Bite me

[Matryoshka]

Under the spreading banyan tree
Shakuntala said to Shitala
life is for the birds you see

damn now what rhymes with Shitala
nbd, now mr. here is the scary part, between l2 and l3, if you didn't get it in l1, shows I know what you are doing, do you know likewise? Doubt it. Do you think my saying too much of the SOS (same old shit) gets boring, is said solely to you?
Fuck no.
Now I'm going to use that other four letter word
WORK
god, i love that dirty talk
WORK
i guess i'm just expressin myself
WORK

This shows how extreme the difference can be between a reader's interpretation of the poem and what the author meant. Having never heard either names before I thought they and the tree, the birds all referenced....well nevermind exactly what I thought, but it was soooo not the direction you explained.
This gives me pause to reread my work in progress, not as I know it but to see what someone else might see.

 

[Matryoshka]

EDIT: I moved this poem under it's own thread after a wise suggestion from a friend.

Good poetry bores me.

Exceptional poetry entertains me.

Bad poetry excites me.

So tell me, are you bored, entertained or exited with this? (I think it's the first time I hope to entertain rather than excite...)
Side note, I've been thinking about rewriting this and not being so obvious, perhaps leaving more to imagery?


Just Plain Hazel

I am told that my eyes are just plain hazel.
I know there is nothing plain about them,
But it's not easy to admit.
Some days my eyes are blue, a reflection of my
sadness at the loss of you.
Other days my they are green, with the ripe
jealousy that someone else might hold your heart.
Most days, though, my eyes are the
kaleidoscope that makes up hazel,
from the browns of bittersweet moments,
to the emeralds of lush fields of memories,
But every day...every day I close my eyes,
and their shade does not matter.
Because my memories of you are drenched with
the swirl of colors you brought to my world.

 

[twelveoone]

Tear sheet 2b

le chat noir's shadow plays, a ghost
on furrowed brow, no how

no howl, I play with words
like your correspodence of truth

and vague hilarity ensues
who, who am I speaking to?

no noblesse on either part
you are or you are not, but still

the rotting slop of the shire, sir-
best served beneath the toes.

 

[twelveoone]

So tell me, are you bored, entertained or exited with this? (I think it's the first time I hope to entertain rather than excite...)
Side note, I've been thinking about rewriting this and not being so obvious, perhaps leaving more to imagery?


Just Plain Hazel

I am told that my eyes are just plain hazel.
I know there is nothing plain about them,
But it's not easy to admit.
Some days my eyes are blue, a reflection of my
sadness at the loss of you.
Other days my they are green, with the ripe
jealousy that someone else might hold your heart.
Most days, though, my eyes are the
kaleidoscope that makes up hazel,
from the browns of bittersweet moments,
to the emeralds of lush fields of memories,
But every day...every day I close my eyes,
and their shade does not matter.
Because my memories of you are drenched with
the swirl of colors you brought to my world.

Matryoshka, the real poets don't come to the bite me thread.

but let's give it a shot, cut as much as possible

I am told that my eyes are hazel.
Plain, but that's not true

my eyes are the
kaleidoscope that makes up hazel < let's shift the order around, I don't like kaleidoscope sounds so 60's trippy

for hazel is a mix of colors
actually hazel is due to Rayleigh scattering of light in the stroma but it's tough to work in into a poem

I am told that my eyes are hazel.
Plain, but that's not true
for hazel is a mix of colors
brown

green

we'll put blue last

blue with the thought of losing you.

But when I close my eyes,
their shade does not matter.
The colors are memories of you

Ok this pares it down, to a simple love song, try an association of brown with... that's a tough one the only thing I can come up with is chocolate and beer bottles, well we'll forget the obvious you don't want.

Green go with a field description in spring.
Envy is a cliche, so is the blue of losing you but we'll leave it for now.

or
I am told that my eyes are hazel.
Plain, but that's not true
for hazel is a mix of colors
brown scene (good luck)

green scene (fields , grass, spring)

blue scene (sky, water,)

But when I close my eyes,
their shade does not matter.
The colors are memories of you

Keep it as simple as possible, and I think this is a little better structure, opener closer. Feel free to PM me.

 

[Matryoshka]

Matryoshka, the real poets don't come to the bite me thread.

I wish the poetry area came with a beginner's manual.

Thanks, I'll rework it and will definitely be taking you up on the offer.

 

[HarryHill]

Beginners Manuel Chapter 1

 

[twelveoone]

I wish the poetry area came with a beginner's manual.

Thanks, I'll rework it and will definitely be taking you up on the offer.

My dear
There are tons of books, literally (no pun intended), now in your poem
come up with some blue things, some green things, actually thought of a brown thing, coffee, that might work. Do you know, I've never seen a guy drink hazelnut coffee, just women.
and we'll tie it together, then post it in another thread and get some other feedback. There are some good and generous people here.

But a work of advice, avoid too many feelings, trick is to get the reader to feel it with things.
And never say more than you have too (which is why I chopped it down, you can change and add to, later)
But, yeh, its work and you have to start somewhere.

 

[butters]

matryoshka

it's good to see someone writing, questioning, and thinking.
drop into the bar sometime- the 'tender mixes a mean dirtini

 

[twelveoone]

And missing

And the night which
never overcame us
you under an awning
in Baltimore
and I not far
under a streetlight
almost kissing a car

Did I know you
when we lived in the same town
I doubt it
a stranger in any land

I lived across from a prison once
with railroad tracks in the back
and looking out the window
would try to decide who I am
and never found out

Ah the rain
the lights reflect
off the wet streets
like a hi gloss version of hell
the rain that soaks my matches
soaks my cigarettes
with the hell of not having a light

Did you see me
when we lived in the same town
I'm not that hard to miss
Fuck just ask that car

And I stalked you
your poetry
in a thousand poetry dives
and rereading
I saved everything you ever sent

And now the night
overcomes me
some train whistle blows
out of the freight yard
I go out to glance
at dead stars
and count
the ones that fall

and decide I can never write what you deserve

 

[twelveoone]

7,930 containers

7,930 containers returned today
they did all they could
some stand with black bands
on their mouths
for those not as smears on concreate
at least they are not in the kill

I wonder about Frank whom I've touch with
did he find his friend
He must have he was outside
hit by a jumper
I remember the one who went back

I remember the signs
the insane blood drive
the signs spread across the state
and resignation setting in

7,930 containers returned today
they did all they could
almost half have nothing to hold
no stones

 

[HarryHill]

And the night which
never overcame us
you under an awning
in Baltimore
and I not far
under a streetlight
almost kissing a car

Did I know you
when we lived in the same town
I doubt it
a stranger in any land

I lived across from a prison once
with railroad tracks in the back
and looking out the window
would try to decide who I am
and never found out

Ah the rain
the lights reflect
off the wet streets
like a hi gloss version of hell
the rain that soaks my matches
soaks my cigarettes
with the hell of not having a light

Did you see me
when we lived in the same town
I'm not that hard to miss
Fuck just ask that car

And I stalked you
your poetry
in a thousand poetry dives
and rereading
I saved everything you ever sent

And now the night
overcomes me
some train whistle blows
out of the freight yard
I go out to glance
at dead stars
and count
the ones that fall

and decide I can never write what you deserve

7,930 containers returned today
they did all they could
some stand with black bands
on their mouths
for those not as smears on concreate
at least they are not in the kill

I wonder about Frank whom I've touch with
did he find his friend
He must have he was outside
hit by a jumper
I remember the one who went back

I remember the signs
the insane blood drive
the signs spread across the state
and resignation setting in

7,930 containers returned today
they did all they could
almost half have nothing to hold
no stones

Outstanding Mr. G.

 

[todski28]

Seconded Harry

 

[twelveoone]

7,930

as containers we passed
our loved ones
black cloths wound
their mouths

what were they thinking
these home of the brave bureaucrats
to return us to work
Our last hour

the next day
as blue and as cloudless
as they came

 

[butters]

these
bite
so deep
draw blood from the bloodless
surely

 

[butters]

no stones

 

[butters]

shouldn't read these with classical music on in the background... damn

 

[twelveoone]

Outstanding Mr. G.

Harry, some perspective: and missing has nothing to do with the other. Neither I feel is good poetry, both live writes in a depressed state of mind.
I was going to wipe them both. Being depressed, all I could think was "missed."
Regarding 9/11, I lost no family or friends,a few friends lost family and friends. However, friends of friends lost quite a few. A few lucky misses. A week of horror or relief, as everybody was trying to find out. I also remember the fear in the Sikh community, some of my friends are Sikhs.
I think the last poem is good, I was devastated to see the sky this morning as it was.
My heart goes out to the silent protesters of yesterday. Something like 40% of the victims were not found or identified, their families do not have the closure of a grave.

 

[HarryHill]

Harry, some perspective: and missing has nothing to do with the other. Neither I feel is good poetry, both live writes in a depressed state of mind.
I was going to wipe them both. Being depressed, all I could think was "missed."
Regarding 9/11, I lost no family or friends,a few friends lost family and friends. However, friends of friends lost quite a few. A few lucky misses. A week of horror or relief, as everybody was trying to find out. I also remember the fear in the Sikh community, some of my friends are Sikhs.
I think the last poem is good, I was devastated to see the sky this morning as it was.
My heart goes out to the silent protesters of yesterday. Something like 40% of the victims were not found or identified, their families do not have the closure of a grave....
..
Ah the rain
the lights reflect
off the wet streets
like a hi gloss version of hell

nice image, I may steal that last line, yes both are so sad, butters is crying, as for a tombstone the whole plaza is for me

 

[Tsotha]

Harry, some perspective: and missing has nothing to do with the other. Neither I feel is good poetry, both live writes in a depressed state of mind.
I was going to wipe them both. Being depressed, all I could think was "missed."
Regarding 9/11, I lost no family or friends,a few friends lost family and friends. However, friends of friends lost quite a few. A few lucky misses. A week of horror or relief, as everybody was trying to find out. I also remember the fear in the Sikh community, some of my friends are Sikhs.
I think the last poem is good, I was devastated to see the sky this morning as it was.
My heart goes out to the silent protesters of yesterday. Something like 40% of the victims were not found or identified, their families do not have the closure of a grave.

Friends and not friends
all over the world
wave that big stick
over someone else's head
my price, I get not in blood
weep
all these invisible lines
connecting nothing
...makes sense to somebody

 

[HarryHill]

Friends and not friends
all over the world
wave that big stick
over someone else's head
my price, I get not in blood
weep
all these invisible lines
connecting nothing
...makes sense to somebody

yes they do, an example of an illustrated poem conceived earlier from a jest.

 

[Tsotha]

My dear
There are tons of books, literally (no pun intended), now in your poem
come up with some blue things, some green things, actually thought of a brown thing, coffee, that might work. Do you know, I've never seen a guy drink hazelnut coffee, just women.
and we'll tie it together, then post it in another thread and get some other feedback. There are some good and generous people here.

But a work of advice, avoid too many feelings, trick is to get the reader to feel it with things.
And never say more than you have too (which is why I chopped it down, you can change and add to, later)
But, yeh, its work and you have to start somewhere.

The colors in her eyes are caused by someone. What the hell has it got to do with fields, and coffee?

 

[Tsotha]

yes they do, an example of an illustrated poem conceived earlier from a jest.

I do not know that which you are talking about.

but


everything happens for a reason
so when a plane crashes into a building,
should I weep because it happened?
or should I weep for what led to that moment?
there is nothing human about humanity

 

[twelveoone]

hazel is due to Rayleigh scattering of light in the stroma

I do not know that which you are talking about.

but


everything happens for a reason
so when a plane crashes into a building,
should I weep because it happened?
or should I weep for what led to that moment?
there is nothing human about humanity

What is that reason?
Look tso, I wrote something that affected me. Outside the NYC area, I don't think it would be understood.

Now regarding "Hazel"
"The colors in her eyes are caused by someone. What the hell has it got to do with fields, and coffee?"
The colour in her eyes hazel is due to Rayleigh scattering of light in the stroma, not by someone. What in the hell, we are dealing with extrapolation of associations.

 

[Matryoshka]

hazel is due to Rayleigh scattering of light in the stroma
What is that reason?
Look tso, I wrote something that affected me. Outside the NYC area, I don't think it would be understood.

Now regarding "Hazel"
"The colors in her eyes are caused by someone. What the hell has it got to do with fields, and coffee?"
The colour in her eyes hazel is due to Rayleigh scattering of light in the stroma, not by someone. What in the hell, we are dealing with extrapolation of associations.

So here is the question, if my eyes aren't really hazel but it was a picture I was creating, would it make a difference? Looking out at the world through eyes that are now "hazel" as a result of green from jealousy, browns from bittersweet memories, blue from pain and sadness - cliche, yes but felt all the same. The world, they just see the every day, plain Jane, not all 'colors' crashing together inside, affecting her "vision".
Does that put a twist on things or no?
Please keep sharing your ideas, opinions...no matter the outcome they are ALWAYS valued.

 

[Tsotha]

What is that reason?
Look tso, I wrote something that affected me. Outside the NYC area, I don't think it would be understood.

I have an opinion, but I do not know the reason. What I do know is that people don't wake up one day and think: "today, I'm going to throw a plane into a building". They need a "good" reason to do that.