who wrote

[WickedEve]

seriously, I remember that Indian with the huge headdress and the compass points all around, stayed on most of the time. And some lady named Nancy Welch,( a sixties version of Martha Stewart )oh, and twilight zone, dark shadows and guiding light. Maybe my mama lied that there was nothing good on TV and just wanted us to read or something.

My daddy's idea of fun was to drive us to the top of the mountain and make us run down, first one home got a dollar. he never paid us though, because he would be so far behind, he didn't know who got there first and if we argued, we would be sent to bed with no supper. I came to appreciate that running though..years later in HS

Your dad sounds like... a special man.
I loved dark shadows. My dad would rush home from work and we'd all watch it together.

 

[wildsweetone]

Feel free to taking my ground-stabbing stars and injured cows. lol
It was someone fretful nonsense I wrote about a breakup. I'm having man problems right now.

Did fool mention a dildo?

thanks Eve. i changed some bits and bobs.

i took note of the comments for the words 'grass' and 'ground' and kept 'grass'. it is a better image, in my opinion, that relates to 'abstract', 'children's art'. i also like the sounds and think that having a 'b' in that line keeps it grounded (no pun intended).

One of Those Days

Yesterday was like an abstract painting
where tree bark was splashed
up one side of the canvas, a silver eel
wriggled in the sky, an eye stared
from behind vertical blinds
that separated us
from the crisp air of Spring
and tomorrow. Colours splattered
in the way children's art splodges -
green patches polka dotted yellow,
bruised stars stabbed the grass, a cow
black and white, bent over the barbed back fence
tap danced in time with the restless cicadas.



~~~
and to keep on topic of the off topic comments... i used to race home to sit with my dad and watch Muhammad Ali dance in the ring. those were the days.

 

[normal jean]

Your dad sounds like... a special man.
I loved dark shadows. My dad would rush home from work and we'd all watch it together.

my daddy was special in his own way, but then, they all are. He passed on 5-28-01. last words he said to me were, " I love you, Honey." I am really glad he told me because I spent most of my life wondering...

oh Eve, we took the tombstones up there last week. I don't feel a poem in it yet, but I sure feel better. Thank you for listening when I needed someone to listen.

 

[WickedEve]

my daddy was special in his own way, but then, they all are. He passed on 5-28-01. last words he said to me were, " I love you, Honey." I am really glad he told me because I spent most of my life wondering...

oh Eve, we took the tombstones up there last week. I don't feel a poem in it yet, but I sure feel better. Thank you for listening when I needed someone to listen.

The story you told me about the tombstones was very... well, it has definitely stuck with me and I think you will write something grand about it some day.

 

[twelveoone]

seriously, I remember that Indian with the huge headdress and the compass points all around, stayed on most of the time. And some lady named Nancy Welch,( a sixties version of Martha Stewart )oh, and twilight zone, dark shadows and guiding light. Maybe my mama lied that there was nothing good on TV and just wanted us to read or something.

My daddy's idea of fun was to drive us to the top of the mountain and make us run down, first one home got a dollar. he never paid us though, because he would be so far behind, he didn't know who got there first and if we argued, we would be sent to bed with no supper. I came to appreciate that running though..years later in HS

ah huff
Normal Jean ah huff
I am your
father?

Darth Number

 

[Senna Jawa]

something very recently that said something about stars stabbing the ground?

Hi, WSO, I don't know the answer to your question. However, it brought to me a coupple of my poems. Here is one of them:



disk maintenance
by Senna Jawa©

rivers flow in the files
of ordinary 8-bit bytes
stars rested their sharp points
against the cavities of my eyes

i shrank the occupied disk space
gone are the bits the stories
of the people who lived carefree
in the file supported mountains

multi-user baby scream
whenever limits are approached
cry and kick and the files
are already gone like a dream

​

wlodzimierz holsztynski ©

1995-10-15/16

​

Regards, WSO,

Senna Jawa

 

[wildsweetone]

Hi, WSO, I don't know the answer to your question. However, it brought to me a coupple of my poems. Here is one of them:



disk maintenance
by Senna Jawa©

rivers flow in the files
of ordinary 8-bit bytes
stars rested their sharp points
against the cavities of my eyes

i shrank the occupied disk space
gone are the bits the stories
of the people who lived carefree
in the file supported mountains

multi-user baby scream
whenever limits are approached
cry and kick and the files
are already gone like a dream

​

wlodzimierz holsztynski ©

1995-10-15/16

​

Regards, WSO,

Senna Jawa

Hi Senna Jawa and thank you!

i see here too that the sharp points of stars is again, a very vivid image. it's a very specific, detailed image that everyone understands. also, it's much less cliche than the 'eye/dagger' type phrases.

you've reminded me i need to do some computer housekeeping. i may have to write poetry first, and then have lunch, and then go to work, and then find something else to do. anything else that doesn't involve removing cobwebs from files on my system.

i bet your computer now is very different to the one you had back in 1995.

 

[Senna Jawa]

background

i bet your computer now is very different to the one you had back in 1995.

Thank you WildSweetTone for the rose and smile.

Before I had written disk ... I was assisting a poetess to select poems for her first publication, a booklet. For the sake of convenience I was rating her poems on the scale from 0 to 10. Near the end of the process she posted a new poem to a private discussion group of about 15 sharp, carefully selected poets. The poem was ok, I guess, but her other poems were better. The time for the decision was approaching so I quickly wrote her an email with a relatively low rate for that poem. She was very sensitive and insecure about her poems (despite her being widely respected as a poetess). She blew her top on that discussion group, on that occasion! Oh, how angry she was! Except, that I had sent my email privately, only to her (all my assisting was done in private, nobody knew about it), and she had reproduced my private email to the whole group, together with her new thoughts about me. The guys were making fun of the grading, etc. So, she had forbidden me to comment on her poems anywhere, and broke our contact. Well, for a couple of months (yes, whole months ). Then somehow she had healed and revived our cooperation again (I am not making any big deal of it - she was a strong poet, poetically mature, so that I was but an environmental accent). Anyway, since she didn't want to have anything to do with me, I indeed have removed her poems from my computer. Not because I was angry or something. It was simply not practical to keep them anymore. Her poems were available on Internet all the same (and I had paper copies too). Be it as it was, I've written the disk ... poem as the result of that somewhat funny and soooooo dramatical incident.

Best regards,

Senna Jawa

 

[wildsweetone]

Thank you WildSweetTone for the rose and smile.

Before I had written disk ... I was assisting a poetess to select poems for her first publication, a booklet. For the sake of convenience I was rating her poems on the scale from 0 to 10. Near the end of the process she posted a new poem to a private discussion group of about 15 sharp, carefully selected poets. The poem was ok, I guess, but her other poems were better. The time for the decision was approaching so I quickly wrote her an email with a relatively low rate for that poem. She was very sensitive and insecure about her poems (despite her being widely respected as a poetess). She blew her top on that discussion group, on that occasion! Oh, how angry she was! Except, that I had sent my email privately, only to her (all my assisting was done in private, nobody knew about it), and she had reproduced my private email to the whole group, together with her new thoughts about me. The guys were making fun of the grading, etc. So, she had forbidden me to comment on her poems anywhere, and broke our contact. Well, for a couple of months (yes, whole months ). Then somehow she had healed and revived our cooperation again (I am not making any big deal of it - she was a strong poet, poetically mature, so that I was but an environmental accent). Anyway, since she didn't want to have anything to do with me, I indeed have removed her poems from my computer. Not because I was angry or something. It was simply not practical to keep them anymore. Her poems were available on Internet all the same (and I had paper copies too). Be it as it was, I've written the disk ... poem as the result of that somewhat funny and soooooo dramatical incident.

Best regards,

Senna Jawa

Hi Senna Jawa,

you've given me a sidetracking moment of food for thought there.

it sounds as if there are two types of poem (generally speaking).

1. those that come with a story
these poems can often stand alone. they seem somehow enhanced once the story is included - as if the story gives tone and character to the poem.​

2. those that don't.
these poems either turn out to be not poetry, or go the opposite extreme and are beautifully poetic.​

now a little step further...

'stars rested their sharp points
against the cavities of my eyes'

is a very separate image that seems to have no tie to the rest of the poem (without prior knowledge of the story). at least, it seems that way to my young eyes.

can you show me the clues in your poem that tie the stars to it? what words should i look at or know that will give me the connection? or, should i simply accept that there is a connection and be content with the mystery of it?



wst

('net dramas - where would we all be without them? )

 

[Senna Jawa]

stars rested their sharp points
against the cavities of my eyes
​

is a very separate image that seems to have no tie to the rest of the poem

The lyrical subject of the poem is identifying (her/him)self emotionally with the outdoors (rivers, mountains, etc.) from the files, making them (poetically) real.

Best regards,

Senna Jawa
​