Poetry in Progress ~ construction zone

[twelveoone]

Driving through the Skagit Valley,
We See an Eagle Feeding

It is a juvenile, who has grasped
a mallard's neck and twisted it
to side. The duck is limp and dead.

The eagle plucks out feathers
one by one and guards his prize, watching
out for siblings with less skill or luck

but hungry for red tendons and fat breast.
The mother circles, west toward
the water. From the shelter of the car,

we photograph the scene as the bird
pulls and tugs. Crows land and perch
along a wire fence. Some stand on stumps.

Elizabeth points down the road at swans
scattered in another field. As we leave,
the wind whirls up bits of down

about the raptor as he works. The restive
crows, on wire and ground, hop and twitch,
hop and twitch.

Why? hop and twitch, hop and twitch, put the preachiness back, Twas a killer ending.

 

[Tzara]

Why? hop and twitch, hop and twitch, put the preachiness back, Twas a killer ending.

No image, bud. It was polemic. I get to the end and tell you what I think, which is telling you what to think. OK for the Soviet (Love the fatherland! Produce more cement!), but that's polemic, not a poem.

And, hey! It's all just playtime anyhow.

You can keep the first version if you like. Convince me it's better.

 

[anonamouse]

Because, everything must have a reason, it is human, thus it becomes an excellent contrast, totaly unexpected, really, hop and twitch?
Here death and life are pure, are clear,
are sure. Our human ethics, more obscure.
Je-zus, everything doesn't have to have an image, even the rainman says
"I don't think the breach here is large, "
Alright, maybe a little too much, with the pure and clear and sure.

 

[twelveoone]

No image, bud. It was polemic. I get to the end and tell you what I think, which is telling you what to think. OK for the Soviet (Love the fatherland! Produce more cement!), but that's polemic, not a poem.

And, hey! It's all just playtime anyhow.

You can keep the first version if you like. Convince me it's better.

Which reminds me....I need to work on my revolutionary punctuation.

 

[Tzara]

Because, everything must have a reason, it is human, thus it becomes an excellent contrast, totaly unexpected, really, hop and twitch?
Here death and life are pure, are clear,
are sure. Our human ethics, more obscure.
Je-zus, everything doesn't have to have an image, even the rainman says
"I don't think the breach here is large, "
Alright, maybe a little too much, with the pure and clear and sure.

TheRainMan I think is sometimes wrong. I probably shouldn't say that, as it is kind of like some minor Party functionary in Ljubana telling Herr Ulyanov that he doesn't know what he's talking about. ('Scuse us TRM, I but I am fighting here. Unfairly, yes, but that's how it is done.)

"Hop and twitch" might be bad, mousie. That ain't the point.

A poem is like a storyboard. Image. Picture. Frame to frame.

If I just out and tell you what you should think, even if I tell you in a way that is elegantly worded and sounds well (not that I did, but that is the argument), I am just telling you. I may as well write an essay. I can write essays. But they don't work how a poem works.

'A course I could be wrong. Only in the middle of poetry class. May work my way back around to flingin' words at abandon just because I want to.

Just trying different things.

And as you have said, I think, I will probably periodically just destroy all this. To (mis)quote Patti Smith: "Some new art must disintegrate."

Sometimes you use Ruy Lopez, sometimes the Catalan Opening.

 

[twelveoone]

A poem is like a storyboard. Image. Picture. Frame to frame.
.

Linear, all too linear, 2 dimensional

 

[Tzara]

Linear, all too linear, 2 dimensional

I am a very linear guy. Sorry. Gray flannel, too. Seersucker, though, in spring.

I did take a course in linear algebra. Can solve n-dimensional matrices!

Does that help?

 

[annaswirls]

I am a very linear guy. Sorry. Gray flannel, too. Seersucker, though, in spring.

I did take a course in linear algebra. Can solve n-dimensional matrices!

Does that help?

you can think of it as linear in theme, if the events are non-linear in the poem, or the characters shift-- imagine you are a needle pulling a straight thread...

or better yet, imagine you are the kaboob stick, piercing through many yummy veggies oop! a shrimp where did that come from.... but your poem, if pierced properly and not overcooked, will hold together beautifully... and you will still have your stick, straight and uncharred.

 

[wildsweetone]

you can think of it as linear in theme, if the events are non-linear in the poem, or the characters shift-- imagine you are a needle pulling a straight thread...

or better yet, imagine you are the kaboob stick, piercing through many yummy veggies oop! a shrimp where did that come from.... but your poem, if pierced properly and not overcooked, will hold together beautifully... and you will still have your stick, straight and uncharred.

before i go and make dinner, i just want to say is that like a stick going through a boob? ouch!


okay, i'm gone now.

 

[champagne1982]

before i go and make dinner, i just want to say is that like a stick going through a boob? ouch!


okay, i'm gone now.

shish kaboobs

with teriyaki sauce..

 

[TheRainMan]

TheRainMan I think is sometimes wrong. I probably shouldn't say that, as it is kind of like some minor Party functionary in Ljubana telling Herr Ulyanov that he doesn't know what he's talking about. ('Scuse us TRM, I but I am fighting here. Unfairly, yes, but that's how it is done.)

Sometimes? Try, often.

Sometimes you use Ruy Lopez, sometimes the Catalan Opening.

When they jousted in Ljubana, it was all Sicilian.

You were a pussy if you played d4.

 

[Tzara]

Sometimes? Try, often.




When they jousted in Ljubana, it was all Sicilian.

You were a pussy if you played d4.

I always fall for Fool's Mate.

Er, no offense, Fool.

 

[wildsweetone]

shish kaboobs

with teriyaki sauce..

you are so bad!

 

[twelveoone]

xxx I think is sometimes wrong. .

maybe, I don't think of as wrong, nor a question of right or wrong, rather what is right for the reason of the poem.
Clearly, Rainman and I are seeing different things, as we so often do. And we often agree. Sometimes I modify my original position, because of what he has said. With both of your's permission, I would like to explore this further. Are you game?

 

[Tzara]

maybe, I don't think of as wrong, nor a question of right or wrong, rather what is right for the reason of the poem.
Clearly, Rainman and I are seeing different things, as we so often do. And we often agree. Sometimes I modify my original position, because of what he has said. With both of your's permission, I would like to explore this further. Are you game?

Of course. I will be only intermittently around for the next several days, though. Not sure what internet access I will have.

 

[TheRainMan]

maybe, I don't think of as wrong, nor a question of right or wrong, rather what is right for the reason of the poem.
Clearly, Rainman and I are seeing different things, as we so often do. And we often agree. Sometimes I modify my original position, because of what he has said. With both of your's permission, I would like to explore this further. Are you game?

I'm always game.

 

[twelveoone]

Rainman
Tzara's original poem is one of few "sleeper's" I have seen around here, things seem to be done in it that bothered me. We both agree it was better than average, though slighly flawed. You saw a minor flaw, in what I saw was a strengh. I thought I saw a flaw in the expanded title, I'm not sure anymore, it caused me to look at it closer. I think I see something different.
Here is what I propose, the original, the revision, your comment, my original, my second thoughts. Any one else what to join in. Your second thoughts. Tzara tells us what the intent was.
The whole premise will be that reasonable people can disagree, air thoughts without animosity. You two are most worthy adversaries. I think of the main strenghs of this place are opposing views, well thought out.
Sunday? I've been thinking about reviving "Interact". I have been chasing down one of the true "unsungs" around here, trying to get them to agree. Too many other good ones, some old ones could be revisited, to serve as an example.

 

[TheRainMan]

Rainman
Tzara's original poem is one of few "sleeper's" I have seen around here, things seem to be done in it that bothered me. We both agree it was better than average, though slighly flawed. You saw a minor flaw, in what I saw was a strengh. I thought I saw a flaw in the expanded title, I'm not sure anymore, it caused me to look at it closer. I think I see something different.
Here is what I propose, the original, the revision, your comment, my original, my second thoughts. Any one else what to join in. Your second thoughts. Tzara tells us what the intent was.
The whole premise will be that reasonable people can disagree, air thoughts without animosity. You two are most worthy adversaries. I think of the main strenghs of this place are opposing views, well thought out.
Sunday? I've been thinking about reviving "Interact". I have been chasing down one of the true "unsungs" around here, trying to get them to agree. Too many other good ones, some old ones could be revisited, to serve as an example.

Sounds good to me.

Sunday doesn't though. I'll be traveling.

 

[annaswirls]

..........

 

[Tzara]

Rainman
Tzara's original poem is one of few "sleeper's" I have seen around here, things seem to be done in it that bothered me. We both agree it was better than average, though slighly flawed. You saw a minor flaw, in what I saw was a strengh. I thought I saw a flaw in the expanded title, I'm not sure anymore, it caused me to look at it closer. I think I see something different.
Here is what I propose, the original, the revision, your comment, my original, my second thoughts. Any one else what to join in. Your second thoughts. Tzara tells us what the intent was.
The whole premise will be that reasonable people can disagree, air thoughts without animosity. You two are most worthy adversaries. I think of the main strenghs of this place are opposing views, well thought out.
Sunday? I've been thinking about reviving "Interact". I have been chasing down one of the true "unsungs" around here, trying to get them to agree. Too many other good ones, some old ones could be revisited, to serve as an example.

I am out of town. Sunday is out--between the conference I am attending and agonizing my way through the NFL playoffs, I will be completely dysfunctional that day. I am not sure of my availability until Wednesday.

Otherwise, sounds like "fun." I have always admired Pentheus.

 

[vampiredust]

A War Of Mud And Bones

My mind flirts with lucidity,
drifting in and out of burning
cities and shallow craters
that look like makeshift graves.

Footprints quickly sink in the thick
mud, leaving an anonymous scar
on the weeping landscape. Horses,
men and carts all march with the same

trudgery ; idly waiting for the daily slop
to be drip fed in their bony remains. Rain
quickly falls on the forest of leather hides
that sits in the middle of the rusting woods,

the wire-frame carcasses that litter the clearing
seem healthier than the forgotten men crawling
on that old, dusty road. I am there with them,
on my final journey between the absurd and the sublime.

 

[clutching_calliope]

Rouged Lions

.....

 

[flyguy69]

Wow. Some damn fine imagery here.

This, in particular, arrested me:

...
How easily I bend
to disasters of romance, your candied
wine of words saturate
my skin, blush effused, pores
of ought, nailbeds of shored sand.
....

 

[vampiredust]

Autopsy Of Innocence

Yellow bile flows as the knife
cuts through the doughy
membrane. Her organs
are laid out like museum
exhibits on the trolley,
waiting for visitors to arrive.
He opens up her shell,
laying out the brain
like an unfolded butterfly.

The apparition dissipates
into the corners
and all that's left is a rose
curled up on the trolley.

 

[Tzara]

Tempered rust turned Midas
on your tongue.
You, a copper pot marinating
a shimmer of sherried liquors,
your lips a dirtied blood. You,
the rouge of rogue
transparence, ethereal, ephemeral,
making sense of it all, telling
the tale, speaking lions.

How can I even begin?

Plagiarism, the sum
of my emotion, imitation
my template. To paint my ankles
with the discards of your frustration,
surplus brushes of parentheses, dangling
participles from my earlobes.

Pinch the fold on the back of my neck
and skewer me from a scaffold. Cry
for the guillotine.
How easily I bend
to disasters of romance, your candied
wine of words saturate
my skin, blush effused, pores
of ought, nailbeds of shored sand. Could I wish
for any other outcome? Off
with my head.

Saying grace
gives our meal a chance to cool.
IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou
is my only story.

Y'know, CC, when someone like you just waltzes in and starts posting stuff like this, it can kind of rile up those of us who strive and seek to find our voice without much yield. You're too good, dearie. Can you maybe tone your brilliance down a notch or two? My eyes hurt.

Oh, hell. Probably not.

Anyway... Fly got to pick out his favorite passage, so let me pick mine:

the rouge of rogue
transparence, ethereal, ephemeral,
making sense of it all

I love wordplay and it don't get much better than "rouge of rogue."

Marry me.

Oh, wait. I'm already married.

OK. Keep posting then. Maybe that'll work as well instead.