The Monthly Poetry Challenge - May 2007

[EriAliSaa]

I was trying to portray a less than passionate look... the way that places that were so well known feel so distant and unreal, even though the connections you have are deeply emotional, if you haven't been there in a while. Do you have a suggestion about how I could make that more obvious?

No, not really. I guess I'm just overly emotional and get all emotional when I do the going home again trip. I guess I thought everyone did....

 

[AChild]

Pillow Talk #39

crystal palace market
square
and the little dreamers
drift the streets as if
the sand was venice
cannel

hive mind, slowly
we timequake
the essential stories
of struggle

need said wickedly it's not
these tales fix ideas
backed up silently by
a religion felt not faithed

no dogs allowed

 

[drown]

street.

motherfucker
did it to me on
the street:

on the motherfucking
street
where
we motherfucking
live.​

 

[drown]

She does not mind to hold my hand
While walking down the busy street.
We wonder where the monsters stand
And if they think we're good to eat..

streets
go different places.

this one
travels sweetly...


perhaps a
line break
after the period?

first two lines
tell of conquering
one fear

the second two;
of facing
one together

more powerful
with a break

 

[GuiltyPleasure]

On Green Dolphin Street

It always gets me
here
- he said thumping his
- chest.
Reminds me of those days
in Nola
with the band all sober
and clean
Eyes clear, lips rock hard
all night
long
-cough cough sniff
Sorry, chokes me up
thinkin'
of the good times
good times.
- sip of J.D.
- swallow
Sold my horn for a shot
of shit.
Man, that was a bad deal.
Near saw my Maker
on that crapper
back of some jazzy joint.
But
that's all behing me
now I'm old enough
to know better.

 

[drown]

It always gets me
here
- he said thumping his
- chest.
Reminds me of those days
in Nola
with the band all sober
and clean
Eyes clear, lips rock hard
all night
long
-cough cough sniff
Sorry, chokes me up
thinkin'
of the good times
good times.
- sip of J.D.
- swallow
Sold my horn for a shot
of shit.
Man, that was a bad deal.
Near saw my maker
on that crapper
back of some jazzy joint.
But
that's all behing me
now I'm old enough
to know better.

and that's
the sound

sister...

streets go places.

and that one goes...


poetry, folks.

​

 

[darkerdreamer]

somewhere in-between the nobodies
the somebodies and the no name street rat,
retail shoppers sneak across the road or around the corner,
everything they can do to avoid contact with the middle
earning impoverished, in case they should try and bum a smoke.
those damn folks ruin the property value, don't they know that?

-----

(it's hard to make all the lines start and end with the same letter, pardon if it doesn't make sense.)

 

[GuiltyPleasure]

The Street Where I Lived

It's a cul-de-sac
in England
although the end is not
a brick wall
but a large wrought iron gate.

Open it to teenage heaven,
a private boy's school,
fee paying, rugby playing,
science fair winners,
brainy jocks. Who
could ask for more?

But I moved away
leaving crushed crushes
in the bike sheds.
No memory of me remains,
the ivy covers childhood crimes
and the swimming pool has gone
making way for new
computer labs.

Girls share Assembly with boys
where voices sing no hymns,
the thrill of illicit exploration gone.
I guess you can't go back
because time has no reverse gear.

 

[drown]

magnetic pull:

she turned
three streets
from where
they once were they;

his street...

she peered though;
those three blocks down.

last craning-glimpse,
car curved away.

a practice
now;

no,
rote...

self imposed enforcement
with a touch
of
guilty pleasure.

was his street.

though it had been theirs...

that done;
she had errands.
​

 

[wildsweetone]

Wanaka (at night)

The town sleeps.
Silence, hemmed in by mountains,
reverberates with the snores of dreams
before dawn,

before the first layer of winter
whites the main street,
captures prints of hitchhikers
wearing woollen hats and ignominious smiles,

tourists who swarm to ski
the slopes
in search of that elusive downward rush.

For now, the air holds the grit
of southwest winds,
the taint of Autumn chimney smoke,
the promise of an awakening tomorrow
that winter will erase.

 

[Odd_Man_Out]

Life's Journey

Take my hand
And come with me
Let us travel together
Down the street of the unknown

The road less traveled
Is best traversed by a pair
Will you be my companion
Exploring the streets
In all walks of life

If indeed all roads lead to Rome
Then to Rome we shall go
We shall begin our journey there
There too shall it end

Upon our journey we shall see the sights
From the worlds great wonders
To sights yet unseen
We'll travel to the rich fields of Athenry
And see heavens light in Elysia

When our journey ends
We'll leave a manifesto behind
Allowing others to see through our combined eyes
All the while leaving room for other views

The journey never ends
Though our companionship might
The memories never fade
Allowing us to reminise about our role
In Life's eternal Journey

 

[drown]

it jolted him
to time when she,
resplendent in
a youth's bloom glow,
would ride with him
on hours end
through streets unnamed
but for them there...

a pothole's break
remembrances;
how so he strained
recapturing
a time, a place
the innocence
that never was
except for now.

a pothole robs
the mystery,
of streets now known
by name and place;
a flood of time
enrapturing;
cruel veil of tricks...
this mem'ry's dance.

he'd seen her then,
not long ago,
her bloom in hand
to cross the street;
a pothole jolt,
what could have been,
what never was...

entrancing.


​

 

[FifthFlower]

Thanks for commenting on mine, drown. After thinking about it I thought converting it to a sequence of couplets was an interesting change and so added the blank line.

Here is a comment on yours.

magnetic pull:

she turned
three streets
from where
they once were they;

his street...

she peered though;
those three blocks down.

last craning-glimpse,
car curved away.

a practice
now;

no,
rote...

self imposed enforcement
with a touch
of
guilty pleasure.

was his street.

though it had been theirs...

that done;
she had errands.
​

I liked the ending of this with her going on her errands after glancing down the street with "guilty pleasure", the guilt coming from someone thinking she might be stalking him who was still living there. I liked the way she was abruptly brought back to reality by her errands.

But then I was confused with whether she or he or neither were still in the house. Originally, it looked as if she had "guilty pleasure" from driving by too often and looking at the street they used to live on, but where only he lives now. However, towards the end you say "was his street". Is he no longer living there? Or does only she live there? If so, what is the "guilty pleasure"?

One way around this is to change "was" to "it's", but that may not be what you intended to say.

 

[drown]

Thanks for commenting on mine, drown. After thinking about it I thought converting it to a sequence of couplets was an interesting change and so added the blank line.

Here is a comment on yours.


I liked the ending of this with her going on her errands after glancing down the street with "guilty pleasure", the guilt coming from someone thinking she might be stalking him who was still living there. I liked the way she was abruptly brought back to reality by her errands.

But then I was confused with whether she or he or neither were still in the house. Originally, it looked as if she had "guilty pleasure" from driving by too often and looking at the street they used to live on, but where only he lives now. However, towards the end you say "was his street". Is he no longer living there? Or does only she live there? If so, what is the "guilty pleasure"?

One way around this is to change "was" to "it's", but that may not be what you intended to say.

thank you, so...

the 'was' - 'it's' conundrum was intended...

and I know what you mean...

the ambiguity lies in the sense
that 'they'
are no longer.

and that they are no longer...

and that for whatever reason,
they will never be,

she innately knows him only...
objectively.

whether he is still there
or not,
her object once was.

the street itself
is a type of sepulchre.

it was his place
(may still be)...

in
lingering remembrance
her sense of
it being
'their' place
or 'their' street
never went as far
in her
of it having been
'her' place or street...

as if she had always
driven
to be with him...

a faulted romance?
hmmmmm?

never one of equality.


also, the line is a matter of stress...

if read:

"was his street..."

then she is re-reminding herself
as if by rote...

towards restraint
and rationality...
even as emotions may be driving her
elsewise.

the guilty pleasure stalk;
now
the vulnerable
vestige
of how much more deeply
she had
been bitten... once...

soon, one would hope,
she'd approach five blocks
then turn...

then
approach
only in a memory's flash...

it's a piece
about healing.


thank you again...

so much to find in this month's challenge.

 

[GuiltyPleasure]

Oh! We're supposed to post our critique in here??? I will comply.

 

[The_Fool]

It always gets me
here
- he said thumping his
- chest.
Reminds me of those days
in Nola
with the band all sober
and clean
Eyes clear, lips rock hard
all night
long
-cough cough sniff
Sorry, chokes me up
thinkin'
of the good times
good times.
- sip of J.D.
- swallow
Sold my horn for a shot
of shit.
Man, that was a bad deal.
Near saw my maker
on that crapper
back of some jazzy joint.
But
that's all behing me
now I'm old enough
to know better.

I liked it. Of course I am bent that way...



Maker is person, needs capitalized. There, I made a suggestion.

 

[UnderYourSpell]

I read these over and over before daring to jump in but wouldn't "She doesn't mind holding my hand" sound better?

 

[UnderYourSpell]

How do they name streets?
Alma Street
Now that's an easy one
Battle wasn't it?
How about Hobs End?
From the depths
I can drag out some idea
It was a name for the devil.
Wouldn't want to live there
Kinda creepy to my mind.

 

[GuiltyPleasure]

it jolted him
to time when she,
resplendent in
a youth's bloom glow,
would ride with him
on hours end
through streets unnamed
but for them there...

a pothole's break
remembrances;
how so he strained
recapturing
a time, a place
the innocence
that never was
except for now.

a pothole robs
the mystery,
of streets now known
by name and place;
a flood of time
enrapturing;
cruel veil of tricks...
this mem'ry's dance.

he'd seen her then,
not long ago,
her bloom in hand
to cross the street;
a pothole jolt,
what could have been,
what never was...

entrancing.

drown's quirky, oblique verse is intriguing. Deliberately obtuse, it often requires several readings and our imagination and even then there could be several ways to interpret it.

This piece is no different. On the face of it remembrance is the theme but then there are the potholes – euphemism for romantic problems? That is the pleasure in drown’s poetry, to me at least, he let’s the reader connect the dots and we’ll all come up with a different picture.

I wouldn’t change anything because this is drown’s unique style. I deliberately quoted it out of his usual format of centered bold to see it “undressed” and it still shines.

 

[drown]

drown's quirky, oblique verse is intriguing. Deliberately obtuse, it often requires several readings and our imagination and even then there could be several ways to interpret it.

This piece is no different. On the face of it remembrance is the theme but then there are the potholes – euphemism for romantic problems? That is the pleasure in drown’s poetry, to me at least, he let’s the reader connect the dots and we’ll all come up with a different picture.

I wouldn’t change anything because this is drown’s unique style. I deliberately quoted it out of his usual format of centered bold to see it “undressed” and it still shines.

thank you tess...

and what to say?

we scribble here
to find a voice,
release a wind
and...

allow...

these things
must breathe,
i think

and though,
offered for others,

what life they might have
instructs the writer
even more
perhaps...

so pleased that
you enjoyed..

very pleased.

 

[TMV]

As it seems that wildsweetone is off.....

Doing other things, I'm going to be presumptious and start the next rules of the challenge. How about, a view of someone across the way from you, doing something in the frame of the window, who has caught your eye and you find this a time in which to right your poem. To describe what has happened in that time with which you were struck still by a sudden epiphany. Describe as well, the chasm which seperates the two of you when both are enraptured, in the eye's of their vision. And what the obstruction is it,that keeps you from each other.

Don't forget to work your feelings in as well.

 

[Lauren Hynde]

Wildsweetone isn't off, dude. The month of May is.

 

[TMV]

Excuse ME!

But seeing as to how nobody would get moving until I put something in..............

 

[WickedEve]

But seeing as to how nobody would get moving until I put something in..............

You lit a fire under us.

 

[wildsweetone]

Doing other things, I'm going to be presumptious and start the next rules of the challenge. How about, a view of someone across the way from you, doing something in the frame of the window, who has caught your eye and you find this a time in which to right your poem. To describe what has happened in that time with which you were struck still by a sudden epiphany. Describe as well, the chasm which seperates the two of you when both are enraptured, in the eye's of their vision. And what the obstruction is it,that keeps you from each other.

Don't forget to work your feelings in as well.

sorry, i wasn't off... well, it was a long weekend here in kiwiland and 'net time was limited.

sounds like an interesting challenge. maybe you could either post it as a new thread or hold onto it in case anyone else doesn't turn up for their monthly challenge round as in this thread.