PatCarrington
fingering the buttons
- Joined
- Jul 24, 2004
- Posts
- 1,624
here's one i think the reviewer overlooked. best of the day, in my opinion.
tristesse's Perfection in the Produce Aisle

tristesse's Perfection in the Produce Aisle

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PatCarrington said:here's one i think the reviewer overlooked. best of the day, in my opinion.
tristesse's Perfection in the Produce Aisle
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annaswirls said:Telepathic Cashier
by dorksicle ©
I really love this poet's work. If you have not yet checked it out, please do. Sometimes deceptively simple, sarcastic or cynical, but always in tune with bits of humanity that often go unnoticed or un-noted.
dorksicle


Thank you annaswirls for open season.It's these days that follow nights
packed in tight, time condensed
like honey.
It is these days
chemicals battle for dominance
in blood. The dirty fighters win.
and hours until night time stretch
like a mile of hot tar.
. . .
***Kaleidoscope Trip
Flip, shuffle, click,
the pieces coalesce...
into a spring night under the elms
where you shook my hand
while the Triumph roared around us,
or would have if the engine
hadn't died earlier that day...
into the pink rocks under my feet
encircling the tinted fountain where I strolled,
blindfolded, and giddy enough to scrub
museum caryatids with a toothbrush...
into red, white and blue flags
wapping in the breeze while the
snow moved in my hand
and the kids never got tired of playing
basketball in Safety Town...
into a squeaking paddle boat on a dirty lagoon
of blue jello, sculpted mushrooms,
and crunchy popsicle sticks;
even the pussy willows turned into mice...
into doors always open
where the perfect host or hostess
never let the glasses empty,
whether it be a crowd or a private
party of two...
into a Streetside Cafe
where those pretzels sure made me thirsty,
and football players gave me autographs
that I then gave to you...
into a poolside chair
in the hot southern town where
hoppy smiles and antebellum homes
lulled the lovers' hearts when
they weren't looking...
into a blur of electronic words and digital voices
linked by smoke signals and jet fuel;
the soundtrack no less stirring for its distant sound;
the pool as wet as ever...
Flip, shuffle, click,
through our kaleidoscope trip...

The most daring Bettie
Immaculate in grainy seduction
The warm reception of Bettie
Eyes shining sex through mascara
Bettie quite frankly nude
Happy as a hairy clam
Naked as a fuckbird
Tristesse said:Willow Rain took a trip to Miami that her muse obviously enjoyed to the full. She has no less than twenty-two new poems today.

PatCarrington said:damn, this poet needs to be read. Willow Rain
i don't know why she put up some 20 new poems at once. i suggest you do not let that overwhelm you.
she has things to say, and a way of saying them.
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Rybka said:Gaia_Lorraine is a Lit. member of not quite three months. Her presentation of today is the first that has really caught my eye. If you like word games than you must read Spine of a Penis!
It’s been bugging me all day! I know the term that means “words formed from the same letters”, but I can’t remember it!
Anyway, whatever the word is, this poem deserves a 5 for creativity in the use of language. It doesn’t makes as much sense as it might, or flow smoothly all the time, but when you realize that the important words in a line are of the same letters rearranged, you can forgive some of its weaknesses. This is more a tour-de-force of linguistic skills, starting with the title, than a poem of meaning. Being a sucker for word-play, it is my favorite of the day.
Well played, Not so sweet, Earth Mother (Apologies to Joe McDonald.). Thank you for a fun read that makes you think and read closely!
I wonder how long it takes most readers to realize what you are doing in this poem?
***Sweet Lorraine
You built your house well, shading it
from the eastern sun, shielding it
from the West Wind, making it
impregnable, you
grow lilies and quaint tropical plants in
window boxes to thwart the insects
that dance there and fill your nights
with the warm candle smoke of the South.
I found you beyond your fortress tossed
on a hill in a weak moment and
talked of trade and barter, concrete
waters where you swam safely, then
I penetrated your shell boat, you
filled with water and sank
like a stone. I
hammered the For Sale sign into your garden with
a mallet of jade
--30-- Montreal, June 1968
***In the closet
under a box
next to that old yellow notebook
left over from college days
there
is my hiding place
. . .
***not all berries
by annaswirls
I will close my eyes
and tell you what is mine.
This, your beauty I carry with me down aisles
calling for lost children, selecting
the box with the reddest of strawberries.
All of these are mine.
Not all berries, these berries.
Not all children, these children.
Not all of you, but this part of you only I hold.
Other lips may taste juices,
I see them on display,
but not these, not mine.
~