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5032. judithathome - 7/5/2003 11:56:02 PM Ah, I see Mr. Collins is US Poet Laureate and Mr. Baraka is New Jersey's. 5033. RickNelson - 7/6/2003 12:14:00 AM Yes both have the status, Collins I aspire to with style, and Amiri is having trouble expressing himself.
Amiri's political slant has gotten negative reaction from the powers of N.J.
Joy-zzeee don't want no Baraka slamming politics.
Ha, what did they think would happen?
Nuts! 5034. judithathome - 7/6/2003 12:20:36 AM Well, I thought the position was to promote poetry, not one's political beliefs. 5035. wonkers2 - 7/6/2003 2:32:20 AM Sometimes it's impossible to separate the two. Probably so in Baraka's case. 5036. RickNelson - 7/6/2003 10:54:29 PM With his first amendment rights in question, I am looking for an answer to where he was specifically prohibited from speaking? If this happened then his rights are violated. If it did not, then as he mentions in the link I provided, there me be some straw he can grab to find N.J. at fault. It's not good enough though.
He got fired, they have that right. He lost a mass venue that hurts his ability to diseminate his poetry and message. That alone isn't a violation of his rights. The consideration of his job is the reason. He was gainfully employed and his employer fired him via something they meant to reproach him. That seems a violation, but it's not unless they stopped him from and organized speech for which he missed via the firing. I need to know this, I must know this or I cannot support Amiri!
I have to know! 5037. RickNelson - 7/8/2003 10:09:51 AM
Nostalgia fans might remember Robert Pinsky in the Fray
I've still not learned the truth about Amiri Baraka. 5038. RickNelson - 7/8/2003 10:12:24 AM This link does not contain the break of the other link, so visit the old Fray and Robert Pinsky 5039. NuPlanetOne - 7/10/2003 3:44:03 AM
/
Confessions of an Athiest: Or, how the
angels saved an overheated puppy panting
on the beach.
I want to talk about a warm summer’s day
About the way the late morning sun has begun
To heat the surface of things and how it brings
Out the bees and the butterflies and how it fries
The asphalt and sand that scorches the soles like
Coals or torches but warms the tidal pool as if
Only to cool the feet of swarms of smiling children
And how at noon it is so soon very hot and there
Is not a wisp of wind but instead just a lisp, a faint
Murmur as if some invisible being walked slowly
By and gently disturbed the air or this angel out of
Fear tried to fan a panting puppy by flapping its
Wings and how the blue so pure against the white
Of fluffy soft clouds can make the wishes of night
Feel possible and give a fleeting glimpse, a moment’s
Sight to something larger and perhaps a contrite
Pang that it is a life worth living that bathed in the
Light and warmth a need for giving can swell up
And bad thoughts that could smell up the air become
Cont…
5040. NuPlanetOne - 7/10/2003 3:44:25 AM Clear and less odious and easily ignored as a steady
Breeze now begins to awaken as if now all the angels
Had forsaken their heavenly nap and began to flap
Their wings in unison because such a day can trap
A belief in angels and allow it to linger and push doubt
And despair to a distance so that to compare the two
You must choose the miracle and as I foreswear such
A choice to the heavens I let a sand crab crawl across
My foot and sigh as I try to hold the moment and deny
That I ever, at least I never, refused to listen or lie
About our magical existence as on this day as I lay
Awash in the sway of a brilliant sun’s persistence
I did not pray, yet, gone, was my unfailing resistance!
And to say I believe in nothing, is to miss my deeper belief
It is like saying angels can’t save puppies or that good
Must end in grief.
5041. RickNelson - 7/11/2003 11:21:08 AM Nu, what an interesting ending. The title led me to read the story. Thoughts of an activity can make such endearing poetry.
I wrote another today,
Dead-end Fancy:
I like to close my eyes, alone.
Your face appears as an aura
full, fresh, clear; though
memory. It’s this thought,
leading me down to the T
in the road. Where I know
the direction to take. I have
no choice, that was made many
years ago. It’s when any
thought of you awakens
that old pain, that wistful
mire of dead-end fancy.
“Have you forgotten me?”
“I’ve not forgotten you.”
I think it’s silly; love
heaps this hope upon my soul.
I’ll need the reapers help
to get over you..
5042. RickNelson - 7/11/2003 8:26:16 PM Tortured Mind
When the door slams shut
there is nothing left,
don't let the door hit
you on the way out.
Cold, useless being.
Cry, to the end
you don't know your place,
the last one, the
never to be, not
picked, dizzy
mind of pain;
tortured.
I'm hurting, without knowing if it's even me that was commented about. You know I get hurt, so many of you dear, dear people have been so kind. Now, if someone in Fray has posted about me, I'm useless. The person knows I respect and admire their posts and it being someone I was very mindful of and respectful of, my hurt is deep. It's as if I've killed someone and am being punished.
I'm really truly hurt and don't even know if it's about me.
Fuck!
5043. arkymalarky - 7/12/2003 2:54:51 AM You're a sensitive soul, Rick. I wish you were here to stand in my corner, because those are the best allies to have. Sensitive souls are vulnerable and often feel insensitive remarks very personally, but they truly stand on principle and never stab you in the back and never desert you, even when you think they have because you've stepped into an area their principles won't let them follow; but they are much more rare than people think--and also oddly enough, I've figured out in the last couple of months, they're much more common.
I don't understand exactly what's happened, because I'm not familiar with the Fray and people there any more, but is it a situation where you could just briefly and nonconfrontationally ask? 5044. Time - 7/13/2003 11:38:23 AM Someone came up to me
and said are you jimi
No, I'm just close to dead
I said.
Rick I don't know the Fray either, but I think you're tops. I couldn't get in here at the mote and I checked over on the preferct world at the mote thread, and someone thought I wrote like you, and I was honored, thrilled.
5045. RickNelson - 7/14/2003 6:58:00 AM Thanks you two.
I was very tired and in a very big hurry that morning. I just wanted to pop in and read a bit before I headed to Iowa for the weekend. Then I read two posts and over reacted via my weakened state. Thin skinned I posted before asking a question about it. Now, back from Iowa, I've been reassured.
Time, I'm the one who is honored. My humble idea of writing feels Ok. Therefore, when it gets a bit of mention I'm happy to hear of it.
Best to you both.
Arky,
I'm always in your corner.
Rick 5046. ScreamingSin - 7/26/2003 4:25:00 PM My rib cage
can't stand another lie
I buy a negligee
And the sex is better
Moments,
I believe moments go by
I don't need to buy something else, do I
Because the heart I have
Is stronger than the dollar
All I really want
Is your whiskers on my thigh 5047. seadate - 7/27/2003 2:01:37 AM Dropped in for a read .. thanks all. Made my morning.
Rick, I don't often post in this thread due to my, essentially absent, talents/skills in the realm of poetry (haha - and prose, as demonstrated by this post).
I enjoy lurking here and basking in my deficiency.
5048. RickNelson - 7/30/2050 10:02:44 PM That's a grinner seadate. Defined by the enormous grin it has created.
Thanks for your comments, and I suggest browsing some of the older material and see that many poems have need of work. I'm one who has amassed to many of them. 5049. wabbit - 8/2/2003 12:45:28 PM test schmest 5050. Seamus - 8/5/2003 5:23:58 AM Note to all, please:
Though I can be fairly accused of being a hit-and-run poster here, I always come back because I need to see your names and hear your voices.
I would never want to lose any of you or the world you created here.
arky--thank you for standing for our gentle Rick.
Nu--"Confessions" was very powerful for me. Thank you. 5051. Seamus - 8/5/2003 5:33:44 AM Been there, Dear reader
We've done fog and fire and ice before.
Many times we've poured out the rain, squeezed
the clouds, shaken the sun, and held a rainbow,
dripping. The wind has been whispered, the moon has been sung,
and stars have fired, up and out. We've put men
in heaven and God through hell. The human heart,
the middle ear, rosebuds and war we've learned
to dissect. We dove into the wreck of the Empress of Ireland.
There's no profit in dreams of high places, or low--they
and the seas have already been charted. Our inner eye
can now see shadows, day and night, and cats.
So it's pointless to name the moon again. But if I
can name something that isn't the moon and place it up high
on your chest, just under your throat, and this non-moonish thing
has a mass that waxes, so the press of it keeps you from saying
its name, but you must--if I can name something that isn't
the moon and ball it up near where your mouth makes its shape
as you try to murmur, to utter its name, though
the cold scald of it will cauterise your lips, like mine--
well, there's something we've not done together before.
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If the formatting behaved itself, all stanzas would be four lines.
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