Poetry in Progress ~ construction zone

[annaswirls]

Mannequin Envy

their words come in electronic boxes
with poetic pedigree lists of degrees,
publications, the occasional dog/cat/iguana checklist

they write of grandmother's graves
the ocean peaceful breezes,
mother's gardens and jars of tomato sauce,
schizophrenic stream of consciousness wire tapping
margarita mixes down clogged drain willingness,
and if I am lucky, rough sex.

we shake out the aspartame daydreams
kick cliche to the curb
publish one in twenty maybe

sending acceptance letters
what would you expect?
of course it is wonderful

rejections get you shunned at poetry readings,
uninvited to lunch
the occasional gracious
thank you for your time,
I will try again


I am tired
this is not done yet
new issue awaits
pocketful of springtime
in my hand

 

[annaswirls]

Father's computer is obsolete.
Can't Skype with grandchildren in Mexico
or upload photos aging in his camera.

Something stops him from
making the move. It is not
money. Perhaps a hesitation
before building that first step
up a new flight when the sky
is already in sight.

Nana never bought green bananas on
Saturday. Always figured this would be
the weekend good lord would take her up.

 

[annaswirls]

something missing:

it's the risk-thrill
possibility of another boy
in our tribe
to keep the numbers even
of course three is more than enough
for this planet to sustain
and there's money and my age

but this squiggly wire
coated with some kind of
slow-dissolving hormone
that squishes any hope of fetal
implantation takes some of the fun
out of fucking

still there is the touch
and the flush and
the arch up to meet you there
in the place of release,
of sinking back down
the spiral bound spring

still something is missing:
possibility

 

[Xelebes]

Hive
What have I done?
Hundred
What have I done?
Swarm
What have I done?
Hundred
What have I done?
Hive

 

[annaswirls]

interesting poem, reminded me of Ender's Game/Xenocide

Hive
What have I done?
Hundred
What have I done?
Swarm
What have I done?
Hundred
What have I done?
Hive

 

[Xelebes]

interesting poem, reminded me of Ender's Game/Xenocide

It's directly related to my previous poem before this.

 

[annaswirls]

Nimrod's last stand

After arrows aimed to heaven
God sent me to rehabilitate
this Babeling fool.
Up his nose I flew
buzzing in his brain until he begged
begged to the guards
make it stop
make it stop!
Club cracked skull
I made my escape.
The rest,
something like history.

 

[Radiohead]

I love you
I am in love with you
I still am in love with you
I always will be in love with you
I will always want you
I still want you to be my wife
To come home to you my love

Tuck baby into bed
Lay on the couch holding eachother
then to bed and snuggling
sleeping with you

waking with you
full body contact
a kiss on the back of your neck
A squeeze of you to let you know I care

Time has not changed anything
Nor pain
Separation clouding it
It still remains

I love you
I cant live without you

 

[Epmd607]

I love you
I am in love with you
I still am in love with you
I always will be in love with you
I will always want you
I still want you to be my wife
To come home to you my love

Tuck baby into bed
Lay on the couch holding eachother
then to bed and snuggling
sleeping with you

waking with you
full body contact
a kiss on the back of your neck
A squeeze of you to let you know I care

Time has not changed anything
Nor pain
Separation clouding it
It still remains

I love you
I cant live without you

Radiohead, how come your last album was such rubbish? The four before it were like gold nuggets in a pan of gold. True love waits.

 

[Radiohead]

Radiohead, how come your last album was such rubbish? The four before it were like gold nuggets in a pan of gold. True love waits.

Arpeggi tells me otherwise, but we thank you for your concern

 

[annaswirls]

Don't even try to predict the spin
on the trigger-finger status

chin chopper chin chopper
chin chopper chin

or estimate the town tower elevation.
Left wing depository crinkles with cellophane
and roughshod solder.

Never assume the words that are hers
are hers, they might be yours all spinning with
flywheel grease and stillborn cinders.

tell me differently tell me differently

Sometimes the lean-in cleavage
is a mocking bird's midnight call.
Sometimes the wrap-skirt lift
is just spring wind updraft,
like exposed white leaf bellies
of the ghost maple.

storm, coming

Don't try to fight spitfire supermarket
standards or their spills and trip-wire logic
that stumble down the Goya aisle. Maria slices
needles from prickly pear.

Christen me, my cracking bird.
Christen me, my ticktack girl.
Make me play it even,
make me play it green,
quick catch the iron rain, cut corners
from the cross-stitch sampler.

Home is where the dog is.
Signed, X

 

[annaswirls]

the worst sestina ever


we trace the garden wall
its hand laid rock
while yellowing greens of fall
try to hold a pose
mocking bird chords
sink in wind blown waves

the tall grasses that wave
before the crumbled wall
rustle in chorus
their song secrets to leaning rock
we pose
we fall

we fall
in waves
lose our composure
behind the wall
our bodies rock
in subtle song

every chord
will fall
like rock
under wave
we know no wall
can hold it’s pose

You secure my arms in pose
bound in velvet cord
secured to ey******s in the wall
when did I fall
in whitewashed waves
you trace me like a rock

carve me like rock
capture every pose
straighten when I waiver
with the tightened cord
well directed leather fall
gag muted caterwaul

we walk the wall, carry rock
fall into the statue pose
minor chord harmony, sentence, waived

 

[tungtied2u]

O’dark thirty,
he sits, slouched in the rocker,
draws another breath of death,
watches as the smoke rises
confused, convoluted, like the words
he feels rising from within

he gazes out from the porch
through a mist, teardrops clouding his vision
silence, stillness
in his heart
he hopes when the end comes
it will be lke this
calm, peaceful
with a scent simlar to the magnolias
which lie just beyond his reach
infused with white blossoms
the promise of early morning birdsong
welcoming hiim to a new beginning

too many days have dawned like this
bitter sweet like coffee
consumed with the longing for company
comfort, warm and welcoming
with remembrances of soft flesh pressed
into his body, arms embracing
holding promise and purpose
now he is enfolded by emptiness

the joints stiffen, but from age
not arousal, absent so long
now only a vague memory , devoid
of substance,
hollow and without warmth

he has a freind he wishes was more,
but that future seems lost to futility
and frustration, for him, she loves another
he finds himself one again
the center of a paradox,
the right heart in the wrong body
a soft chocolate center covered with carbuncles
where even the promise of taste
cannot overcome the appearance

cruel joke, knowing he holds within
the sweetness sought by so many

he aches to be savored, swirled by a tongue
lost to pleasure, drip slowly down
become absorbed into another
appreciated for his unique offerings
admired for the complex qualities
time has blended and bound together

but his label has been lost
the gray dusting indicates only age
not quality, he has become pigeonholed
and placed in an obscure corner
wondering if the next day
he will be discarded or discovered
uncorked or undone

 

[tungtied2u]

O’dark thirty,
he sits, slouched, rocking
draws another breath of death,
watches as smoke rises
confused, convoluted, like the words
rising from within

he gazes out from the porch
through the teardop mist, veiling his vision
silence,
stillness
in his heart, he hopes

when the end comes
it will be like this
calm
peaceful
with a scent of magnolia blossoms
like those just beyond his reach
and the promise of early morning birdsong
welcoming him to a new beginning

too many days have dawned
bitter sweet like coffee,consumed
with the longing for company, comfort
warm and welcoming remembrances
soft flesh pressed into his body,
arms embracing
holding promise and purpose

now he is enfolded by emptiness
the joints stiffen, but from age
not arousal,
now only a vague memory , devoid
of substance,
hollow and cold

he has a friend he wishes was more,
but that future seems lost to futility
frustration, for him, she loves another
he finds himself once again
the center of a paradox,
the right heart in the wrong body
a soft chocolate center covered with carbuncles
where even the promise of taste
cannot overcome the appearance

cruel joke, knowing he holds within
the sweetness sought by so many

he aches to be savored, swirled by a tongue
lost to pleasure, drip slowly down
become absorbed into another
appreciated for his unique offerings
admired for the complex qualities
time has blended and bound together

but his label has been lost
the gray dusting indicates only age
not quality, he has become pigeonholed
and placed in an obscure corner
wondering if the next day
he will be discarded or discovered
uncorked or undone
__________________

 

[tungtied2u]

O’dark thirty,
he sits, slouched, rocking
draws another breath of death,
watches as smoke rises
confused, convoluted, like the words
rising from within

he gazes out from the porch
through a teardop mist, veiling his vision
silence,
stillness
in his heart, he hopes

when the end comes
it will be like this
calm
peaceful
with a scent of magnolia blossoms
like those just beyond his reach
and the promise of early morning birdsong
welcoming him to a new beginning

too many days have dawned
bitter sweet like coffee,consumed
with a longing for company,
and only remembrances
of welcoming warmth,
soft flesh pressed into his body,
arms enfolding,
holding promise and purpose

now he is embraced by emptiness
the joints stiffen, but from age
not arousal,
now only an elusive spirit, devoid
of substance,
hollow and cold

he has a friend he wishes was more,
but that future seems lost to futility
frustration, for him, she loves another
he finds himself once again
the center of a paradox,
the right heart in the wrong body
a soft chocolate center covered with carbuncles
where even the promise of taste
cannot overcome the appearance

cruel joke, knowing he holds within
the sweetness sought by so many

he aches to be savored, swirled by a tongue
lost to pleasure, drip slowly down
become absorbed into another
appreciated for his unique offerings
admired for the complex qualities
time has blended and bound together

but his label has been lost
the gray dusting indicates only age
not quality, he has become pigeonholed
and placed in an obscure corner
wondering if the next day
he will be discarded or discovered
uncorked or undone

 

[annaswirls]

good lord

Down by river, they check for stragglers.
Revolver in holster, keys clink
a warning to vulgar
visitors who come to get a reading
from some lowdown sundown
hat check girl. You picked my number.

You fit in my cheeks like apricots.
Your stance is earthen, your surges, solar.
Knee low, I am wearing
your secrets, cross-creek park
somewhere east of California.

Next time you will bring sandwiches.
Next time we'll pack corn in ears.
For camouflage dress in gray
or by chance color these woods we walk.

My tongue traces covert felonies
in a waltz-two-three cadence.
Shoulder bite, claws extended into inconceivable
holds as seen in the last animal planet episode.
Lover, come groom my fur, bring purple feathers, twine.

 

[tungtied2u]

I'm such a downer

Sapphire and tonic,
so complete
Sparkling, bitter,
yet deceptively sweet
***************

Dogwood blossoms,
through a barroom window
Too pretty for a place like this,
where dreams lay crushed
like flowers fallen underfoot

 

[annaswirls]

Last Prayer of the Mourning Mistress

Death never answers prayers
(you lied)

He hacks the party line,
cracks in between the upbeats of
electronic hold music.

"Oh god, I hope we don't get caught"

Death lifts a finger.
"I got this one"

 

[tungtied2u]

i can write of xylophone sunlight,
which spills through spring leaf lacework
descends iridescent then settles
shimmering off a catch basins surface

a pool fed by piano fortissimo falls
percussing over well worn rocks
'round weathered driftwood
froth spraying buttressed moss covered cliffs

but it is not enough to sprout words
it is the penetration i seek,
to be split at the seams
restored to feeling
find a peace too long absent

even the birds which perch
choir like on the branches,
fail to pierce this petrified exterior
their notes cacophonous in natures cathedral

this beauty is too much to bear
serves only to accentuate how i long
for someone to share it with
instead i stare back from the grotto below

drowning in the depths
embroiled in turbulence
pray to be cleaved cleansed
and restored to the living

 

[MickNasty]

Would you Die For them



Newborn boy, life’s future blurred
Wrapped in swaddling hospital sterility
Would you stop your heart for him
Does his innocence deserve your breath

Blue steel muzzle waits to shatter flesh
Sweat and tears testify his terror
Would you shed your blood for him
Does his fear deserve your death

Life’s pain trickles away to black
Bright prescription raindrops cascade
Would you sleep and never wake for her
Will you dying mend her broken mind

Who can play God and see all ends
Are you superior enough to consider
Is your life yours to give at will
Which of us can measure your perfection

 

[tungtied2u]

i can write of xylophone sunlight,
which spills through spring leaf lacework
descends iridescent to settle
shimmering off a catch basins surface

a pool fed by piano fortissimo falls
percussing over well worn rocks
'round weathered driftwood
froth spraying buttressed moss covered cliffs

the birds perch choir like in nature's cathedral,
notes pitch perfect, but fail to pierce
this petrified exterior, unable to overcome
the cacophony assaulting my serenity

but it is not enough to spout words.
it is penetration i seek,
to be split at the seams
restored to feeling,
sprout peace too long absent

beauty is too much to bear
serves only to accentuate how i long
for someone to share it with
instead i stare back from the grotto below

drowning in the depths
embroiled in turbulence
pray to be cleaved cleansed
and restored to the living

 

[tungtied2u]

i can write of xylophone sunlight,
which spills through spring leaf lacework
sprinkles iridescent to settle
shimmering off a catch basins surface

a pool fed by piano fortissimo falls
percussing over well worn rocks
'round weathered driftwood
froth spraying buttressed moss covered cliffs

while birds perch choir like in nature's cathedral,
rain notes pitch perfect, but fail to pierce
this petrified exterior, unable to overcome
the inner cacophony assaulting my serenity

but it is not enough to spout words.
it is penetration i seek,
to be split at the seams
restored to feeling,
sprout peace too long absent

beauty is too much to bear
serves only to accentuate how i long
for someone to share it with
instead i stare back from the grotto below

drowning in the depths
embroiled in turbulence
pray to be cleaved cleansed
and restored to the living

 

[MickNasty]

I posted Bitch or Whore to very bad feedback scores.

My question is, is the poem really that bad or does it just piss people off?

If it pisses them off, then cool - that was the intent. But if its actually a poorly written triolet, I could use some explanation of its shortcomings if someone has the time.

Thanks
Mick.

 

[annaswirls]

I don't think it pissed anyone off.

All of my recent poems have bad feedback scores, so I don't know how to tell you to raise yours, especially form. Truth is, many of mine only have one or two votes.

I guess with the triolet picking the right repeating line is key. ie something original and provocative

If you google "Modern Triolet Examples" you might get some ideas

My triolet really really really sucks

I posted Bitch or Whore to very bad feedback scores.

My question is, is the poem really that bad or does it just piss people off?

If it pisses them off, then cool - that was the intent. But if its actually a poorly written triolet, I could use some explanation of its shortcomings if someone has the time.

Thanks
Mick.

 

[bogusagain]

All of my recent poems have bad feedback scores, so I don't know how to tell you to raise yours, especially form. Truth is, many of mine only have one or two votes.

Everything is very quiet at the moment. Each morning I hover on the threads ready to pounce but see the threads are rarely added to.

Maybe it is the good weather and everyone is outside like I will be in ten minutes, jogging around the palace gardens.