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Go to first message Go back 20 messages Messages 5822 - 5841 out of 6163 Go forward 20 messages Go to most recent message
5822. Seamus - 9/24/2006 10:18:29 PM

Stunning, Nu. That is absolutely stunning.

Evocative and haunting--the juxtapositioning is so true, so sharp, it actually becomes painful to see it.

Gentlefolk of Mote Poetry, I say you NuPlanetOne.

5823. NuPlanetOne - 9/26/2006 12:35:40 AM

Seamus

Thank you my friend. It is nice to hit the chord you intended to pluck. Makes all this scribbling worthwhile.

5824. Ulgine Barrows - 9/27/2006 6:48:14 AM

O lordy, NuPlanetOne.

I laughed out loud at that one. I got two lumps sitting downstairs playing that x box stuff.

And I'm the lump upstairs.

Well done!

5825. NuPlanetOne - 10/7/2006 10:19:11 PM

Be careful what you fish for

Each choice is a parallel universe
You choose, and the other options
Just run alongside

Everything waiting, watching
In frenzied stasis, until
You decide.

Second guessing, wishing
Are on the new path
You’ve chosen.

The favored outcome
Along side, in tandem
Moving, but frozen.

It could melt
And meld, if your choice
Matched your wishes.

Or could just swim
Forever alongside
Like dead floating fishes.

5826. Ulgine Barrows - 10/10/2006 8:19:36 AM

5825. NuPlanetOne

yeah, I know, I've chosen the dead fishes.

Until my son hits his stride.

I've heard the excuses of hitting your own stride and my husband is helping my son and I can't leave just now. I'm striding low.

Quite possibly a mistake. There are finances figuring into the mix.

5827. wonkers2 - 10/20/2006 1:19:15 AM

EPITAPH

Malcolm Lowry
Late of the Bowery
His prose was flowery
And often glowery
He lived, nightly, and drank, daily,
And died playing the ukulele.

Selected Poems of Malcolm Lowry
1962 City Lights Books

Malcolm Lowry's most notable endeavor was the autobiographical novel "Under the Volcano," perhaps the greatest novel by and about an alcoholic. It was also a great movie starring Albert Finney, John Huston, Jacqueline Bisset.

5828. Ulgine Barrows - 10/21/2006 12:22:14 PM

short on money
but long on time

5829. NuPlanetOne - 10/23/2006 4:51:51 PM

Upon Reflection

The purpose of life
Is the process
Itself
In wombs
In rooms
In plumes
Of smoke

As
Finally achieved
As
One conceived
One dies
One is born
One is two
And two is one
One big sun
Shared
By all

No gaps
No space between
The parts
Of seconds
To fall

Out of

For there is not
Any part, now
Here
Of a measurement
Of time
Where life is absent

The purpose
As planned
Compiled in a strand
Of acid

A tacit rendering
Unconcerned
With personification
Only transmuting
Useful details
As found

When a species
Fails
Is the sound
Heard
In space?

The look fixed
On a face
The only trace
Preserved

Yet
The whole thing
Dies
Unless it flies
In a suit
Kept warm
And safe

Like earth
With its coat
And core
And oceans galore
And thinkers

That tinkers
And toils
Thinking
It spoils
Or controls
The process

Is sure
There must
Be more
And will explore
And try to reach
The beach
Across the ocean

So
In living the life
In the flowing
Moment of now
I can reflect
And worship
The process

And if this
Could be
My God
How odd
Would be
My belief

So there is
A God.










5830. Macnas - 10/24/2006 12:07:59 PM

Flat.

Out back, black whiskers and greasy pelts
And underneath, the slippered footfalls slap
And above, ceiling stains and cooking fat
And inside, stolen coal and sweet Afton.

5831. Ulgine Barrows - 10/25/2006 4:19:12 AM

I wanted to have a child,
a girl,
part of me yearns that way,
oh
dress her in fluff and stuff,


I'm past childbearing age
I flot my eyelashes on that imagined babe

5832. Ulgine Barrows - 10/25/2006 4:48:39 AM

Oh, I never walked that velvet train
do do do do....
Some light fills my roon
It's OK
....
....
If you wave that
velvet train


Oh, it's a miracle and OI can't keep up with bono/u2, fuck you very much,


I know you khow to have fun too

Syanarya......

5833. Ulgine Barrows - 10/25/2006 4:51:11 AM

Shd's living like it's the last dork on earth.....

5834. NuPlanetOne - 10/31/2006 12:27:09 AM

The Strong Silent Type

We drove in silence
Coming up on a light
You asked me what was wrong
The song on the radio
Ended, and I pretended
Not to hear
You asked again
You said now and then
I do that
No, I spat
I do it all the time
I ignore you, I said

She went red with desire
I was thinking
Before the interruption
Because I smiled or
Brushed against her arm
Not like you
I said within
It is magic
And this is tragic
I thought
Then said I was joking

You shot that glance
But what was I thinking
Just now, you asked
I had a look
Like I had a secret
Like I wished
I was alone

You watched the light go green
Then said nothing more between
The next two lights

Do you love her?
The world exploded
There was crackling
Pupils darting
It was starting
To rain

It is true
When you drown
So much
Dances down
And across your mind
And if you can find
The words
If you are the kind
That uses them
You begin quietly

You won’t say anything?
She said
Then dead dusty silence
Except the wipers
Scraped the window
I reached for the radio
She hit my hand
The motion fanned
The cigarette smoke

Her image, egged me on
The freedom it meant

The time I had spent
Trying to be in love
Was hovering like a weight
All about us
Lights whizzed by
Her head trained on me
Soul, strained on me

Out of the blue
I said
Yes
Yes I do.















5835. wonkers2 - 11/9/2006 3:22:46 PM

Rumsfeld's Poetry--The Unknown

Another clip plus original clip of Rumsfeld's theory of the unknown.

5836. NuPlanetOne - 11/13/2006 4:12:51 PM

Bitch

I woke up. In the dream
You stood there, wagging
Your finger
Bragging. You had won
You were dragging
My corpse
In your other hand
Like you used to stand
Accusational. Ragging me
Senseless. Defenseless
Screw you. I’m awake now
It’s not about how
Or where it all went wrong
Or who did what. Nagging
Neutered. Take a bow
Yet here in the dark
Wide awake. Your bark
Just has no bite
You lurch from a dream
Canines sparkle, snagging
A pant cuff
Shook off and stomped
Not quite as tough
Why did it seem
So complicated?

5837. jexster - 11/23/2006 6:13:17 AM

HOMELESS POETRY
SF Project Homeless Connect


The Friends of the San Francisco Public Library have worked closely with Project Homeless Connect, collecting poetry from homeless clients, to be included in their series, Poets Eleven,a citywide poetry series. The program includes poetry readings at one branch library in each of the eleven city districts each month for eleven months.

One recent submission was made by David Halenda who had sought services at Project Homeless Connect 13. "Man you don't know what it means to get even a little praise. Feels like I been working in a very deep hole in the ground these past years..." was David's reaction to being a part of the Poets Eleven series. Following is David's work entitled Smoking Mirror, which is also on display in District 9 at the Mission Branch of the San Francisco Public Library



    Smoking Mirror
    by David Halenda

    all the old ones they gather about
    like trinkets from another age, obsolete
    coated in dust
    like widows of cinders
    ghost wives dancing the dance
    of dead dreamers
    to the rhythms of decay, dripping
    dripping
    while planets in regal processions
    chase their suns through this littered void
    in clockwork perfection

    All the old ones floating in the black
    past the last rotted edges of memory
    like some fetus frozen in a womb of stone
    fossils of children singing
    there is nothing here
    there is nothing here
    there is nothing here
    there is nothing here
    in this little room of chipped and yellowed paint
    walls hung with daguerreotypes of stern women
    and rigid drunken men
    The light bulb flickers, weakens
    The electric plant falters
    cylinders, cracking, groan into rusted comas
    crooked shadows shuddering
    while the pistons they groan
    and the river gently kills
    there is nothing here
    in this little room, built of coal and smoke
    all the old ones
    stored in a chest of cedar
    lost in the attic
    of a wooden house
    long ago burned to shadows ingrained
    in the briared ground
    all the old ones
    like crude gods of cinder block
    and pig iron
    they never erode never rot
    but collect themselves, thickened by stillness
    like crowded prayers
    all the old ones they sit motionless
    mute listening to the moth's silent wailings
    as they crash over and over against the screams
    as to the wake of some forgotten friend

5838. Ulgine Barrows - 12/10/2006 4:52:14 AM

NuPlanetOne
You write such gorgeous poetry, well done!


5834. NuPlanetOne - 10/31/2006 12:27:09 AM
The Strong Silent Type

This is brilliant, it could be a picture of a first date or 50 years of marriage.

5836. NuPlanetOne - 11/13/2006 4:12:51 PM
Bitch
I woke up. In the dream

heh, I woke up from a dream the other day where my family had actually done some housework. I strolled through a clean house in that dream. Then, it ended.

5839. Ulgine Barrows - 12/13/2006 8:22:01 AM

Scotch howls
Bourbon fucks it all
Gin rages

Tequila vomits
Beer gets a gut
Wine gets snobby

Vodka goes for the money
Gin goes for the game
Rum for the bonhmoie

Liqueurs, those spicy nuts, they go for the leg
And they can bite

Champagne is my choice
Alas

5840. nuplanetone - 12/18/2006 6:28:42 PM

As I do every year I thought I might write a winter poem. But try as I might, it seems the season here in the Northeast keeps attempting to resemble Spring. False starts, of course. Global warming? Global warfare! Spooky.

Anyway, I have arrived at a New Year’s resolution and since it includes all of you, I will announce it here. I have collected all of the poems I have put up in here, (and any I could find from Slate) and was amazed to realize that there are more than a hundred of them. So, I vow to create a chapbook entitled: NuPlanetOne/The Mote Poems. Or something along that line. I was equally amazed at how unfinished most of the poems really are and how many of them were illogical and in need of reworking. I want to be done with it by next Christmas. I’m hoping that I have at least fifty poems worth reading at years end. Partly to ease the financial investment and mostly in hopes I consider at least that many of them worthwhile. Discouragement, encouragement, ideas, or who cares, greatly appreciated.

And since it is so Spring like up here these days, this is one I reworked leaving only 104 to go.

Cobblestones to Heaven

There is such a relaxing exhaled feel
As I take in the warmth and odors
Of this fresh Spring morning glistening
Beyond my window. Seductive
In its complacency yet busy
Constructive little bugs and birds are
Finally at work on flowers with the hue
Of the perceivable spectrum. I am listening
Watching. Amazed at how it begins
At how it wins me over. Sucks me
Back into its eternal promise. A blue
And endless sky spread out with white
Puffs as if they were cobblestones
To heaven. That perhaps I might
Hopscotch up like a happy smiling boy
Allowed to start again. No phones
Today. Because I am looking
To where the furthest cloud
Drifts to the ground. I am looking down
Now half way up. I will jump and land softly
In a bed of buttercup and forsythia
And with hands nestled behind my head
I will doze and dream and compose
Something violet besieged with daffodil
And propose that Spring, that life
And all the things that fill us with joy
Perpetuate. Then hop on up to heaven.

5841. alistairconnor - 12/18/2006 7:44:51 PM

What a gratifying project! I would love to see that on paper.

Dumb question : what is a chapbook?

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