Poetry: Another Chance (Contest)

[FJohnSharp]

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.

Who did this guy's pre-admission background check?

[Son of Eric]

39.
After the strangest of weekends. Captured in heartfelt honest. Truth absolute in the meaning of the words. Passed by the breathe provocating life to stand aside. Let it all go, backwards mirror sludge snowing and childhood’s play. Soar legs an a good reason to smile. Laughing at a long lost tickle touch and everything else washed away.
Daily routine melted away and silken stream with sweet gentle kiss, so long forgotten. Human purpose with a reason to interact, dedication in the drive. Losing the idea of time and it went by so quickly. Sudden smacks making reality show the closeness in the dream. Reality show and subconscious tickles into the preverbal passage. Now, lying in the wake of it all, desperately raking the mind to delay the coming of tomorrow.
Staying in what was, illumination of the moment of trust in self. Actual feeling of human contact, treasure of the lighted tree’s and snowflakes in the hour glass. Loving these exact moments in trust and direction in the confidence of spoken self.


any good?

Paul

[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.

Who did this guy's pre-admission background check?

Bloomfield didn't say it had to be a nice poem.

[Bloomfield]

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.

Who did this guy's pre-admission background check?

Bloomfield didn't say it had to be a nice poem.

yes. And better you post here than beat your wife or kick old ladies into the gutter, I guess. And at least you didn't mention naked people or sex, or horrible things like that.

I do wish I hadn't read it though, just now, before bedtime.

[Innocent Bystander]

May Sestina

What is as welcome as the flowers in May?
Dreary the month would be without a blossom.
When lately we escaped from winter’s might
And lifted faces to the sun’s warm light
Would bare boughs be enough to greet the day?
No gratitude enough for such a blessing.

The buds appears, and burst, and shower their blessing
Upon us all, receive it how we may:
With blinkered eyes we labour through the day
Then, blinking, taste the wonder of the blossom
And as approaching evening fades the light
Drink in the beauty of it, how we might.

Only to stand in awe of Nature’s might
And recognise this re-occurring blessing
And feel our heavy sorrows become light
Reviving and renewing, if we may,
So every individual may blossom
Each person’s sunrise, for each person’s day.

Between two fires, we greet one special day
A day we celebrate, when dare we might,
One special flower, and one special blossom,
One celebration of one special blessing
The blessing of the flower we call the May
The solid presence of the summer light.

Manifestation of the very light
The light that shows the lengthening of the day
The white against the green, the flower of May
The Maiden’s flower, flower of the Maiden’s might
No need to ask, so freely given, this blessing
As everywhere around us blooms this blossom.

So all around us does the summer blossom
And every flower reflects the summer’s light
Each flower a facet of the summer’s blessing
So many facets to a summer’s day
So may we celebrate all nature’s might
In this, the flowering of the month of May.

What greater blessing can we have than blossom?
What is the day, if it be less than light?
Sing out the May, the flower of Maiden’s Might!

[bradhurley]

Undertow

I shed my skin for her willingly,
not like the selkies whose seal-hide must be taken from them
when they aren't looking.
I hid it in a safe place,
knowing where it was,
but made myself forget.
I needed to forget.

When you came, you found it
within moments
and later you showed it to me.
I turned away,
but caught a glimpse and felt
lost voices calling my name.
I shivered in the wind.

A selkie would have no choice,
but I lay listening,
wondering,
which way do I go:
grab that skin and plunge into your sea,
or flee to some landlocked place
far from salt water,
where sealskins grow cracked and foreign
over time.

When you're caught in the undertow,
the lifeguards say,
you can swim across the current to safety.
But for a seal,
riding the undertow is the fastest way
to get back home.

[gonzo914]

Who did this guy's pre-admission background check?

And better you post here than beat your wife or kick old ladies into the gutter, I guess.

I fear you fellows are confusing the words of the poem with the words of the poet. But don't take my word for it. Here's a little blurb written by my good friend Alastair Worchestershire, editor of the Southwestern Northeast Kansas Poetry Review and Farmer's Almanac, amusing local character, and half-assed decent sous chef.

When pondering the poetry of gonzo, one must take care not to confuse the words of the poem with the words of the poet. Anyone knowing gonzo only by his works would take him to be the most churlish of bullies and the most violent of sociopaths, existing somewhere on the scale of social acceptability between a wolverine and a soccer thug. But truth be known, gonzo is the gentlest of souls, one who would harm neither a fly nor an evangelical christian. Many is the time I have seen him forgo the blunt finality of the baseball bat in favor of the gentler persuasion of a firehose in removing the latter from his premises.

That gonzo does not beat his wife is attested to by the fact that he still walks among the living, for I have met mrs. gonzo and know that this is the kind of thing she would not put up with. And gonzo would never kick an old lady into the gutter, although he is not above getting one all liquored up and taking advantage of her weakened sensibilities to bed her, or at least cop a feel, but even then, it is highly unlikely he would rifle her purse.

Wooly worms are extra fuzzy this year, so expect an early frost.

[Bloomfield]

Gonzo, I forgive you. Although I don't buy that words-of-the-poem-words-of-the-poet thing for a minute. You made me realize that I don't think I like the word "throb" very much...

I am sitting back enjoying this thread. Thank you everyone. I love that we have a sestina now, and Brad's excellent selkie poem, and our first poem to eschew emjambement altogether. Great work everyone.

[gonzo914]

Gonzo, I forgive you. Although I don't buy that words-of-the-poem-words-of-the-poet thing for a minute. You made me realize that I don't think I like the word "throb" very much...

I'm guessing at this point that the tone is just not quite right for Right Hand Pointing, sterling endorsement from Alastair Worcestershire notwithstanding. How about if I added a title? I was thinking of "12-Gauge Love"; or do you think maybe it stands on its own merits without a title? Or maybe just "Gan Ainm." Maybe I should toss in the word "lambent" to sort of brighten things up a bit. I am artistically torn, and I defer to your more experienced judgement and that of your hapless assistant.

[Bloomfield]

I think you might call it "Good Night Noises Everywhere." I do agree that making it a lambent ashtray probably wouldn't help.

[Bloomfield]

So, are we done here?

Has this run its course
And one and all
have had their fill?

And ripe with poems
Plump with rhyme
Or modern funny lines
The time his up.

Let me grant you
one more wish
Or weekend I should say
And then come Monday

Night, this thing is done.
The contest closed.
Then let me and my dice
Deliberate. And drink.

[emmline]

Then let me and my dice
Deliberate. And drink.

While Bloo hoists a beer, the dice (I'd surmise,)
may prefer deliberation in a glass of Snake Eyes.

[djm]

He's going to tell (He's going to tell)
He's going to tell (He's going to tell)
...

djm

[jsluder]

He's going to tell (He's going to tell)
He's going to tell (He's going to tell)
...

djm

Not like that! Not like that! No, stop it!

[bradhurley]

While Bloo hoists a beer, the dice (I'd surmise,)
may prefer deliberation in a glass of Snake Eyes.

But in a shotglass, two dice
would be cozy as mice.
They'd think it quite nice
and there's no room for ice