Poets, in this moment, what are you thinking—

[Wat_Tyler]

I think I’m just being too hard on myself, striving for protection.

I like what was the last verse or stanza or whatever you call it. But I cut the hell out of it. Just wasn’t flowing either. I do like this part, but there’s a bunch of backstory.

Awaiting Orders

We are
A whole generation
Of broken men and women
Filling time
Keeping busy
Filled with guilt and
Sleepless nights

Always ready to move out
Awaiting orders
That never come

Question: are you a part of that We?

 

[butters]

I think I’m just being too hard on myself, striving for protection.

I like what was the last verse or stanza or whatever you call it. But I cut the hell out of it. Just wasn’t flowing either. I do like this part, but there’s a bunch of backstory.

Awaiting Orders

We are
A whole generation
Of broken men and women
Filling time
Keeping busy
Filled with guilt and
Sleepless nights

Always ready to move out
Awaiting orders
That never come

this may not be the whole of what you wanted to say in your poem, but it stands alone pretty damned well.

it's accessible to a lot more people than combat veterans such as yourself, since the way it's written leaves it open to interpretations about life, politics, and even movements such as the proud boys etc....

if i had a suggestion it would be to leave this as it stands but keep working on your original version until you are happy with it.
there's nothing much leaves us disassociated with our own writes as editing it so much it becomes something we don't recognize as our own 'baby'.

 

[butters]

apart from that? fuck this heat.

 

[Angeline]

apart from that? fuck this heat.

I'll second that. I'm cuddled up to the air conditioning like we're in love. Well I am anyway....

 

[butters]

I'll second that. I'm cuddled up to the air conditioning like we're in love. Well I am anyway....

i had 30 12"-tall zinnias in pots i'd grown from seed for his mum's flowerbed... in 3 days they went from 'ma, imma ready for my proper bed' to 'croak', shriveled to brown stumps. *sigh*

i always said i could never work in a old folks' home because of the heat they enjoy so much: his mum has a lovely cooling unit down in her 'den' and i checked it out because the house seemed so hot... she had it set on almost 90 degrees *faint*

 

[Wonderer67]

Question: are you a part of that We?

yes, sir.

 

[Wat_Tyler]

yes, sir.

Thank you.


Then write your gut.


If you want to know how something sounds, PM it to me and I'll tell you what my gut says.

 

[Wonderer67]

this may not be the whole of what you wanted to say in your poem, but it stands alone pretty damned well.

it's accessible to a lot more people than combat veterans such as yourself, since the way it's written leaves it open to interpretations about life, politics, and even movements such as the proud boys etc....

if i had a suggestion it would be to leave this as it stands but keep working on your original version until you are happy with it.
there's nothing much leaves us disassociated with our own writes as editing it so much it becomes something we don't recognize as our own 'baby'.

Thank you.


Then write your gut.


If you want to know how something sounds, PM it to me and I'll tell you what my gut says.

Appreciate both of your feedback. I’m tough on myself. The longer version of the poem was weak. Nothing snapped.

I distilled it down to this version for now.

I always wrote a my gut but as I culled it down it felt weak ass, so I nuked it.

I’ll noodle on it. See if perspiration Inspiration hits (Latters been in short supply lately).

 

[Ambient4190]

I am currently thinking about how leaves feel and how beautiful they look when they are against sunlight. How I really want to touch them as I drive across the country from one state to another. Wondering if they all feel the same or because of different environments they might feel slightly different.

I am also thinking about chameleons and their symbolisms to life. I am thinking about my next poem and if I should write about leaves or chameleons or both. Probably both

You did it! Your poem 'She' incorporates leaves so beautifully! I love it

 

[42Below]

Thank you! I did my best

Can see a lot of thought went into it. Keep pushing. Well done.

 

[Tzara]

I have been thinking about age, or rather, aging.

I mentioned elsewhere that I've been reading (and reading about) John Updike recently, one of the most prominent and celebrated American authors of the late 20th century. One of the books I read was his A Month of Sundays, a novel published in 1975, the year I graduated from university. Now almost 50 years ago.

Even to me that's a long time ago, but when I think about it in relative terms, of what an equivalent novel might have been for me at 22 as Updike's novel would be for someone graduating uni this year, we're talking about something published in 1926(!). So, Hemingway's The Sun Also Rises, for example. More than half of the top ten grossing films were silent movies. Babe Ruth led the American League in home runs.

This probably goes a long way to explain what I'm interested in (and what I'm not interested in, or perhaps ignorant of) and also why I write the way I do.

Anyway, just a comment. Carry on.

 

[42Below]

I have been thinking about age, or rather, aging.

I mentioned elsewhere that I've been reading (and reading about) John Updike recently, one of the most prominent and celebrated American authors of the late 20th century. One of the books I read was his A Month of Sundays, a novel published in 1975, the year I graduated from university. Now almost 50 years ago.

Even to me that's a long time ago, but when I think about it in relative terms, of what an equivalent novel might have been for me at 22 as Updike's novel would be for someone graduating uni this year, we're talking about something published in 1926(!). So, Hemingway's The Sun Also Rises, for example. More than half of the top ten grossing films were silent movies. Babe Ruth led the American League in home runs.

This probably goes a long way to explain what I'm interested in (and what I'm not interested in, or perhaps ignorant of) and also why I write the way I do.

Anyway, just a comment. Carry on.

Love the ‘carry on.’

It’s funny how we can see through the portal of another’s eyes into the past in a present moment and how all of it somehow links us to the future.

As always thanks for sharing many of the things you do; I would have never thought of…

 

[Angeline]

I have been thinking about age, or rather, aging.

I mentioned elsewhere that I've been reading (and reading about) John Updike recently, one of the most prominent and celebrated American authors of the late 20th century. One of the books I read was his A Month of Sundays, a novel published in 1975, the year I graduated from university. Now almost 50 years ago.

Even to me that's a long time ago, but when I think about it in relative terms, of what an equivalent novel might have been for me at 22 as Updike's novel would be for someone graduating uni this year, we're talking about something published in 1926(!). So, Hemingway's The Sun Also Rises, for example. More than half of the top ten grossing films were silent movies. Babe Ruth led the American League in home runs.

This probably goes a long way to explain what I'm interested in (and what I'm not interested in, or perhaps ignorant of) and also why I write the way I do.

Anyway, just a comment. Carry on.

The first literature course I took at the local community college was a survey of the modern American novel and the first book we read was Updike's The Poorhouse Fair. I liked it but was totally blown away by the next novel we read: Nathaniel West's Miss Lonelyhearts. There was so much packed into that little novella and the prose flowed like poetry. More importantly I had a mad crush on my professor. He was witty, funny, articulate and clearly loved literature. What's not to love? I burned and burnished my hopes that I could seduce him. Alas I discovered I was a) the wrong gender and b) he had a long term boyfriend. I was heartbroken.

Years later we worked together and became friendly acquaintances. And I realized he was actually pretty goofy. Life and l'amour are strange.

Yeah. Like you said: carry on.

 

[ericalauren]

Sometimes, a simple thing is better than a more complex thing.

 

[Wat_Tyler]

I spent yesterday reassembling a mechanical device best described as a Chinese puzzle. Some stuff would actually go in upside down and backwards. It's still not quite right, but I have experience that I lacked 24 hours ago. I have so many wee things like that in my life, and I commune with the designers and builders when I visit their work intimately like that.


And by considering things like this, I need to strike on this idea . . . .

 

[butters]

thinking of the priceless look on our cats' faces when i served them scrambled egg for breakfast instead of their regular food (waiting for H to go to the store)... they were like 'wthf is this???? you expect me to eat that??? what did we do to deserve such ill-treatment!???'

bless 'em

 

[Angeline]

One of my kids is taking a poetry course this summer. Tonight is the third time she has said "and you're my secret weapon mom." I know what that means. Homework. For me. Damnit.

 

[Ambient4190]

I have been thinking about age, or rather, aging.

I mentioned elsewhere that I've been reading (and reading about) John Updike recently, one of the most prominent and celebrated American authors of the late 20th century. One of the books I read was his A Month of Sundays, a novel published in 1975, the year I graduated from university. Now almost 50 years ago.

Even to me that's a long time ago, but when I think about it in relative terms, of what an equivalent novel might have been for me at 22 as Updike's novel would be for someone graduating uni this year, we're talking about something published in 1926(!). So, Hemingway's The Sun Also Rises, for example. More than half of the top ten grossing films were silent movies. Babe Ruth led the American League in home runs.

This probably goes a long way to explain what I'm interested in (and what I'm not interested in, or perhaps ignorant of) and also why I write the way I do.

Anyway, just a comment. Carry on.

.....I love reading when men write about aging - the Acceptance of aging. (I believe some men never accept it!)

Was it you last year that wrote a poem about it or maybe MrTenant??...I would have to search for it..there is beauty in aging that is hard to put into words (for me anyway)

 

[ZfrkS62]

Currently feeling like I'm waiting for the right moment to write a poem. Almost like it's within my grasp. I'm just waiting for that key ingredient. But what?

Probably that catchy line that sets the tone.

The lump of clay you want to mold into David, but end up rolling out the same snake again and again.

You have the firewood, and the spark, but no tinder to breed the flame.

 

[ericalauren]

I'm thinking about how yummy this candle smells. It's Pink Peach Blossom from Bath & Body Works, fwiw.

 

[Wat_Tyler]

Sometimes, it is Ready Fire Aim. The component that I lack is the doing. I can make adjustments later. It doesn't have to be Shakespeare. Besides, there has already been one.

 

[Angeline]

Currently feeling like I'm waiting for the right moment to write a poem. Almost like it's within my grasp. I'm just waiting for that key ingredient. But what?

I know this feeling, all too well. Sometimes it helps me to just read poetry, poets I love or go searching on major poetry sites to discover new poets. That can jump start me into a poem. Another thing I'll do is steal a line from a poem I love and use it as a first line for something I'm writing. I don't keep the line of course, but if it inspires me into my own poem I just replace it. Lol I have no shame. I'll try anything I can think up to get a poem going.

In any case you know that poem will come tumbling out eventually.

 

[butters]

this incessant heat's the worst i've known it here
hard to put thoughts together, especially how hot they like the house to be fans are my friends

 

[XMarilynX]

Nothing. Is very hard to do. Sometimes nothing is harder to say than something? Is nothing even possible? Helloooo …… (how do you hear nothing?). I think nothing is the subject of my very next poem.

 

[sanjuinmood]

I am thinking
how she will
free my will
by tying me up
in her thoughts
with ropes made
from her deep love