Sleeping on the Wing Challenge: Wallace Stevens (1879-1955)

[tungtied2u]

My poems are poison
not elixirs of life
nor laughter and cheer, not even
a moment of clarity, crystalline
pretty despite sharp edges

They do not hop, skip and jump
They do not lullaby or sanctify
There is no rhyme, less reason
In sanity we see purpose in nuts
and bolts and thig-a-ma-jigs
which work when put together
this is not that, it is the other thing
undone

 

[unpredictablebijou]

Mandala

It might have looked
like simple beige flesh in the light
of three vague candles
in a small house
in the city,
but actually
we floated above
a pond lined with lotuses.
Your four arms
held blades and lightning,
my many mouths
held fierce grimaces
and we trampled death
under our feet.

I wore a crown of skulls.
Our palms were painted red
and serpents slung themselves
around your arms.
We rode to the village
joined, gleeful, astride a tiger
to inform them that we no longer
wished to rule.

Your five heads
rose above me, and the tiered gold
of our jeweled crowns was blinding.
All your arms embraced me and you drank
from my conch shell, from my skull cup.

We gorged ourselves on bliss
until we remembered the door
and made our way to emptiness
the streams of blood from our headless
divine bodies joined
and poured out over the earth
as we thrashed
and roared
and tore ourselves to bits
and we made death laugh in that
one small room, the world
the world the world the
real world.

 

[UnderYourSpell]

Oh Norma Jean I just came online and what a smashing way to start the day! May I be indulgent and explain 'tarradiddle'? I went to a thesaurus to see what words I could find and as the website came up there it was on the first page 'What is tarradiddle?', it was there just waiting for me like when you go shopping and they have one dress left and it's exactly your size and colour, it was exactly the right word and I had to have it!

 

[KR]

A child's tears

Why are a child's tears so beautiful
seeming to chime with every drip
off cheek and chin
the tinkling of their tremble
gilding spiky lashes
with crystalline rainbows?
Perhaps it is the child's skin
smooth and poreless
the peerless clarity of which
provides the slate
that tears are writ upon,
each drop a note.
I am in awe of this child's tears
I cannot tell her do not cry
do not miss your mother's arms
do not tear me with your music.
And so I watch her weep
gathering up her salty sorrows
committing them to the well,
the deep and beautiful well,
of children's tears.

 

[UnderYourSpell]

Liar I keep going back to your shoelaces I have no idea how to critique I just know it is a joy to read and reread and I wish to hell I had written it! I keep thinking of mundane things I could try it on but doubt that I could write enough verses and certainly couldnt make anything so mundane as shoelaces so exciting to read

 

[normal jean]

Oh Norma Jean I just came online and what a smashing way to start the day! May I be indulgent and explain 'tarradiddle'? I went to a thesaurus to see what words I could find and as the website came up there it was on the first page 'What is tarradiddle?', it was there just waiting for me like when you go shopping and they have one dress left and it's exactly your size and colour, it was exactly the right word and I had to have it!

what does it mean? it is a great word!

Once, I was reading a poem from a poet here, I don't remember who it was but it was titled the Lie of the Land. I questioned the word lie as opposed to lay ( which is how we would say it here) and she told me she checked after my comment and in the UK, lie would be the correct word. It is fun to discover the differences in our language, so similar yet so different at times.

What I have read of yours so far has been utterly delightful. Glad you came here, you possess a refreshing voice

 

[Angeline]

Ten Pine Trees and More

I
They crowd close, surround
the barn. Sometimes branches
embrace the air. Sometimes
they loom, point at me.

II
They are in my purview. I watch
with one distracted eye.

III
The sky backdrop passes. Winter
gray. Cornflower blue Spring, smoke
drifts autumn over green.


IV
I am not a tree, but tree-spirit
was home for squirrels, Peter Pan
and me.

V
What do you think
their wind whispers say?
Do trees have stories? Souls?

VI
Shaggy snow mammoths,
feathered with menace or bent
stoic, aged with burden.

VII
I crushed a fragrant needle
and pricked my finger. One drop
swelled red, and I slept 100 years
on a bed of pine cones.

VIII
The red mother
and two kits ringed a pine
one snowy dawn. Later
my fingers melted
into their tracks.

IX
Life before kindling:
stalwart until the fall. Perhaps
a king was immolated
for my warmth. Who sees
nobility in ashes?

X
I fell in love
with you when first
I saw you watch the sky
and listen
to the trees.

XI
Once upon a pine
that sheltered me,
I lived in a book
beneath a tree.

 

[UnderYourSpell]

what does it mean? it is a great word!

Once, I was reading a poem from a poet here, I don't remember who it was but it was titled the Lie of the Land. I questioned the word lie as opposed to lay ( which is how we would say it here) and she told me she checked after my comment and in the UK, lie would be the correct word. It is fun to discover the differences in our language, so similar yet so different at times.

What I have read of yours so far has been utterly delightful. Glad you came here, you possess a refreshing voice

I have copy pasted the definition for you

tar·ra·did·dle [ tàrrə dídd'l ] (plural tar·ra·did·dles) or tar·a·did·dle [ tàrrə dídd'l ] (plural tar·a·did·dles)


noun

Definition:

1. idle talk: nonsense or idle talk


2. lie: a small lie


[Late 18th century. Probably suggesting unintelligible speech]

 

[unpredictablebijou]

I have copy pasted the definition for you

tar·ra·did·dle [ tàrrə dídd'l ] (plural tar·ra·did·dles) or tar·a·did·dle [ tàrrə dídd'l ] (plural tar·a·did·dles)


noun

Definition:

1. idle talk: nonsense or idle talk


2. lie: a small lie


[Late 18th century. Probably suggesting unintelligible speech]

I might be hallucinating, but I seem to remember that this word is also used to describe something in drumming. Maybe a specific rhythm or technique. It would work nicely within that context as well - like babbling, or quick manic speech.

but then I'm on acid.

bj

 

[normal jean]

six faces of time

I.
One face ever present,
accompanies us all
through the wax and wane
of our mortal lives.

II.
Once, I was a clock. Numbers
arranged on my uneven face.
I am six o’clock, standing
awaiting seven’s stride.

III.
Nine-fifteen once ushered in
Red-face and squalling, a sister
And morning and night became
blood ties, siblings forever.

IV.
Midnight and noon are solemn
hands clasped in prayer.

V.
One day in September, time stood still
as good people fell to earth
their only escape
from towers of fire.

VI.
Seasons have no hands
but the hands of God.
I till the earth and wait
for blossoms; their fruit
and joy are jewels
that only time may bear.

 

[tungtied2u]

I might be hallucinating, but I seem to remember that this word is also used to describe something in drumming. Maybe a specific rhythm or technique. It would work nicely within that context as well - like babbling, or quick manic speech.

but then I'm on acid.

bj

I believe this is the term you be referring to-

par·a·did·dle Pronunciation[par-uh-did-l]
–noun
an exercise or sequence performed typically on the snare drum, marked by four basic beats with alternation of the right hand and left hand on successive strong beats, and begun and ended slowly with a dramatic increase in tempo in the middle.

(not always performed on the snare... )

 

[champagne1982]

I.
One face ever present,
accompanies us all
through the wax and wane
of our mortal lives.

II.
Once, I was a clock. Numbers
arranged on my uneven face.
I am six o’clock, standing
awaiting seven’s stride.

III.
Nine-fifteen once ushered in
Red-face and squalling, a sister
And morning and night became
blood ties, siblings forever.

IV.
Midnight and noon are solemn
hands clasped in prayer.

V.
One day in September, time stood still
as good people fell to earth
their only escape
from towers of fire.

VI.
Seasons have no hands
but the hands of God.
I till the earth and wait
for blossoms; their fruit
and joy are jewels
that only time may bear.

You have such a spiritual voice and I hear it when I read this poem. You pull my emotions to the surface and then smooth them away, like time sands the sharp edges of agony with its passage.

For instance, V. harkens me back to that helpless horror and thankfully you follow with your gorgeous hymn of Strophe VI. You play me like a maestro and I don't mind.

 

[normal jean]

You have such a spiritual voice and I hear it when I read this poem. You pull my emotions to the surface and then smooth them away, like time sands the sharp edges of agony with its passage.

For instance, V. harkens me back to that helpless horror and thankfully you follow with your gorgeous hymn of Strophe VI. You play me like a maestro and I don't mind.

Dear sweet Champ

I appreciate your kinds words so very much. I really tried on this one, I am grateful it didn't come out vague or disrespectful. Thank you for the time you took to respond. This marvelous challenge that Ange came up with has caused me to realize how I have neglected my passion for writing, just because I was afraid of failure, and that is such an awful waste....

 

[UnderYourSpell]

I understand the afraid of failure bit I get it too and afraid of not being good enough. My poems seem like lumps of clay beside such beautiful combinations of words such as yours

 

[unpredictablebijou]

I believe this is the term you be referring to-

par·a·did·dle Pronunciation[par-uh-did-l]
–noun
an exercise or sequence performed typically on the snare drum, marked by four basic beats with alternation of the right hand and left hand on successive strong beats, and begun and ended slowly with a dramatic increase in tempo in the middle.

(not always performed on the snare... )

You are right. That's what I was trying to think of. Thank you, darlin'!

Dear sweet Champ

I appreciate your kinds words so very much. I really tried on this one, I am grateful it didn't come out vague or disrespectful. Thank you for the time you took to respond. This marvelous challenge that Ange came up with has caused me to realize how I have neglected my passion for writing, just because I was afraid of failure, and that is such an awful waste....

I understand the afraid of failure bit I get it too and afraid of not being good enough. My poems seem like lumps of clay beside such beautiful combinations of words such as yours

I think you're both successes. I struggle with failure too, but perhaps every time I fall down I learn a bit more about not falling down. who knows...

I really struggled, for example, with maybe doing the second exercise, the blackbird challenge, and everything I've done for it so far has suuuuuuuuuuucked.

eh bien, we wait.

bj

 

[UnderYourSpell]

I have got an idea and even the last line which it all hinges on but I just cant seem to put the rest together at all ..... I know it could be so good if only I could bloody doooooooo it

 

[champagne1982]

The way I approached exercise 2 was to list different ways of looking at an object: physical, spiritual, emotional, in nature, in science, in art, birth, death, from the top ...

You see, I'm sure. Then I picked the thing and dedicated up to 5 lines to describe the object from the points of view on my list. I think that would work for most things, unless you're incredibly gifted like Liar and create a verse so rivetting straight up the eyehooks along his shoelaces.

So, try writing and don't forget to share. Everything is valid and worth showing off.

 

[unpredictablebijou]

The way I approached exercise 2 was to list different ways of looking at an object: physical, spiritual, emotional, in nature, in science, in art, birth, death, from the top ...

You see, I'm sure. Then I picked the thing and dedicated up to 5 lines to describe the object from the points of view on my list. I think that would work for most things, unless you're incredibly gifted like Liar and create a verse so rivetting straight up the eyehooks along his shoelaces.

So, try writing and don't forget to share. Everything is valid and worth showing off.

Indeed, dammit. That was truly fine. As was yours.

I'm banging on a coyote piece. But I may run out of time.
o well. at least I'm putting words on paper.

bj

 

[normal jean]

re:the espresso snobs in Jamison's poem

Who are these snobs and what are they drinking? Inquiring minds want to know! I'm betting it's booze.

in regards to Jamison's poem,what I get from the first 2 lines is that the snobs are drinking espresso. Plain ol espresso wiythh nothing imaginative added to it.

They have no imagination, no desire to experiment with all the different flavors and ingredients that are used in the "fancy" coffees those inside are consuming.

I don't drink coffee, but neo's poem makes me wish for a chance to sample them all.

loved it, by the way



jean

 

[normal jean]

You are right. That's what I was trying to think of. Thank you, darlin'!





I think you're both successes. I struggle with failure too, but perhaps every time I fall down I learn a bit more about not falling down. who knows...

I really struggled, for example, with maybe doing the second exercise, the blackbird challenge, and everything I've done for it so far has suuuuuuuuuuucked.

eh bien, we wait.

bj

dear BJ-



well, thank you darlin'!

I really didnt mean my work, as a whole is failure. I have a few pretty decent list of credits, both online and in print. But last year, something inside me changed. I wanted to blame it on trolls, but it isn't their fault of course, lol. Recently I moved, as we fell victim to the home loan crisis and lost our land we had been living on for 12 years.

I had such a beautiful garden, a rock garden, with a koi pond. The raccoons ate my fish, then frogs took over. I initially tried to write about them, but it just hurt too much. And then, I dont know if it is fate or coincidence, but hubby asked me about a an old clock and something just clicked.

Thank you darling, for your support, and I seriously doubt that you can't write something for this challenge. You're pretty darned good and I expect that you, as well as a dozen of us who already have been accepted ( in the publishing world) , will soon be gracing pages of ezines and print journals. It does take a lot of time and patience, but you DO have it in you.

I'm just feeling pressure to live up to what I had published before, but I have changed in 2 years and this, my views on the world have changed. I know I became bitter and hateful, not a welcome addition to this lovely place, and I truly hope that you will forgive me for any snide remarks or unpleasantness directed toward you. You just are so full of life,so talented in so many ways, whats not to love!!!


thanks again for reading my "stuff" as I call it


blessings for a most beautiful day to you all. I will be outside getting my little garden ready. I have another poem for this challenge in mind, but it will take some hoeing and digging to scratch the surface and dig it out.


love you all,

NJ

 

[Angeline]

Just a reminder that I'm going to unstick this thread and start the next poet's challenge on Sunday, March 16. You're more than welcome to play in this thread as long as you want, but the new challenge will be up Sunday.

 

[unpredictablebijou]

dear BJ-



well, thank you darlin'!

I really didnt mean my work, as a whole is failure. I have a few pretty decent list of credits, both online and in print. But last year, something inside me changed. I wanted to blame it on trolls, but it isn't their fault of course, lol. Recently I moved, as we fell victim to the home loan crisis and lost our land we had been living on for 12 years.

I had such a beautiful garden, a rock garden, with a koi pond. The raccoons ate my fish, then frogs took over. I initially tried to write about them, but it just hurt too much. And then, I dont know if it is fate or coincidence, but hubby asked me about a an old clock and something just clicked.

Thank you darling, for your support, and I seriously doubt that you can't write something for this challenge. You're pretty darned good and I expect that you, as well as a dozen of us who already have been accepted ( in the publishing world) , will soon be gracing pages of ezines and print journals. It does take a lot of time and patience, but you DO have it in you.

I'm just feeling pressure to live up to what I had published before, but I have changed in 2 years and this, my views on the world have changed. I know I became bitter and hateful, not a welcome addition to this lovely place, and I truly hope that you will forgive me for any snide remarks or unpleasantness directed toward you. You just are so full of life,so talented in so many ways, whats not to love!!!


thanks again for reading my "stuff" as I call it


blessings for a most beautiful day to you all. I will be outside getting my little garden ready. I have another poem for this challenge in mind, but it will take some hoeing and digging to scratch the surface and dig it out.


love you all,

NJ

O lol no I didn't assume you were thinking of yourself as a basic failure, only worried about the success of that piece. But I do understand the struggle with a shift in the way we write, with long dry spells, or with phases where everything seems the same and without inspiration. Boy do I get that.

As to history, I'm just happy that this board is being such a peaceful and productive place right now. I really only have two priorities, and from the beginning they've been that: to get the occasional actual review when I submit a poem, and to talk to other poets. No one is more surprised than I am at the way I've come to a fierce dedication to this board and the happiness of the people here.

Your words are kind and encouraging, and yes, we must both just keep plugging away at our little gardens, and hoping for the best.

Meanwhile, I just wanna serve drinks and watch all these smart people talk to each other. And hump LeBroz' leg every once in a while.

Just so I can pretend to be on topic, I really am still working on a second piece for this week, but I'm not making any promises. Nice that these things will stay in the queue, since I'm much better off when I can take my time with something.

anyway, smooch.
xoxo
bj

 

[twelveoone]

http://www.literotica.com/stories/showstory.php?id=320981

mercifully I cut it short

Stiffed am I? I put to you Wally wasn't really looking at Blackbirds.

 

[Tzara]

Disillusionment at Ten O'Clock

It's been a bad,
bad week. I could tell you
how my career is not

just ashes, but
way damp and cold. (So go away,
Smokey, this here

campfire is dead and
you do not need to worry,
bud, about disaster.)

I am now the gastrocnemius
of an innocent
pithed frog,

dancing jerkily
in electrode bliss to
some undergraduates'

whim.
Hey. They poke, I
twitch. That's how

it works. What I most regret
is the slit
they cut in that fine gray flannel

sheath over my
left leg. Those there were chalkstripes
to die for, baby,

to die for. And if I'm shocked
like this too many more times,
hell. Hell. I just might.

 

[champagne1982]

Oh my TeeZed. Did you spend some time up in the locked ward? Shock treatments = Tazer... twitch.

I love the chalk drawings on tarmac and gray flannel suit stuff. Bravo dearling.