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Amanda's got a blog. If blogs could talk, it'd ask you to read it. It might even say "please."

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Author Topic: the poems thread  (Read 268283 times)

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Devery

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Re: the poems thread
« Reply #1410 on: April 21, 2013, 10:17:04 AM »



Loose Ends



the movie has built
up to this point
since the beginning.
the guy walks into
a topless club
with a gun.
his girl who loves him
is waiting
at the motel.
he finds the owner
the guy who fucked
him over
and sent him to prison

and pulls the trigger.
people are screaming.
there is blood
everywhere.
the older couple
near the wall
in the theater
get up quickly
and leave.
they don't look back.

turns out the guy
changes his mind
because he remembers
the girl back at
the motel
who loves him
and that with her
his nowhere life
won't be completely
unbearable.

the couple will
drink coffee
the next morning
in the sun room.
the wife will say
there's too much violence
in the world
and why do the movies
have to glorify
it?
the husband will nod
and think
what a fool, that guy,
choosing revenge
and prison
over Christina Ricci.

and I think that
all this
ties up the movie
rather nicely.








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"The world is going to hell in a hand-basket, but it sure is nice up here on the hill."   A. Kujawa

Musings

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Re: the poems thread
« Reply #1411 on: April 21, 2013, 11:34:10 AM »

These are infants of a poem, but perhaps they will become more.

The Haunted and the Haunting

Enough, child, she said,
weariness like a coat
draped over her.

Oh,
the hunted and the hunters,
the haunted and the haunting,
the runners and the running,
the city felt it all, with equal measure.

Enough, she said,
and the haunted and haunting obliged,
leaving scattered cans in their wake.

_________________________________________

Breaking News
Bzzz. Flip. Fuck.  Excuse me --
The busybodies of the 21st century have
replaced their prefrontal cortex
with wiremesh sponges
transmitting whatever
gets stuck in there,
including the bug crawled inside
and died at least three days ago.
___________________________________

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Musings

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Re: the poems thread
« Reply #1412 on: April 21, 2013, 08:06:16 PM »

A Response to Amanda Palmer's Poem

I will not say his name.

I will not say his name--
not because evil
is nameless, or even that
he is evil

I will not say his name:
the man who hid
in a boat,
the color of surrender,
bleeding and alone,
while a city held its breath
and 10,000 men lurked
around every corner

I will not say his name,
because already we forget:
Lingzi. Krystle. Sean. Martin -
Martin, who in the sign between
his hands fortold a lifetime
that would not be spent
in the bottom of a boat,
hiding from his crimes,
a lifetime where
the gap between his teeth
would fill and
he would run to the finish

I will not say his name
but I wonder if once
he held a sign too


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Rob

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Re: the poems thread
« Reply #1413 on: April 23, 2013, 12:03:10 AM »

Does A Poem Have To Rhyme?

I don't think this one will

But,
How can I know?

It isn't even finished.
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Everybody dies
Frustrated and sad
And that is beautiful

Devery

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Re: the poems thread
« Reply #1414 on: April 23, 2013, 10:18:10 AM »


At first it seemed too daunting when Musings presented the National Poetry Month challenge, but then something caught hold and the words were literally flying off the paper.  I didn't even know about National Poetry Month before this, and if I would have seen anything about it somewhere I would have said "oh, that's nice".  So, I thank her profusely for the motivation.

But - now this.  Amanda Palmer, from her narcissistic, delusional "everything is art" bubble, writes an incredibly bad poem - in 9 minutes she crows in today's blog.  I don't care about that, and I don't care that it's a bad poem, I don't begrudge the "empathy" although I didn't see that in her ramblings.  Reciting all the boring details of her life before, during and after the bombing is just "Amanda being Amanda", as always.  But when she ties in the responses, all the poems people wrote, mostly the "haters", I suppose even the "fuck you Amanda" ones, to National Poetry Month and says "wow, it's great - we're all making art!", I seriously want to just get the fuck out and, for now, forget that poetry even exists and, for now, I'm out of here.

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Musings

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Re: the poems thread
« Reply #1415 on: April 23, 2013, 12:04:42 PM »

Devery,

Communities like ours - even if it is the wee three of us -- is the antidote to the type of "art" Amanda is gleefully upholding.
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N.U.

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Re: the poems thread
« Reply #1416 on: April 23, 2013, 12:19:21 PM »

Boston
Bunker Hill
Passionate defense of the self
Revolutionaries fighting for a country
Yet to exist

Boston
Manhunt
Police State
The old Revolution has now been lost

Boston
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Devery

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Re: the poems thread
« Reply #1417 on: April 26, 2013, 04:35:41 PM »

Devery,

Communities like ours - even if it is the wee three of us -- is the antidote to the type of "art" Amanda is gleefully upholding.

Musings, you are right of course.  I ranted, and now it's gone, and so back to business, with April's poem #14:



As always
our landscape lies
crisp and golden
precious as river stones
and well-loved children
jarred to attention by
a one-note narrative
tic-blasting across
the airwaves
saying we have languished
in the wasted brilliance
of a stranger’s
eye
for too long
looking for patterns
that don’t exist
in the shameless white noise
of violence.

Let your spirit
be reborn
in shimmering waters
take refuge among
the sightless
and etch these visions
in blood.

Let it take you outside
the realm of gravity
to an un-trodden world
where the sky is hidden
and let the eye open
in the aftermath
of the soundless horror
of wound-dresssers
the infusion of laborious
kindness
the tucked-away door

feel the bite of another world
and taste the rude salt
of extinction.




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Musings

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Re: the poems thread
« Reply #1418 on: April 27, 2013, 01:36:17 PM »

*exhales*  Good to have you back.

A reprieve for the fighting sides:
a mimicry of peace drawn
in the springtime sky-
our hands are bound by
this harsh whisper:
I give in,
I give in,
I give up.

________________________

Oh, I am tumbling
in stacks of paper,
in pencil marks
and highlighter--
I am hit by every side:
a Magic Marker wounds
my palms,
a staple catches in my leg,
the war of the mundane
swells and diminishes
but never disappears.



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Devery

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Re: the poems thread
« Reply #1419 on: April 28, 2013, 09:45:34 AM »



Score in Freeze-Frame


the great Symphony
begins with a
rest
like a Hummingbird
holding one beat
before the Trumpeter
flower

soon - the Nectar!





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Devery

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Re: the poems thread
« Reply #1420 on: April 30, 2013, 09:45:12 AM »



Worth It


the woman
in the garden
was new
and on her first day
was told about
the fruit

after that
she thought only
about holding it -
tracing the smooth
skin -
tasting the foreign
texture
in her mouth

and there -
it was done


so she took the fruit
to rid the garden
of perfection
offering her heart
in exchange

but what
would be left
of her -
after?


when she finished
and the juice
had dried
on her face
the pain that took
her soul
was false

she knew

and that
to her
felt
exactly like
paradise


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Musings

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Re: the poems thread
« Reply #1421 on: April 30, 2013, 11:46:37 AM »

Quick nerd break

The following is loosely based on real life and the Engineering Design Process:

1) Identify need or problem
2) Research problem
3) Develop solutions
4) Select best solution
5) Create prototype
6) Test prototype
7) Communicate solutions
8) Redesign



The Engineering Design Process: Dishes

She won't put the fucking dishes away.
It baffles me, this Jenga stack of
plates - 2, one with eggs, one with fish
mugs - 3, all with coffee
fork
after
fork
after
fork
an ice cream spoon
the meat clea-
ver.

The first time I put them in the dishwasher,
I sing
help-ful-ly
"Dishes are at home, in the dishwasher!"
"Rinsing and into the dishwasher!"
The melody's not quite
there,
but the lyrics are golden.

She won't put the fucking dishes away.

I sit her down,
"Listen lady"
and she listens,
understands.


She won't put the fucking dishes away.

The dirty dishes disappear,
she looks for a pot or pan
and all of a sudden
I don't care,
and the dishes-
they're no longer there.

She looks and looks everywhere,
lies down to bed,
and crunch!
a fork,
a plate,
a spoon is found,
a bowl under the covers
round.

She puts the dishes away.

Later that year,
a friend remarks
"He won't put the fucking dishes away..."
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Devery

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Re: the poems thread
« Reply #1422 on: April 30, 2013, 05:51:27 PM »

^ Excellent!  I like it very much.   :glasses9:


And goodbye to poetry month.  It was fun.  I'll either go on vacation or pretend it's April all over again.
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Musings

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Re: the poems thread
« Reply #1423 on: April 30, 2013, 10:54:06 PM »

VII.

The car lights from the outside
slide up the windows
like steam rising from the grates.

You bring your day with you
in a backpack--
the worries of work stuffed inside
with worries of us buried underneath.

I love you.

I wish that I could commit
to this white queer jacket
enough to
make us both happy.

But I was never one for
whispered proclamations,
gingerly placed ballet steps:
when I am ready,
the world will ring
with the sound of our truth,
the earth with shake
with my sure footedness.
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IANTE

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Re: the poems thread
« Reply #1424 on: May 01, 2013, 09:37:21 PM »

Black Bat - welcome - and write more.

Thank you. I figured I should post something considering I've kinda been stalking this thread for a while.
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