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5655. Ulgine Barrows - 4/13/2006 6:41:26 AM "love love love thud of the old plunger"
that's a great line, tell ya what 5656. Ulgine Barrows - 4/13/2006 6:41:29 AM "love love love thud of the old plunger"
that's a great line, tell ya what 5657. Ulgine Barrows - 4/13/2006 6:53:52 AM hah! it's so important it got posted thrice! 5658. Ulgine Barrows - 4/13/2006 8:16:47 AM Writing poems in the corner booth
No one can save us
But Kim the waitress
No one can save us
But Kim the waitress
Nobody can save us
But Kim the waitress
Always turns me on
!The Green Pajamas 5659. RIckNelson - 4/13/2006 2:59:50 PM Hopes and aspirations, without
contingent controversy.
The whiles of a clear mind.
Set into pattern, complimentary
attitudes; whilst delaying dissatisfactions.
There is vast expanse there,
tillable, rich soil.
Sagacity plays distant tunes,
and distracts-
A form of sheer raiment billows,
unsettles and floats away;
as compelling a gesture
of flung articulation
that's loosed to trundle,
leaving a close and detectable scent.
This guise to lay companion
and guest at ease.
Where confounded conundrum and
cacophonous comparison,
create confusion?
5660. RIckNelson - 4/13/2006 3:07:07 PM Way to go Kim!
I like your corner booth Ulgine.
I'm also happy to see Seamus and so many around. My meager showing is starting to turn. I'm supposing Spring and the time elapsed since my dear aunt passed are quietly working their balm. 5661. RIckNelson - 4/13/2006 3:10:08 PM Nu,
Somewhere no long past you either mentioned or discussed aliteration. That got me going on the one poem I've actually tried for months and months.
I've now actually looked at it, and taken a bit more time to set it down for the sounds it can make.
You've also touched upon writing in a way I can relate.
5662. Macnas - 4/13/2006 3:53:25 PM Idle hour
Shirtsleeves rolled to elbows
Staring at the yellowed ceiling.
Boots untied, a cigarette,
Thinking, smoking, dreaming.
hot tea in a china mug
bitter black and steaming.
hands on my thighs, chair tilted back,
balancing, rocking, leaning.
Shadows leaking in the window
Noises outside, not what I’m hearing.
Nobody knows, or can suppose
My thoughts or what I’m feeling.
5663. RickNelson - 4/14/2006 1:36:16 PM Macnas,
Such a picture you create!
When I consider that last line, there's a strong inclination to relate an empathic astro plane. From this I consider much of the world and we creatures inhabiting it. 5664. Seamus - 4/24/2006 8:50:26 PM Nice ones here by Nu, Macnas and Rick. Each one affecting and moving in different ways. And hello to ulgine in the corner booth. 5665. Seamus - 4/24/2006 8:52:35 PM View from the other side
Through neon I see
the brook-rounded moon
flecked with marble
and speckled sun
crossing the meridian
of a hard, shadowed iris
The world is right
side down
or am I no
one is so light
or I am no
one is this heavy as
this shadow moon tries
to stand up the sun crosses
O over O
over the highest
hard gaze
I am only
this world
is not
one of us
must fall
off the other
Seamus 5666. NuPlanetOne - 4/24/2006 11:56:40 PM
There were times back there in the early days of your poetry that had me scratching my head. The structure, even then, was original. That is, you deliberately worked at structure and achieved a marvelous symmetry of ideas. I thought it was good, yet now that it is safe to be totally honest, although it was good, I didn’t always get it. I say it is safe now because with ‘View from the other side,’ I don’t have to dance around the edges of my own perplexity. That poem is absolutely brilliant. Do it again! Damn good.
5667. NuPlanetOne - 4/25/2006 12:01:16 AM
the preceding post is intended for Seamus, just in case there were any doubt. Damn good!
5668. Seamus - 4/25/2006 12:57:54 AM I am deeply flattered, Nu. And speechless. 5669. Macnas - 4/25/2006 8:40:46 AM There was never a doubt.
I can never plumb so deep, don't have enough soul. 5670. Seamus - 4/25/2006 4:29:26 PM I can never plumb so deep, don't have enough soul.
Of course,
...
Boots untied, a cigarette,
Thinking, smoking, dreaming.
hot tea in a china mug
bitter black and steaming.
hands on my thighs, chair tilted back,
balancing, rocking, leaning.
Shadows leaking in the window
...
puts the lie to that. Just sayin. 5671. Seamus - 4/25/2006 4:32:21 PM As gracious and flattering as Nu and Mac have been with praise, I am still unsatisfied with View, so I've been a-tinkering. I've scratched a few itches I had about it; I hope it doesn't drop off too much in your esteem, gentlemen:
View from the other side
Through neon I see
the brook-rounded moon
flecked with marble
and speckled sun crossing
the meridian of a shadowed iris where
the world is right
side down
or am I no
one is so light
or I am no
one is as heavy as
the shadow moon tries
to stand up the sun
crosses O over O
the highest
hard gaze
See I am only
this world
is not
one of us
must fall
off the other
Seamus 5672. Macnas - 4/25/2006 4:37:59 PM That reminds me of some things, some Beckett, some Clarke too, as gailge of course. 5673. Macnas - 4/25/2006 4:40:34 PM And you're very kind Seamus, but I don't poem, I rythme mostly, suits me better. 5674. Seamus - 5/2/2006 1:55:13 AM significantly reworked (over 8 years, a veritable pup, by Seamus standards):
At a wheatfield edge
Sky steps into cornflower--
and the sun glides on tapes
of sapped browns and blues, in traces
of day at sky water edges.
Umbered wheat leans before
breezes of green, breezes
of yellow. See how she reads
like a child, absorbed and quiet,
in such a chaos of crows
as this. She pushes hair
from her face again, unaware
of these ribbons of wheat and wind
that I keep writhing around her.
She harvests words as the day
gathers her. Then rejoined
in the open book, all hues
unite on her face in a fusion
of sun, full field and linen-like
pages so white that I,
trapped in a school of black birds
leaping upwind, here in
this shadowed inside, must choose
to look away now, or be blind,
for yet another day.
Seamus
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