Poetry in Progress ~ construction zone

[homunculus]

enough

I think you have two poems going, the first, and more interesting one, in edited form, is below. The second has to do with the graphic bit about ben wah (sp?) balls. I think it is clearer just to show, in an edit, than to explain--sometimes. Don't mean to be intrusive.
Don't know why you would end a line on "It's".
As you can see from my edit, I think the poem would benefit from some attention to the line as poetic line.
The bit about allusion seems forced, to me, and self consciously literary. You have a deer and a contracting cunt--why distract from that?

This I learned from you:
always count the miles
before assuming
any path leads
to your door;
remember that head-
lights are not windows.

I just read that
the buck flexes his pelvic floor
every time he wags his tail.
It's why they call male Kegels
the Deer Exercise.
I imagine your ass
twitching under promise
of doe tail flicks.

 

[some_poet]

Thanks very much for the feed back homunculous!

 

[some_poet]

oops!

 

[homunculus]

ok

You're welcome. Why the oops?

 

[some_poet]

oops was a double post
post

 

[annaswirls]

Dead-end Voyeur

\b{Dead-end Voyeur}

Password protected you tell me
mind your own beeswax woman
drop that dustcloth from my shelf
I'll get it myself

There is no 14th block of Maple Street
but the city touched up the red and white stripes anyway
dead end diagonal gate who could forget to stop?

The girls will hand jive you down for twenty
we see their headlights disappear down the ditch by the tracks
we pick up the glass they leave behind

Tambora beats from the apartments how they deny
the polka sound with the one-two-three one-
two-three Bandora pounds with oompah of the accordion even
Pancho Villa steps up the winds on Tejas mainways

Spenser sharpens a stick by the driveway. Baby naps.
You pull me behind the metal shed and we watch
the young lovers parked at the end of our road,
her head disappears, he fakes the inhale
of a smokeless cigarette and I try

to press down thought of rice left on the stove,
grating cheese for quesadillas, try to forget the mess
in the kitchen just long enough
to reintroduce myself to your lips
\i{Bésame, bésame mucho,
Como si fuera esta noche la última vez}

hips pressed close the beat from their car speaker slows
into lazy summer circles how I wish
we could go back there again



Dead-end Voyeur

Password protected you tell me
mind your own beeswax woman
drop that dustcloth from my shelf
I'll get it myself

There is no 14th block of Maple Street
but the city touched up the red and white stripes anyway
dead end diagonal gate who could forget to stop?

The girls will hand jive you down for twenty
we see their headlights disappear down the ditch by the tracks
we pick up the glass they leave behind

Tambora beats from the apartments how they deny
the polka sound with the one-two-three one-
two-three Bandora pounds with oompah of the accordion even
Pancho Villa steps up the winds on Tejas mainways

Spenser sharpens a stick by the driveway. Baby naps.
You pull me behind the metal shed and we watch
the young lovers parked at the end of our road,
her head disappears, he fakes the inhale
of a smokeless cigarette and I try

to press down thought of rice left on the stove,
grating cheese for quesadillas, try to forget the mess
in the kitchen just long enough
to reintroduce myself to your lips
Bésame, bésame mucho,
Como si fuera esta noche la última vez

hips pressed close the beat from their car speaker slows
into lazy summer circles how I wish
we could go back there again

 

[homunculus]

comments

Kind of interesting-- the voyeurism online turning to voyeurism in the back alley turning to kissing, maybe sex. But why the rhyme in one stanza and not in others? And what point are you making with the cultural references? There might be something about the reader peering into lives and communities... I don't know. For a poem about voyeurism this has a funny way of shutting us out. I would show more--a hand under a blouse or groping inside pants, a further glimpse of something from your national background that bears on sex and love...

 

[Angeline]

\b{Dead-end Voyeur}

Password protected you tell me
mind your own beeswax woman
drop that dustcloth from my shelf
I'll get it myself

There is no 14th block of Maple Street
but the city touched up the red and white stripes anyway
dead end diagonal gate who could forget to stop?

The girls will hand jive you down for twenty
we see their headlights disappear down the ditch by the tracks
we pick up the glass they leave behind

Tambora beats from the apartments how they deny
the polka sound with the one-two-three one-
two-three Bandora pounds with oompah of the accordion even
Pancho Villa steps up the winds on Tejas mainways

Spenser sharpens a stick by the driveway. Baby naps.
You pull me behind the metal shed and we watch
the young lovers parked at the end of our road,
her head disappears, he fakes the inhale
of a smokeless cigarette and I try

to press down thought of rice left on the stove,
grating cheese for quesadillas, try to forget the mess
in the kitchen just long enough
to reintroduce myself to your lips
\i{Bésame, bésame mucho,
Como si fuera esta noche la última vez}

hips pressed close the beat from their car speaker slows
into lazy summer circles how I wish
we could go back there again



Dead-end Voyeur

Password protected you tell me
mind your own beeswax woman
drop that dustcloth from my shelf
I'll get it myself

There is no 14th block of Maple Street
but the city touched up the red and white stripes anyway
dead end diagonal gate who could forget to stop?

The girls will hand jive you down for twenty
we see their headlights disappear down the ditch by the tracks
we pick up the glass they leave behind

Tambora beats from the apartments how they deny
the polka sound with the one-two-three one-
two-three Bandora pounds with oompah of the accordion even
Pancho Villa steps up the winds on Tejas mainways

Spenser sharpens a stick by the driveway. Baby naps.
You pull me behind the metal shed and we watch
the young lovers parked at the end of our road,
her head disappears, he fakes the inhale
of a smokeless cigarette and I try

to press down thought of rice left on the stove,
grating cheese for quesadillas, try to forget the mess
in the kitchen just long enough
to reintroduce myself to your lips
Bésame, bésame mucho,
Como si fuera esta noche la última vez

hips pressed close the beat from their car speaker slows
into lazy summer circles how I wish
we could go back there again

It's a really good poem. It's sharp and full of sexual tension and urgency. It's full of sound and music and literary references that come across without distracting. It's really, really good, and the committee of whoevers at the Austin poetry fest are dopes for not giving you a platform to read.

But there's still excess words you can lose: some "withs" "ands" "thes"; stuff that clutters lines without giving you anything in return. Just my opinion, but it's really amazing writing.

 

[champagne1982]

I came looking for this thread and I find anna's poem here, waiting to be heard. I can, too. Hearing the glass break as it hits a rock by the road along the tracks, the empty ring of JD cubes as they resist breakage... And then, music everywhere. I imagine the sound being carried through an afternoon as no one has any real privacy.

One suggestion I have, would be to de-personalize S5. Change Spenser to A boy or child and then when you write about "you" "me" "we" and "our".. try that without pronouns --
A pull behind the metal shed to watch
the young lovers parked at the end of the road,
her head disappears, he fakes the inhale
of a smokeless cigarette and I try
Just a little thought, though it likely comes really late.

 

[champagne1982]

I have noticed a lot of poetry in progress in threads here and there--
in passion, new poems, etc which is no big deal because there really was not a place to put them before besides starting a new thread--

I think it might be good for everyone to try to keep them in one place, so that people who are interested can post and get comments and exposure, or just show poems that they are not interested in submitting but would like to put out there.



So, this thread is for:

1. Poems you wrote that you are passionate about but cannot stand the idea of writing on the fly with no backspacing or editing, copy/pasting... so you know it doesn't Really belong in the all of a sudden passion suddenly (I know this has happened to me!)

2. You are looking for a little feedback and exposure and are not interested or ready to submit.

3. You just feel like keeping this thread from disappearing, so throw a poem in just to humor me. Come on you know you want to do it.....

4. Whatever else. Just put em here if you want to.

I am easy
this thread is easy
prizes will be given (I am working out a deal where the winner gets to choose Eve's av for a day, or an hour, or maybe just for 3 minutes, negotiations will begin once I think to ask her....)

just let us know what you want when you post a poem

sound good?

Seattle

Does any one want or need to post some work here? I'll try to visit often enough to keep my feedback and suggestions timely and meaningful. Let's revive the PiP thread. I won't bite, promise!

 

[Angeline]

This thread is too damn good to be sitting, lost, on the fifth page of this forum. Soooo, this is a poem I thought was a throwaway when I wrote it but now I think it deserves something, but what? What will make it better? (And if you give me feedback, I promise to do the same for your poem if you put it here.)

Mainly Gone

Old Orchard Beach was empty
as our wallets. Cold and rocky
but with a faint scent
of fry-o-later on the winter air,
a promise of Ferris Wheels
and Banana Boats to come
just not for us headed to the heart
of America away from the stony
beach but for that hour we sat
dreaming in a cold car.

I watched the tracks, thinking
of the old Boston to Portland
clacking up the coast
with HoneyFitz that perennial
candidate glad handing strangers
north in the morning then south
in the afternoon I know you
saw your boys in sandy trunks
bringing shells and high pitched
laughter in flicks of cold water
on your sunburnt back, your sad
beautiful eyes lost to another
time and season.

I dreamed my dream
and yours but made her
faceless, hazy in an ill-fitting suit
for I disallow you any happiness
that doesn’t paint me
into the frame of your
imagination. I am petty

even as you smile
and take my hand and I
tremble at this love so all
consuming that I cannot
even imagine your joy
with anyone but me.

 

[SeattleRain]

thanks for reviving this thread Angeline. I do not even remember the last poem I posted here!

I will read yours and comment tomorrow-- 30 Rock date and off to bed....

 

[Angeline]

thanks for reviving this thread Angeline. I do not even remember the last poem I posted here!

I will read yours and comment tomorrow-- 30 Rock date and off to bed....

Thanks! Whenever you get a chance.

(I won't be around until tomorrow anyway--allergies are in an uproar today. Ugh.)

 

[champagne1982]

Marvellous depth of emotion captured here, Ange. I hesitated at s2 and feel a strophe break after L7 emphasizes the ambiguity of the enjambed lines... Try it, you'll see. I bet you meant to, but you didn't so now I have a suggestion! yay!

In the last verse, I like the tensual shift. I believe you could underline your possessiveness by stating "I cannot bear to imagine..."

I hope there was something of value to my ideas. Love the poem and I love the narrative quality of the "voice".

 

[greenmountaineer]

Wonderful poem, although I confess I'm no fan of Old Orchard Beach (long story). The penultimate stanza was powerful.

"Main(e)ly Gone"

Double entendre?

 

[Angeline]

Marvellous depth of emotion captured here, Ange. I hesitated at s2 and feel a strophe break after L7 emphasizes the ambiguity of the enjambed lines... Try it, you'll see. I bet you meant to, but you didn't so now I have a suggestion! yay!

In the last verse, I like the tensual shift. I believe you could underline your possessiveness by stating "I cannot bear to imagine..."

I hope there was something of value to my ideas. Love the poem and I love the narrative quality of the "voice".

Thanks Champ. I'm gonna give it time to get all the suggestions then edit and repost here (but "bear to" is so much better than "even").

Wonderful poem, although I confess I'm no fan of Old Orchard Beach (long story). The penultimate stanza was powerful.

"Main(e)ly Gone"

Double entendre?

But of course.

 

[SeattleRain]

Hey, I like this, Ange, the easy continual flow works well with the mood of the poem.

I am hesitating in my desire to turn it into an Anna poem because you are not she.

Having said that.

First two lines:
Empty wallets, to me might sound better in the beginning of the similie-

Empty as our wallets,
old Orchard beach still holds
a faint scent of fry-o-later
in the winter air.

I love the honesty -- narrator referring to herself as petty, disallowing, ill-fitting suit....

Some redundancy you could cut:
cold (mentioned twice)/winter
rocky/stoney
old used as a modifier twice seems a little too down homesy, once should set the tone

At the risk of sounding pushy, I will stop there. Like the meandering feel to this poem, but I think it could still use a bit of tightening.

Thanks for reviving this thread! I will be back.

Mainly Gone

Old Orchard Beach was empty
as our wallets. Cold and rocky
but with a faint scent
of fry-o-later on the winter air,
a promise of Ferris Wheels
and Banana Boats to come
just not for us headed to the heart
of America away from the stony
beach but for that hour we sat
dreaming in a cold car.

I watched the tracks, thinking
of the old Boston to Portland
clacking up the coast
with HoneyFitz that perennial
candidate glad handing strangers
north in the morning then south
in the afternoon I know you
saw your boys in sandy trunks
bringing shells and high pitched
laughter in flicks of cold water
on your sunburnt back, your sad
beautiful eyes lost to another
time and season.

I dreamed my dream
and yours but made her
faceless, hazy in an ill-fitting suit
for I disallow you any happiness
that doesn’t paint me
into the frame of your
imagination. I am petty

even as you smile
and take my hand and I
tremble at this love so all
consuming that I cannot
even imagine your joy
with anyone but me.

 

[Angeline]

Not pushy at all, Ms. Seattle. Excellent suggestions, just as I knew they'd be. I'm gonna let it percolate for a few days and revise, see how it comes out.

Thanks again you poets. Let's keep this thread going with your poems!

 

[Angeline]

Draft Number 2

Mainly Gone

Old Orchard Beach was gray
and empty as our wallets.
A whiff of fry-o-later lingered
in the March air a promise
of sunny July, corndogs
and Ferris wheels to come,
just not for us headed south
to the spine of America,
away from the ocean
but for that hour we sat
dreaming in a cold car.

I watched the tracks
thinking of the Boston
to Portland clacking
up the coast, of HoneyFitz
that perennial candidate
glad-handing strangers, north
in the morning then south
in the afternoon. I know

you saw your boys
in sandy trunks toting shells
and high pitched laughter
in flicks of cold water
on your sunburnt back,
your sad beautiful eyes lost
to another time and season.

I dreamed my dream
and yours but I made her
faceless and hazy, worn
in an ill-fitting suit for I disallow
you any happiness without
me painted into the frame
of your imagination.

I am petty
even as you smile
and take my hand
for I tremble at this love
so all-consuming I cannot
even suppose your joy
with anyone but me.

 

[eastern sun]

New to this part of the forum. . .but I was hoping for some feedback on this poem. My first attempt to use a regulated form. Is it comprehensible?



Ode to the Bound Goddess

In darkened rooms of lonely unspent grief
the blinded goddess whispers quietly.
She breathes, to vent the fires of relief
and stir the embers only she can see
that turn the past from ash to glowing spark.
Her hands are tied with heartfelt promises
her feet by vows, assurance that she cares,
offered by name to compromise the dark.
Still, silent, she speaks the sound of kisses
the proof that someone somewhere proudly dares

to free the flowing river from its banks
and wash the land with salty, murky tears
with cum and fertile offerings of thanks
to feed the form of all that now appears
as flick’ring flash of light and sound and hope
announcing glory in the hero’s birth
with hands and heart and body strong enough
to rip the veils and cut the binding rope
unleashing goddess fires on this earth
scorching, wanton, trembling flames, wild, rough

And from his chair, he watches goddess stir
And in her sigh, he - restless - wonders why
I don’t walk near enough to speak with her
in darkened rooms where I prefer to cry
He waits, she waits and listens for my walk
I watch him watch and wait for her to show
Me to him, as she to me, he to her
So she stays bound and whisp’ring quiet talk
And I refuse to set her free, and know
Her only in others, my sisters and brothers,

but never in he to me.


P.S. Forgive the avatar, please. it's my husband's doing. . .

 

[Angeline]

New to this part of the forum. . .but I was hoping for some feedback on this poem. My first attempt to use a regulated form. Is it comprehensible?



Ode to the Bound Goddess

In darkened rooms of lonely unspent grief
the blinded goddess whispers quietly.
She breathes, to vent the fires of relief
and stir the embers only she can see
that turn the past from ash to glowing spark.
Her hands are tied with heartfelt promises
her feet by vows, assurance that she cares,
offered by name to compromise the dark.
Still, silent, she speaks the sound of kisses
the proof that someone somewhere proudly dares

to free the flowing river from its banks
and wash the land with salty, murky tears
with cum and fertile offerings of thanks
to feed the form of all that now appears
as flick’ring flash of light and sound and hope
announcing glory in the hero’s birth
with hands and heart and body strong enough
to rip the veils and cut the binding rope
unleashing goddess fires on this earth
scorching, wanton, trembling flames, wild, rough

And from his chair, he watches goddess stir
And in her sigh, he - restless - wonders why
I don’t walk near enough to speak with her
in darkened rooms where I prefer to cry
He waits, she waits and listens for my walk
I watch him watch and wait for her to show
Me to him, as she to me, he to her
So she stays bound and whisp’ring quiet talk
And I refuse to set her free, and know
Her only in others, my sisters and brothers,

but never in he to me.


P.S. Forgive the avatar, please. it's my husband's doing. . .

Hi. I'm not going to comment too much here because I'm not sure what this form is though I see it's divided into ten line stanzas with a repeating words and rhymes. It sort of looks like a sestina but I know it isn't.

I think poems on this theme (D/s) are really hard to write well, to make universal and not full of cliche. And I think you've done that admirably, got past the cliche to raise questions about what this way of loving means. That is very, very good imo. On the other hand the poem feels kind of overwrought to me with too many words and a few archaic constructions (like "flick'ring"). It may be the constrainst of the form that make me think this, but either way I admire you for taking on this very overwritten theme (at least here at Lit) and doing it as well as you have, making it universal instead of individual, imo.

 

[butters]

ok, this came in a very male 1950's english, dry, almost monotone voice


uninvited

dry crumbs in sleep's soft bed of thought
more plentiful than peas in books
or trolls beneath the bridges brooked
and ticked and tocked by errant hooves

they count the clock's infernal beat
dry crumbs in sleep's soft bed of thought
they twist and fidget where they ought
to hush and shush and quit their talk

they dangle dates behind your eyes
where just a sweet brief nap you sought
dry crumbs in sleep's soft bed of thoughts
those uninvited petty crooks

a knock you'll hear where none exists
the uninvited plague repose
a million questions they'll suppose
dry crumbs in sleep's soft bed of thoughts









played with it a bit, but depending on feedback it could stand some improvement

so, where do i go with this? there are a few places it feels 'off' compared to the rest. i don't want to change its voice, but if i can get it 100% (or close enough) to what it really needs to feel right to me then i'll be a happy bunny. if that means changing the rhyme scheme, so be it. the one thing i don't want to change is that one repeated line that drops down line by line each verse.

for example - should the 'your' and 'you' in v3 be better as 'ones' or would that make it too personal a write (to the narrator) whereas the 'your' and 'you' are inclusive of the reader?:


they dangle dates behind ones eyes
where just a sweet brief nap one sought
dry crumbs in sleep's soft bed of thoughts
those uninvited petty crooks

and in v4 'a knock you'll hear where none exists' - should that be 'a knock is heard where none exists'? part of me wants to keep the you side of things, a part's edgy for the one-stuff for a sound-link with 'uninvited'. i'm concerned it would lose more than it gains, though.

'crooks' i feel like changing to 'sorts' or 'types' but then i'll have created a rhyme scheme that doesn't include the other verses.

*shakes head*

 

[butters]

Mainly Gone

Old Orchard Beach was gray
and empty as our wallets.
A whiff of fry-o-later lingered
in the March air a promise
of sunny July, corndogs
and Ferris wheels to come,
just not for us headed south
to the spine of America,
away from the ocean
but for that hour we sat
dreaming in a cold car.

I watched the tracks
thinking of the Boston
to Portland clacking
up the coast, of HoneyFitz
that perennial candidate
glad-handing strangers, north
in the morning then south
in the afternoon. I know

you saw your boys
in sandy trunks toting shells
and high pitched laughter
in flicks of cold water
on your sunburnt back,
your sad beautiful eyes lost
to another time and season.

I dreamed my dream
and yours but I made her
faceless and hazy, worn
in an ill-fitting suit for I disallow
you any happiness without
me painted into the frame
of your imagination.

I am petty
even as you smile
and take my hand
for I tremble at this love
so all-consuming I cannot
even suppose your joy
with anyone but me.

i will come back to this, Angiebaby, when i have anything to report. i liked seattle's suggestion - made it taut, clean, but would also mean changing the rest to present tense instead of allowing those verses to remain the something that happened and the movement into the present realisation. oh, and champer's idea, too.

 

[champagne1982]

Hi. I'm not going to comment too much here because I'm not sure what this form is though I see it's divided into ten line stanzas with a repeating words and rhymes. It sort of looks like a sestina but I know it isn't.

I think poems on this theme (D/s) are really hard to write well, to make universal and not full of cliche. And I think you've done that admirably, got past the cliche to raise questions about what this way of loving means. That is very, very good imo. On the other hand the poem feels kind of overwrought to me with too many words and a few archaic constructions (like "flick'ring"). It may be the constrainst of the form that make me think this, but either way I admire you for taking on this very overwritten theme (at least here at Lit) and doing it as well as you have, making it universal instead of individual, imo.

It's an ode, strophe, antistrophe, and epode.

I agree that eastern_sun has written a good poem that provides insight into the lifestyle rather than handing a raw description of something many of us can't understand.

Eastern (or Sun? Maybe e-sun?) congrats on covering the theme well and on selecting a formula that actually does serve the subject well. As Angeline says, you may want to search a little harder for the perfect word rather than depending on modified archaic constructs to fit your particular metre. I would have to examine the form more closely than I have time to do in order to critique your verse so I'll just offer this comment and my thanks for sharing your poetry.

 

[Angeline]

i will come back to this, Angiebaby, when i have anything to report. i liked seattle's suggestion - made it taut, clean, but would also mean changing the rest to present tense instead of allowing those verses to remain the something that happened and the movement into the present realisation. oh, and champer's idea, too.

Thanks Chip! I decided I don't want to move the "empty" line to the start of the poem because I want the first image to be of a beach. And I did split off that one strophe into two: it's a great suggestion, but I wanted the "you" on the next line for a few reasons, mainly "I know you" together sounds too predictable to me, but maybe that's me.

I'll be back to comment on yours later.