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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 5675. NuPlanetOne - 5/4/2006 3:38:43 AM
Seamus….I’m not sure I recall an earlier example of that one. But, I get a quick vision of a lass enraptured, actually many versions of her. It transports immediately to pastoral, you have a talent at capturing that type of essence. I was in it all the way. Lovely poem.
…and I don’t think ‘View from the other side’ was hurt at all by the change. You tightened it up is all. Exceptional in both cases.
5676. webfeet - 5/5/2006 5:33:59 AM well, all the real talent is over here. 5677. RickNelson - 5/6/2006 1:55:21 PM I'll second NuPlanetOne. Seamus, the writh of wind playing the unrequited fingers speak loud and longingly. There is the sensuality of sun rays, uniting the melody of sky, earth and water to be the winds empathic sililoquy.
It moves me. 5678. Seamus - 5/9/2006 8:27:05 PM Also significantly reworked:
(fwiw MASP, an acronym pronounced "MAS-pee", is an art museum in São Paulo. It is significant if the reader wishes it to be and only then.)
Love in front of the MASP, São Paulo
Just after some white Peugeot plinks
the motorbike, the policeman realises it.
Before the two stick figures have flown
their ritual arcs from bike
to pavement, it hits him—
how she held him this morning.
The man,
in front,
sails over the handles—headfirst
into the storm grate.
The woman,
behind him,
settles like a hard sigh
to the street.
The policeman's partner observes
Branco inoperante
The European is dead From the shade of the museum,
the two policemen have been watching
the motorbike weave inside
the congealing of cars
that is Avenida Paulista.
Sim
Yes
he agrees.
They watch as the woman writhes,
splayed in the blood wash along the curb.
Contrato de seguro?
Insured, you think? Provavelmente não, porque
Probably no, because
"Call off, today".
She kneels on the bed,
holding him there from behind
where he sits on the edge
and ties his shoes.
a única necessidade de amantes de coisa é um a outro
the only thing lovers need is each other
"Stay with me".
He begins to pull away.
"What do we use then for money?"
And before she can kiss his neck again,
he stands and walks out.
É tolo que precisa de seguro
It is a fool who needs insurance
he adds to himself.
Seamus5679. Ulgine Barrows - 5/13/2006 5:17:22 AM no shit
errr,no doubt
5676. webfeet - 5/5/2006 5:33:59 AM
well, all the real talent is over here. 5680. Ulgine Barrows - 5/13/2006 5:33:12 AM meh, that didn't translate well.
luv ya, luv yer words, hey there
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