Poetry: Another Chance (Contest)

[fearfaoin]

OK, a "serious" submission:

Vacation??
I guess flying's OK; there's time for reflection
As the jet's drone quiets my mind.
Bereft of the ground, I tend toward religion:
I beseech the god Tailwind be kind.

But this flight is so long! My mind starts to wonder...
In my prison at twelve thousand feet.
Are we all exhibits in this small, metal cage?
A zoo full of humans, trapped in their seats?

At least the zookeepers are feeding us now.
Maybe hot tea will help me relax...
Oops! Now all the bathrooms say they're "occupied",
And I need to evacuate some snacks!

Maybe reading will help, I brought Robert Frost
on this terrible oceanic leap...
But my mind will focus on only one line,
chanting: "Miles to go before I sleep"

[izzarina]

Here's a silly one:

Éamon

He's got the chubbiest cheeks
His father's cute chin
And he loves to show off
His big, toothless grin

His food he takes mashed
He thinks that is yummy
And he has fits of giggles
When I tickle his tummy

But what makes him so special
And above all the rest
Is how his eyes tell me
He loves me the best

[jsluder]

so... it's spring again
woodpeckers on metal chimneys
the duck lays eggs
the dog loves spring
the Seattle sun sets


(by Denny, jsluder & Montana; from the 4-words thread)

[Congratulations]

Okay, since I'm much too lazy to unpack my own computer (moving is hard, by the way), I'm going to post the only poem I've written that I have access to (other than the ones of mine in RHP). Luckily, the contest calls for "works in progress," because this fits that description very nicely. No further ado,



Cyprus Ave.

here on Cyprus Ave.
where the houses wear green ivies
like collars and cuffs
there is always the faint cough
of ladies and their heels
on cast iron balconies

there was a tinker, years ago
with a grey bicycle cart
his flannel shirts never matched
his call could be heard all the
way to the church on
the other side of Fern St.

the children would rush to
meet him, to stare at his oddities
he always did have some
rattle-jangler to show them
and he would blow into a
grunkle-caller or squeeze the
handle of a yodel-horn
and always Cyprus Ave.
would fill with the loud
laughter of children

and the pigeons would jump away

and always there, looking from
behind the windows of their cast
iron balconies, the old mothers
and their pink lace bonnets
scowled with mouths crusted
over with old age

[Joseph E. Smith]

MORNING GLORIES

There is a growing nervousness
Deep within my belly, it rumbles and rattles
And binds my thick legs and hands with
Sweet and sticky Morning Glory vines.
My red brick face (that,
Like sun burnt skin, crumbles and flakes),
Peels away all bright memory from an
Age caressed and deeply lined brow, where it softens upon a pillow.

Eyes clearly open,
Breath halted and quivering,
Tensely,
Slowly,
Steadily,
The night comes down.


JESmith.

[Bloomfield]

Cool stuff, everybody! Thanks for playing, these are terrific.

[FJohnSharp]

cue ball drops
you fish the
leather cross-hatched
corner pocket
full of one and nine and thirteen.
you circle the table
sizing up.
I say you have to
keep it behind the line,
but you smirk at so
trivial a restriction.
you find an easy solid—
solids are mine.
you sink it
then a stripe
and so on
because with you it's
never really about
the pool.

[dfernandez77]

We are Taught

We are born into this life as naturally right beings of emotion and intuition.
Then we are taught.

We are taught "good" and "bad."
We are taught limitations and weaknesses.
We are taught to be rational and commercial.

We are taught to be, what we are not.

Guided by emotion and intuition we can be on a natural path of rightness,
though it may not meet other people’s expectations, and will never satisfy everyone’s desire.

— Daniel Fernandez

[dfernandez77]

Arrive

On a powerful river
In a tiny boat

It is impossible
to go against the river

choose well
who shares the tiny boat

learn well
to listen to the river
instead of peering into the fog

choose well
what obstacles to avoid
and which obstacles to welcome

don't fight the river
sometimes move toward the left bank
sometimes toward the right

whenever possible
let go
and take the middle way

make right choices
enjoy the ride
don't leave the river

some day you will arrive
at the eternal

-- Daniel Fernandez

[FJohnSharp]

This is not an entry, but I just wrote it at another place I hang out and since we're, you know, posting poetry...


I draw with my red crayon
hearts, like love-giddy school girls
in study hall, pretending love is forever,
practicing the entwining of initials like
limbs in the dark, groping for
adulthood, when all they need to know about
adulthood is you shouldn't have to sit alone in
Denny's with a red crayon drawing hearts.

[gonzo914]

Born into a double-wide world
a cauldron of ripping violence and ebbing submission
I learned the way of my father and of his father well
until I finally splattered the bitch across the wall
and turned the anger into myself.
That's my tongue throbbing there in the ashtray.

[Dale]

Born into a double-wide world
a cauldron of ripping violence and ebbing submission
I learned the way of my father and of his father well
until I finally splattered the bitch across the wall
and turned the anger into myself.
That's my tongue throbbing there in the ashtray.

[jsluder]

Born into a double-wide world
a cauldron of ripping violence and ebbing submission
I learned the way of my father and of his father well
until I finally splattered the bitch across the wall
and turned the anger into myself.
That's my tongue throbbing there in the ashtray.

Double-

Bloomfield, is there a special prize for Most Disturbing Poem?

[dfernandez77]

Bloomfield, is there a special prize for Most Disturbing Poem?

Poetry should create a visceral response.
The two I posted are pretty lame/tame.
Those I didn't post are marginally profane.
I like what Gonzo wrote.

The absolute best collection of poetry I've read is Harper's Anthology of Twentieth Century Native American Poetry. Just an incredible collection of anger, hope, fear, angst, joy, and pain.

[Dale]

Bloomfield, is there a special prize for Most Disturbing Poem?

Poetry should create a visceral response.

Objective achieved.