say
" i know now you did your best"
we will remain strangers
father and son
man and boy
sharing a space
but never thoughts

a co worker who met
a tragic end

a sad man I read about
in the paper

 

[Angeline]

we had to go to the rooming house
saw other winos and drunks
walk lead footed and jelly kneed
in and out

the manager was dough faced but
herded us in to the office
"they're bringing him don't...you can come in here"
and we heard the trolley bump down the stair case
i thought of the jolts
but they didn't have to be careful

no one had cleaned the room
it was up to us
desecrated sheets
that's what i see
his final act
too drunk to rise
too drunk to turn his head
too drunk to take his insulin

he was bloated
i thought he looked like a frog
no one had thought to check on him for two days
i thanked the morticians for what they had done
i knew they were embarrassed they couldn't do more

he remains a stranger
the few good memories i have are blurred
the bad memories are like
shards in my eyes

its taken me years to be able to look on that discolored face
and feel compassion
and to say
" i know now you did your best"
we will remain strangers
father and son
man and boy
sharing a space
but never thoughts

a co worker who met
a tragic end

a sad man I read about
in the paper

I read the news today.
Got out of bed and walked
through the everyday dream
of waking minutes.

I'm ticking like a time bomb
do you think anyone can hear
us raking our nails over memory
we fear will burn again, again
while we shrink among ashes
that sift past consciousness?

Do you dream, my darling,
of torn armbands, a rabbi
who never met her
taking notes, outlining
a life he never knew,
do you dream of heels
slipping in half frozen mud.
Are you walking away
from a grave or into it?

 

[Tathagata]

I read the news today.
Got out of bed and walked
through the everyday dream
of waking minutes.

I'm ticking like a time bomb
do you think anyone can hear
us raking our nails over memory
we fear will burn again, again
while we shrink among ashes
that sift past consciousness?

Do you dream, my darling,
of torn armbands, a rabbi
who never met her
taking notes, outlining
a life he never knew,
do you dream of heels
slipping in half frozen mud.
Are you walking away
from a grave or into it?

I see a skeleton and a devil
clutching bags
i can see the excitement in their eyes
and the smile under masks

a moment
so insignificant
and years later
it is defining

I look at these two people I never knew often
i was there
a different stoop
but we are interchangeable in many ways

i stare at that devil
and will her to change

i reach under the mask
and dry the skeletons tears

there are many things i sleep with in my heart each night
i count them and wrap them and tuck them in
i fold my arms to keep them safe
ironic that i hide them
in the part of me that is most vulnerable
the part that has and will
fail me

the skeleton and the devil rest there
before the heartache
and sadness
forever two happy girls

and somehow I hope
that will change things

 

[Angeline]

I see a skeleton and a devil
clutching bags
i can see the excitement in their eyes
and the smile under masks

a moment
so insignificant
and years later
it is defining

I look at these two people I never knew often
i was there
a different stoop
but we are interchangeable in many ways

i stare at that devil
and will her to change

i reach under the mask
and dry the skeletons tears

there are many things i sleep with in my heart each night
i count them and wrap them and tuck them in
i fold my arms to keep them safe
ironic that i hide them
in the part of me that is most vulnerable
the part that has and will
fail me

the skeleton and the devil rest there
before the heartache
and sadness
forever two happy girls

and somehow I hope
that will change things

can't write for tears.

do we have the poem yet baby?

 

[Tathagata]

can't write for tears.

do we have the poem yet baby?

lol
i told my wife it was allergies


we always have a poem baby
it just shifts and changes


i cant tell you how often i look at that picture .....
and feel like i can smell the air and feel the steps and hear that door slam shut

come on down
chinese food, rum and coke and pool who's water is 85 degrees
they can eat and you and i can sit and blubber

 

[Angeline]

lol
i told my wife it was allergies


we always have a poem baby
it just shifts and changes


i cant tell you how often i look at that picture .....
and feel like i can smell the air and feel the steps and hear that door slam shut

come on down
chinese food, rum and coke and pool who's water is 85 degrees
they can eat and you and i can sit and blubber

LOL!

It's so friggin hot here. If we didn't have to pick up some wild travelin boys from the airport tomorrow night, I believe we'd just drive south.

 

[Tathagata]

LOL!

It's so friggin hot here. If we didn't have to pick up some wild travelin boys from the airport tomorrow night, I believe we'd just drive south.

yer welcome to spend the night....
i'm crankin up the windows media player now


what airport??

 

[Angeline]

yer welcome to spend the night....
i'm crankin up the windows media player now


what airport??

See pm arriving soon.

 

[RhymeFairy]

When~

how can we do this
stay the way things are.
take time ... when its all
we can do, to stay apart.

whispering images fill my soul
times we oft spent together
now it seems so long ago
dreams derailed, forever pales

riding through the mountains
pulling over on the curb
for a quick kiss ... or two
remember the truckers,
still think they were placing bets

golden castle sitting on the mountain
so hot out, sun beating down
riding the glass elevator
glass smudges, when we got off

you wanted to take me,
against the plaid wall
daring lil giggles, wondering hands
bodies pressed, grinding hips

gazing upon rows, of gingerbread houses
two as one, fingers sliding down
ass wiggles, granite groin
prolific union, houses disappear

pina coloda in hand, cherry ... cream
cuddling on the couch, roaring fire flames
dizzy with delight, holding hands
head thrown back, shoulders relaxed
sun shining through chandler glitters

naked jay birds, sliding into bubbly hot tub
do you think they see us, who really cares
bodies merging, gliding ... sliding
skin to skin, hot ... wet
Jack and Jill rhymes, laughter erupting

lunch at a lil spot in town
eyes never leaving the others
fingertips touch, hand in hand
halving the meal, sharing it all
feeling as if two, is yet again, one
two people could never feel closer,
as we did those few moments, in time

pulling in the parking lot
hating like hell to leave
watching as you sleep, in my arms
gently playing with your curls
listening to soft lil snores
wondering, how can I ever leave you
slow tears sliding down hot cheeks

taking the time to dream of us
all day, you are all I think of
when will it be our time
when will forever, finally find us ...

 

[RhymeFairy]

Worrisome nights.
Grief stricken days.
Our journey, is not
yet at its end ...

Many days shall pass.
Hours taking on the face,
of never ... shall be

Climb this mountain,
of wishful dreams.
Dig deep ... into holes
of life. Take what
will come. Not ... what
you think ... Nightmares
whisper away, upon
silver-lined clouds.

Carry away the riches,
of loves tavern.
Heartfelt ... Soulful
Future golden rainbows,
spectacles of love.

Burn away evil times.
Torment, has no place
here. Take a shower
within the dew drops
of one day ... Join me
My Love, in ...
Happily Ever After ~



Needs some work ... I know.
Just have to have the time
to work with it ...

 

[PatCarrington]

Worrisome nights.
Grief stricken days.
Our journey, is not
yet at its end ...

Many days shall pass.
Hours taking on the face,
of never ... shall be

Climb this mountain,
of wishful dreams.
Dig deep ... into holes
of life. Take what
will come. Not ... what
you think ... Nightmares
whisper away, upon
silver-lined clouds.

Carry away the riches,
of loves tavern.
Heartfelt ... Soulful
Future golden rainbows,
spectacles of love.

Burn away evil times.
Torment, has no place
here. Take a shower
within the dew drops
of one day ... Join me
My Love, in ...
Happily Ever After ~



Needs some work ... I know.
Just have to have the time
to work with it ...

RF,

in my opinion, your poetry is improving.

i think you need to stay away from cliche. try to find new ways to say old things.

this, for instance:

Worrisome nights.
Grief stricken days.
Our journey, is not
yet at its end ...

Many days shall pass.
Hours taking on the face,
of never ... shall be


could be compressed, and better phrased, i think. and in fresh ways. (it also has commas, both of them, that are misplaced. and think about getting rid of the ...'s that you always use. )

for instance:

The journey of grief is not over.
Days take on the sad face
of forever.


if you reread your work, and you've heard the line before, anywhere, i would try to change it into something original.

 

[RhymeFairy]

RF,

in my opinion, your poetry is improving.

i think you need to stay away from cliche. try to find new ways to say old things.

this, for instance:

Worrisome nights.
Grief stricken days.
Our journey, is not
yet at its end ...

Many days shall pass.
Hours taking on the face,
of never ... shall be


could be compressed, and better phrased, i think. and in fresh ways. (it also has commas, both of them, that are misplaced. and think about getting rid of the ...'s that you always use. )

for instance:

The journey of grief is not over.
Days take on the sad face
of forever.


if you reread your work, and you've heard the line before, anywhere, i would try to change it into something original.

I see that Pat. Now, lol
Thank you My Friend ...

I know it needed work. I just had to get it out. Thank you for your help. I promise to look at this through these new eyes you have given me. I do know I repeat certain phrases. I also,
Thank You, for pointing out what I need to work on.
* Bows * to ya~!!

 

[Tathagata]

what will you do
with this lifetime of letters,
these tributes
that i've laid at your feet, or trapped you in, or hurled like
stone accusations?

Will you tell anyone about them?

Or will you tuck them next to
your remembrances of us
and on mute days
when words have no meaning,
unpack all of me
onto your bumpy bed
and lie with me
curled, crushed
grasping paper,
mouthing promises and apologies
over and over
and cry
as i do?

 

[RhymeFairy]

what will you do
with this lifetime of letters,
these tributes
that i've laid at your feet, or trapped you in, or hurled like
stone accusations?

Will you tell anyone about them?

Or will you tuck them next to
your remembrances of us
and on mute days
when words have no meaning,
unpack all of me
onto your bumpy bed
and lie with me
curled, crushed
grasping paper,
mouthing promises and apologies
over and over
and cry
as i do?

Tath,

Another heartstring puller ~!!
I just cannot get away from them.
I guess pain reaches out, even
when one is Happy. Love your poem here.

Me ~


Lost love paints the heart blue.
As sterile forms, line up. One
by one marching, seeing crumbled
papers, fluttering down. Rug shags
slow beat ... dark. Blue letters
wrinkle, tears slide out.

Love lost ... No, a forgotten love.
Remembers, nothings face. While
painting love blue, outside ... in.
Picturing it all, crinkled paper
descends ... forgotten.

 

[BooMerengue]

I give up. I get ideas, and start them and then they fall flat. Here are 2 I've been working on, and then just fizzled. Can anyone do anything with them?

This one was born of the Dreams and Fantasy thread, though it's a nonerotic dream.

Incantations at a clip
as her mind began to slip

she trod the hill behind the house
basket on her arm
bearing gifts to those she loved

Her Jamie, her beloved
wailing on his harp
notes crossing the valley
sitting behind her wrapping her
in strong armed warmth
while Ma and Pa sat across
the table nodding
that life was good.

pouring water on the ground
stepping patterns all around

Firstborn Jesse with black curls
framing eyes that saw the future
running back to kiss her once again
the fever already burning
as Uncle Wiley, boyish charm,
telling once again of the
rage on LookOut Mountain
when the Yanks charged the hill
and left few Rebs alive.

fill the pipe up; let it burn
give the clock a backwards turn

Reverend Goodall came to dine
and tell the sermon he loved best
while Patsy poured the tea
and served fried chicken and said,
with a wink at her husband, "A full belly beats
a day of Godly prayer in my book!"
And he sat down and ate while we all laughed.

Now the moon has reached its height
'tis the ending of the night.​

I'm not comfortable with free verse. I feel each line should be distinct, and here they are not. I may be being too strict with myself, as I'm really a form poetry person. *shrugs

The 2nd...

Lay me on this mossy bank
filtered sunbeams, dragonflies
touch me here and tell me tales
of where you've been, and spare the sighs

for other times and longer days
when Moon pulls catfish from the mud
Kiss me here and close your eyes
now slow the heating of your blood

My poison has its measured pace​

I wanted erotica here, but my darker side intervened, and it turned to murder. I was trying to draw in 'mossy banks', hanging moss' and 'moss covered graves'.

I'll appreciate any and all comments even from those that don't like me. Cuz, like myself, even assholes can write good poems! LOL

And even if YOU don't like me, I like your crusty, crabby old self. You just never gave me a chance... Ask Ange- I'm a slut! I like everybody! Really!

 

[flyguy69]

....

Lay me on this mossy bank
filtered sunbeams, dragonflies
touch me here and tell me tales
of where you've been, and spare the sighs

for other times and longer days
when Moon pulls catfish from the mud
Kiss me here and close your eyes
now slow the heating of your blood

My poison has its measured pace​

I wanted erotica here, but my darker side intervened, and it turned to murder. I was trying to draw in 'mossy banks', hanging moss' and 'moss covered graves'.

I'll appreciate any and all comments even from those that don't like me. Cuz, like myself, even assholes can write good poems! LOL

And even if YOU don't like me, I like your crusty, crabby old self. You just never gave me a chance... Ask Ange- I'm a slut! I like everybody! Really!

This is really good, Boo, and the darkness does not detract from the eroticism. If you simply change "slow" to "feel" you've moved it from murder to sensual intoxication.

The notion of intoxicating your lover is a pretty large one to simply drop in the last line, however. If you decide to go that route i would introduce the theme somewhere earlier. Another strophe at the beginning, perhaps. Be careful you don't simply add more pleas for seduction, though. A list of metaphors will return us to the theme of murder, but eroticism would be the victim!

 

[BooMerengue]

This is really good, Boo, and the darkness does not detract from the eroticism. If you simply change "slow" to "feel" you've moved it from murder to sensual intoxication.

The notion of intoxicating your lover is a pretty large one to simply drop in the last line, however. If you decide to go that route i would introduce the theme somewhere earlier. Another strophe at the beginning, perhaps. Be careful you don't simply add more pleas for seduction, though. A list of metaphors will return us to the theme of murder, but eroticism would be the victim!

Thanks, Fly! That isn't the last line; all of that gushed out in the first writing- then I went "whuuumph!" and it was over. I see what you mean about 'slow' and 'feel'. I used slow to show control. She's using her sex to command him to let the poison work. Feel does make it sexier.

I'll come back tonight w/ (maybe) some more.

 

[tungtied2u]

Cancer moon

Tonight the moon is pale
like the face of a hemophiliac
after a bloodletting,
gray and lifeless, the result
of persistent poisoning
by smoke spewing stacks
and automobile exhausts,

You can almost hear it hacking,
coughing up sickly yellow sputum
which hangs above your head
like a life threatening virus
spreading across the sky
blocking out what few pinpoints of hope
remain visible

What we need is a good forty year scrub,
a thorough drubbing of those
who continue to contaminate
despite the obvious cataclysmic implications
of their actions,
not a whitewash but a washout,
time to flush this toilet,
disinfect,
and start from scratch.

 

[champagne1982]

<snip>This one was born of the Dreams and Fantasy thread, though it's a nonerotic dream.

Incantations at a clip
as her mind began to slip

she trod the hill behind the house
basket on her arm
bearing gifts to those she loved

Her Jamie, her beloved
wailing on his harp
notes crossing the valley
sitting behind her wrapping her
in strong armed warmth
while Ma and Pa sat across
the table nodding
that life was good.

pouring water on the ground
stepping patterns all around

Firstborn Jesse with black curls
framing eyes that saw the future
running back to kiss her once again
the fever already burning
as Uncle Wiley, boyish charm,
telling once again of the
rage on LookOut Mountain
when the Yanks charged the hill
and left few Rebs alive.

fill the pipe up; let it burn
give the clock a backwards turn

Reverend Goodall came to dine
and tell the sermon he loved best
while Patsy poured the tea
and served fried chicken and said,
with a wink at her husband, "A full belly beats
a day of Godly prayer in my book!"
And he sat down and ate while we all laughed.

Now the moon has reached its height
'tis the ending of the night.​

I'm not comfortable with free verse. I feel each line should be distinct, and here they are not. I may be being too strict with myself, as I'm really a form poetry person. *shrugs </snip>

Ahh, Boo! Even when you write free verse you find the rhythm and let it form the poem. I can hear it in almost every verse ... Reverend Goodall came to dine and tell the sermon he loved best ... Face it, you're iambically inclined.

You tell such wonderful stories inside your poems and in a story, each line doesn't need to lie heavy with significance, as long as it moves the plot forward. You've captured this vignette so well that I can see the Smoky mountains right off the porch of this piece. "Fill up the pipe, Ma and have a smoke while Pa has a chaw."

By the way, there is eroticism in just living and you find it within the heartbeat of every person in this poem.

An afterthought has me thinking that you need the poem centred on the page, but the left margin needs straightening. If you submit it and agree, just ask the webmaster to indent the poem to the middle, like I did in the quote.

 

[Angeline]

Ahh, Boo! Even when you write free verse you find the rhythm and let it form the poem. I can hear it in almost every verse ... Reverend Goodall came to dine and tell the sermon he loved best ... Face it, you're iambically inclined.

You tell such wonderful stories inside your poems and in a story, each line doesn't need to lie heavy with significance, as long as it moves the plot forward. You've captured this vignette so well that I can see the Smoky mountains right off the porch of this piece. "Fill up the pipe, Ma and have a smoke while Pa has a chaw."

By the way, there is eroticism in just living and you find it within the heartbeat of every person in this poem.

An afterthought has me thinking that you need the poem centred on the page, but the left margin needs straightening. If you submit it and agree, just ask the webmaster to indent the poem to the middle, like I did in the quote.

I had fun talking to you in chat last night.

We're gonna have a live poetry gunfight in chat, right? Lauren? You're in. lol.

I wanna have a chat poetry meet.

 

[Tathagata]

I had fun talking to you in chat last night.

We're gonna have a live poetry gunfight in chat, right? Lauren? You're in. lol.

I wanna have a chat poetry meet.

yeah....that Dunkin' Donuts coffee is good ain't it??

 

[flyguy69]

yeah....that Dunkin' Donuts coffee is good ain't it??

Is this a "stiff cup of coffee" joke?

 

[flyguy69]

yeah....that Dunkin' Donuts coffee is good ain't it??

Hey, thanks for the tip on LittleMina. Damn, that girl can write!

 

[BooMerengue]

Ahh, Boo! Even when you write free verse you find the rhythm and let it form the poem. I can hear it in almost every verse ... Reverend Goodall came to dine and tell the sermon he loved best ... Face it, you're iambically inclined.

You tell such wonderful stories inside your poems and in a story, each line doesn't need to lie heavy with significance, as long as it moves the plot forward. You've captured this vignette so well that I can see the Smoky mountains right off the porch of this piece. "Fill up the pipe, Ma and have a smoke while Pa has a chaw."

By the way, there is eroticism in just living and you find it within the heartbeat of every person in this poem.

An afterthought has me thinking that you need the poem centred on the page, but the left margin needs straightening. If you submit it and agree, just ask the webmaster to indent the poem to the middle, like I did in the quote.

Thanks so much, Champ! Unlike some of the others here who frequently say "Show me the poem and I'll be glad to help!" and then never do, you come thru every time.

I've restarted on this one. I'm first rewriting the 'incantations' and then going to reweave the vignettes. It's a story about an old woman visiting her family graveyard. I'm not ready to throw it away just yet.

lol I am iambically inclined. It happens naturally even here when I'm making nonsense stuff for the boys. It's really hard for me to NOT measure my words. But I'm trying. Thanks for your comments. You make me feel better about all this poetry nonsense.