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5432. resonance - 3/31/2005 6:52:43 AM >Is this the epitaph for the Resonance of old?
Just putting words to some thoughts. Lately I've been struck by the fact that our logic is self-referential and so are our words and the things we craft with the two. I mean, it's not exactly a new idea, so it's perhaps better to say that it's struck me in a different way lately.
It's a lot easier to write a poem about it than it is to live it, though. Still, bit by bit, we learn. 5433. RickNelson - 4/3/2005 3:44:18 AM It's poetry month again.
I would like to read Shelley and Mary Oliver.
And write like both. 5434. Ulgine Barrows - 4/3/2005 7:26:15 AM 5427. resonance - 3/26/2005 9:35:19 AM
artifice
Thank you sir, may I another? 5435. Ulgine Barrows - 4/3/2005 7:27:32 AM Er, have another. 5436. RickNelson - 4/5/2005 3:29:37 PM As busy as a bee
If you wish, follow the link
You may just find, it wont stink.
Thoughts about:
End rhyme, prose, olde english and modern poetry will be found in Robert Pinsky's article "I, Too, Dislike It" 5437. Macnas - 4/6/2005 8:49:05 AM The Living City.
You went to town to buy a new coat
and when you got back a telephone call
told you your father was dead.
And when you hear, and when you understand,
a cold full feeling spreads through you.
It blocks out everything else.
She nearly falls down.
She’s 7 months gone and weary,
strong and all but now this makes her waver
and you go to her and hold her up
by the elbow and sit her down.
You don’t know what to do yourself
so you go outside and smoke.
In the carpark high above the city you can see
across to Douglas village,
and down to Blackrock castle too.
You imagine that if he were here with you now
He’d be telling you stories of times and people,
put together with the places we could study
from up here in the incurables,
with your dead fathers ghost
still warm from the bed.
Looking out over the living city.
5438. webfeet - 4/6/2005 3:36:04 PM How to Pretend You’re Not Crazy – (the actual state of things)
You wake up and go to use the toilet.
Funny, you say. Why is the door locked?
It turns out, no-one is in there. It has locked by itself.
Your husband, who wakes up looking like someone
boxed him in his sleep, opens the toolbox and takes
out a screw driver. Four minutes later, the door swings wide open
but it no longer has a knob, just a gaping hole that suddenly makes you feel like the apartment is up for rent and you are just a squatter.
But you forget. And when you go to close the door
you close it on your finger which throbs like
the bulge in the pants of the pirate on the pirate ship
who was going to rape you in your dream.
Everyone is suddenly hungry. That’s too bad because
there is no more milk. Your daughter has spilled the
last of it and is licking it off the table like a
kitten in a nursery rhyme. It’s the same kitten, actually,
who ends up locked in the cupboard
until the mice hold the dolls hostage and come to free her.
But, what are you thinking of? You dress your children
clean the kitchen, and take out the patty
before its time for school.
As you press the meat with your fingers, you see a small black hair, not your own,
and realize that the butcher has left his eyelash in the organic ground round.
But it’s just like that story, the day Mrs. O’Brien cracked open an egg and found a dead baby lizard inside. But she was crazy.
And you aren’t going to sue anyone.
From his bedroom, you hear your son cry,
“Dancing palm trees! Dancing palm trees!”
as he plays
and we all are just spinning, Mrs. Obrien, the butcher, the pirate and me under the same sun.
5439. wonkers2 - 4/6/2005 3:45:19 PM Nice! 5440. webfeet - 4/6/2005 3:53:05 PM It's a coping strategy, but thank you. 5441. NuPlanetOne - 4/6/2005 6:04:57 PM /
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....what ever became of resonance bashing. most excellent stuff res, 'artifice' especially, is marvellous. just a nice set of things in here now...fun reading. 5442. NuPlanetOne - 4/7/2005 7:43:47 PM
Hope
It is not so much the promise of spring
As it is the anticipation, the idea, the relief
The brief forgetting, the flowering, the swing
Of emotions toward forgiving, toward
Renewed expectations of betterment; to sing
To dance, to capture a chance, a moment of love
Of leisure, to imagine as if in a seizure or fit
Of joy you could again run and chase the sun
Because the promise is only that, an out held hand
An opportunity, an excuse to finish, to be done
With the silent cold and its withering hold, with
The darkening mold that collects at its corners
In the basement of a season, and with good reason
You smile, and welcome the touch, the lifting
The coming out, that what it is all..all about
Is hope.
5443. webfeet - 4/8/2005 4:02:59 AM Yes dear nuplanet, but April is still the cruellest month. 5444. NuPlanetOne - 4/9/2005 5:44:20 AM
..webfeet. I don’t know, I’ve always liked april. March, more so for me always seemed more aggravating. But having read ‘the actual state of things’, if that all happened in april…I can see your point. I won’t even start to examine in a Freudian way the implications of the interrupted dream. But aside from identifying with the poem..there was good humor in its unfolding. Actually…it’s the kind of humor that is so good long after the fact. Course…there’s the gritty underlay as well 5445. Ulgine Barrows - 5/5/2005 8:10:58 AM Do you wanna get heavy? 5446. Ulgine Barrows - 5/5/2005 8:22:44 AM slaps forehead, advances to $million dollars
you guys, take it. I can't deal. Use id #99999. 5447. Ulgine Barrows - 5/5/2005 8:25:26 AM Please.
Report back here.
I am so jazzed not ewwww, tell me why! 5448. Ulgine Barrows - 5/5/2005 8:31:39 AM Also.
I did not do Cellar.
4948. Cellar Door - 3/21/2003 6:54:16 AM
Harold Pinter
I love you all for keeping my bro sane, good vibes on out 5449. Ulgine Barrows - 5/5/2005 8:32:49 AM Mistake, no fixie from me.
Sorry. 5450. Ulgine Barrows - 5/5/2005 8:39:59 AM Apparently I am confused----
U get wht U gv 5451. Ulgine Barrows - 5/6/2005 7:02:55 AM That was strange, but you can all carry on, especially Harold.
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