Poetry, pt.5

6001. Seamus - 11/1/2007 10:14:00 PM

I'd like to thank the Mote, the Mote Academy of Poetry, fellow lovers of poetry, and all my peeps, you know who you are ;)

arky, you are a true sport. thank you for this honour.

Hullo mom!

6002. arkymalarky - 11/2/2007 4:47:41 PM

Yay! (confetti) Yay!

6003. Crafty Critter - 11/2/2007 5:00:51 PM

Hi alistairConnor,
Thanks for responding. I wasn't sure of the codes here and it worried me because of the seeming heaviness of the lines. I know you can't respond FOR him, and as I said earlier, I wasn't trying to be mean or sarcastic, I was just trying to "understand it" a bit better from the author's view point. Thank goodness it wasn't what I had envisioned it to be which was a hatred of women or worse. Sorry for the confusion I suppose but with these lines

"In the beginning, I goosed those bumps
on Frannie and Jill
just to watch them die
Gtsmmor smf Ko;;,
but as you can see, even then
I couldn't completely erase them. "

to an untrained eye such as mine, you could see how I would suppose he was talking of ACTUALLY erasing them ? Kind of like a confessional thing. Anyway, thank you for being so kind to answer me Alistair. I appreciate your insight on the poem. I still don't understand the other coding ( if they have any meaning at all to them ) but oh well. I have enjoyed reading some of the work done here. Chao to all

6004. concerned - 11/2/2007 5:52:35 PM

I think 'Crunchy Critter' is a more evocative handle.

6005. Seamus - 11/2/2007 6:10:06 PM

Thank goodness it wasn't what I had envisioned it to be which was a hatred of women or worse.

Yes, because after posting hundreds upon hundreds of comments and poems here and the predecessor to this place for more than ten years, I could certainly see how one might think I was a misogynist.

Sorry for the sarcasm, but sheesh. CC drops in from nowhere, no introduction, no past or present with me, not one single previous interaction, not one hello nice to meet you...and I am under some obligation to assume this was a well-meaning set of questions? I didn't think so after the first post. And after the goodbye message, I'm certain of it.

One thing that's changed for me is that I'm less naive than I used to be.

That was an easily identifiable hit post from the moment I read it. The people who can tell me that they are reacting negatively to something I've said and expect me to care are the ones who have a history with me here. Not posters who've never said a word to me before and then make hit-and-run posts.

CC, you want to stalk here and jump in with a faux "not sarcastic" set of questions, that's your perogative. I won't play that game with you. But of course, you won't be reading this, will you?

6006. Seamus - 11/2/2007 6:10:06 PM

Thank goodness it wasn't what I had envisioned it to be which was a hatred of women or worse.

Yes, because after posting hundreds upon hundreds of comments and poems here and the predecessor to this place for more than ten years, I could certainly see how one might think I was a misogynist.

Sorry for the sarcasm, but sheesh. CC drops in from nowhere, no introduction, no past or present with me, not one single previous interaction, not one hello nice to meet you...and I am under some obligation to assume this was a well-meaning set of questions? I didn't think so after the first post. And after the goodbye message, I'm certain of it.

One thing that's changed for me is that I'm less naive than I used to be.

That was an easily identifiable hit post from the moment I read it. The people who can tell me that they are reacting negatively to something I've said and expect me to care are the ones who have a history with me here. Not posters who've never said a word to me before and then make hit-and-run posts.

CC, you want to stalk here and jump in with a faux "not sarcastic" set of questions, that's your perogative. I won't play that game with you. But of course, you won't be reading this, will you?

6007. Seamus - 11/2/2007 6:10:28 PM

sorry for the double post.

6008. Seamus - 11/2/2007 6:18:57 PM

And Alistair, I *am* grateful to you for speaking up.

I will make some changes to try to make it clearer, just in case someone here who knows me is actually offended by that poem. I certainly don't wish to offend people who actually know me by a poor choice of words. I've had my fill of misogynists recently--to be accused of it myself makes for a deep sigh.

Just for the hell of it:

The out-of-correct-hand-position for the last stanza makes "[4e6e" from "pests" and "Y_R" out of "GOD".

I've been thinking that only the latter one really needs to stay, the pests can go non-coded.

6009. NuPlanetOne - 11/2/2007 7:33:35 PM

Seamus,

I think you might have included the period at the end of the url linking to my Rachel poem.

As for this C.C. business, that type of confusion couched in the guise of technical ignorance, is, well, ignorance, perjoratively speaking. That the individual thought perhaps you miskeyed, alone, was lame. I, and a few others got it, or get it. Hopefully C.C cares to take another approach. Your rejoinders are always entertaining.

6010. Crafty Critter - 11/2/2007 11:24:55 PM

Hi Seamus,
I would like to answer you in order. You made a statement about your years here and how someone might see you as a misogynist. I have not been here for years, so I don't know about that. As to "dropping in here" I guess a person has to start somewhere and I for one was curious about the poem. Plain and simple.
As I stated each and every time, I was NOT trying to be sarcastic, mean, rude or otherwise. Just curious. You didn't answer me when I wrote to you, Alistair did, and I answered him with what I previously had been thinking about the poem. And yes, it was well meaning.
Goodbye message ? I say Chao all the time.
Hit post ? If you mean "hit" as in kill it, or put it down, no. I don't know you well enough to expect you to "care" . I was only asking you about your poem. Just because I'm new here, you are accusing me of making "hit and run posts" ? Stalking ? Aren't those harsh words just because I asked you some things about your poem that I didn't understand ?
You mentioned that I had never spoken to you before...true. But doesn't a person have to start SOMEWHERE ?? I WAS JUST ASKING YOU A COUPLE OF QUESTIONS.
I'm JUST someone who is interested in poetry TRYING to understand different facets, the makeup, the why's, where's and how's of poems that people write. I wasn't trying to "hit" on your work. I suppose people trying to learn more about poetry is not welcome here ? Is that what you are telling me ?
And, just for your personal information, I am a student who is just beginning to write, to learn poetry,to want more out of life. More than anyone in my family has ever done before. At least I am trying. And just because you have issues with me asking you questions about why you wrote certain things in the poem the way you did, does not give you the right to accuse me of "stalking", "hitting", "hit and run posts".And I will say this to each and every ONE of you.......you might think me "ignorant" and "lame" as NuPlanet called me. I don't think so, I'm learning, so I ask questions as anyone would do. And I hope and pray that whenever I meet someone new on a board, that I have enough graciousness about me to give that person the benefit of the doubt before I blast them for something they didn't really do.

6011. NuPlanetOne - 11/3/2007 6:39:02 AM

C.C.

Bravo! Excellent account of yourself. That you are neither lame nor ignorant is quite irrelevant. That you have returned and are now properly introduced is what is most relevant. Experiencing a momentary flash of Seamus' ire is well worth the trade-off if you in fact are serious about the appreciation of things poetic. Though he does not instruct, the structure and complexity of some of his offerings, if studied, will become a worthwile learning experience. Therefore, you have the benefit of the doubt and I apologise for my slander.

6012. Crafty Critter - 11/3/2007 9:09:02 AM

Thank you NuPlanetOne. And, it's nice to meet you BTW. Apology accfepted.( Smiles here )

6013. Seamus - 11/3/2007 12:18:37 PM

It’s never so “plain and simple” as you make it, CC. You make some mistakes in your reasoning and come to some unfounded conclusions, but I don’t think there is any thing about them that cannot be made right by discussion if you are truly interested.

I’ll assume that what you indicate about yourself is the case. If so, you are quite like me…I too am learning about poetry and, as you say, “[wanting] more out of life”. I imagine it’s the case with any of life’s worthy pursuits—one never truly “learns” it, it’s the journey not the destination and all that. But for anyone who truly wants more out of life, I can eagerly say that poetry is an excellent pursuit. That, in fact, makes for a very workable jumping off point for what poetry is—poetry wants more out of life!

You say you are student. Welcome to the club! I am a student too. But I imagine you mean that you are of the “books and classes” variety of student. Highly valuable, that. Take arkymalarky. Please! But seriously, I am eternally envious of her students—I wish I might be a “books and classes” variety student in one of her classes. Her students cannot possibly understand what a dedicated, intelligent teacher they have in her. Writers love readers who love writing. And she’s more the writer herself than she allows.

And another thing—NuPlanetOne’s is among the most gentle, beautiful souls ever to people this planet. In fact, he was not truly slandering you. He does not actually think you “ignorant” or “lame”—rather, his words came from an almost reflexive move to defend me. Why would he do that? Because he knows me, as you do not. And I’m deeply humbled. In his second post, directed to you, you see precisely what he thinks. That is what you should go with.

You say this:

And just because you have issues with me asking you questions about why you wrote certain things in the poem the way you did, does not give you the right to accuse me of "stalking", "hitting", "hit and run posts".

6014. Seamus - 11/3/2007 1:40:35 PM

Pioneer

(for Poig)


Her crabappled fingers are freed
by ruminations of celtic dances.
She's forgotten threats of rocky thorns

on all those hybrid teas whose soil she'd loosened
or how asphalted gravel would stick to palms and knees
as she weeded through razor ferns.

Hearing a wayward wryneck's que que que
drop through the oak dwarfing the day porch,
she hums a love song, but doesn't know why.

Her fingers tremble when she passes the table
where bright papers and bright mirrors
glitter among the many glasses.

Hands often inked from hulling walnuts
or milk sticky from the weeping bracts
of cypress spurge now caress

full life only in her dreams. In them,
hints of hot grease and onions waft through the porch,
where she is detailing eggshells with stars and moons in blues, greens, golds.

She sings while she paints and waits for him—
a song of children moving in peregrine circles
as a summer day breathes.



Seamus

[smaller font to keep S6L3 from wrapping. With "blues, greens, golds" I seem to be stuck on asyndeton lately, but I also think it works here.]

6015. arkymalarky - 11/3/2007 3:15:33 PM

Seamus, you are such a dear.

6016. NuPlanetOne - 11/3/2007 7:25:11 PM

Seamus,

That one is lovely, endearing, very nice.

6017. NuPlanetOne - 11/3/2007 7:26:39 PM

I suppose i should have used html in the first place to link my 'Rachel' poem to take advantage of the Halloween aura while it was still current. In any case, the piece, and it is a rather long read, is here.

6018. Crafty Critter - 11/3/2007 8:17:56 PM

hi NuPlanetOne. I read your "Rachael" and found itto be just wonderful. Is that particular type of poetry called a Monody ?

6019. Crafty Critter - 11/4/2007 5:14:01 PM

Seamus,

I don't know whether you are "of a certain age" or just touchy, but after reading what you said to me in your last post, I wouldn't care to learn anything from you.
I picked this board because it looked small and everybody sounded like they were nice to each other and friendly and I was scared of posting. Now I know why it’s small, newbie’s aren’t welcome here. In the time it took for the Gatekeepers to straighten out my password and to get me in here, I have not seen one new person. And that has been for three months or so now. I looked at the poems on before I decided to post anything. None of the poems looked very interesting to me -- hay going to church or something in one. I came from a farm, and believe you me, hay ain't that interesting. And then a bunch of really old fashioned dirty words in the other. And those words were not respectful of women, no matter what you say.
I finally decided to ask about the third one. You wanted me to say what I saw there. It looked like one of those notes from a serial killer you might see in that TV show I watch called "Numb3rs". So I thought how cool if somebody was really writing a murder story like a poem and maybe and this was a poem from it. You talked in it about killing women and that you still couldn't erase them. And you used numbers and codes. What was a normal person to make of that? It looked that way to me. I was hoping to find out what the code meant so I could write what I thought about the poem, but I didn't get that far. Where I live, when you say “effin”, we usually mean it for the “F” word. And jay is used in a different context as well.
I'm 18 years old and I have to pass English 101 and write about a couple of poems so I can pass. I thought I might learn something on a chat board. I never expected such hateful answers.
You said 'learn from me" -- and that is rude and looking down your nose at me. What could I possibly learn, considering what you wrote to somebody who doesn't know you from Adam's housecat?
Learn to be so paranoid that I accuse a one time post of being a stalker? Learn to be so defensive of my poem that I can't be polite enough to answer a couple of simple questions about what kind of code you were using without throwing a fit? Learn to be rude to other people and accuse strangers of attacking when all they did was ask a question about something they didn't understand in a poem that was posted on the internet for anybody to read that wants to? Learn to discourage people from outside this board from posting? Learn be mean to people and make them feel bad or stupid?
No thanks. If you're some kind of poet, I don't want to be anything like you. I love poetry but, I don't want to even read another poem at this point. Maybe I can get a tutor in the English lab or maybe a student will help me or maybe my teacher if she has the time. But I won't be asking somebody like you ever again. CC

6020. arkymalarky - 11/4/2007 5:45:58 PM

If that's what you're looking for, please don't run off. Why don't you throw something out that you're working with in class and we'll walk through it together?

6021. arkymalarky - 11/4/2007 5:46:58 PM

What are you studying in class right now that you have questions about or want to discuss?

6022. Seamus - 11/4/2007 10:31:58 PM

None of the poems looked very interesting to me -- hay going to church or something in one. I came from a farm, and believe you me, hay ain't that interesting. And then a bunch of really old fashioned dirty words in the other. And those words were not respectful of women, no matter what you say.

I'm thrilled, CC, to have you talk about *your* thoughts and reactions to the poems.

I absolutely respect your opinion that you find the one tedious and the other disrespectful. I've been inclined myself to wonder if hay going to church isn't too boring, so having another opinion confirm my worry is useful for me in considering where to go with that one. The second one, you don't like the words, and I also respect that. I note only that one should be careful not to equate narrator with writer. Once any writer lets a poem go, even if for comment as here, it belongs to the reader at least as much as it belongs to the writer. That is why you should indicate what your reaction is, just as you have finally done here, rather than asking the writer what is meant. A poem doesn't mean what a writer thinks it means--it means what the reader thinks it means. That's why a poem never means one thing, because there may be many different readings. Once you indicate your reaction, the writer can decide whether changes are needed or not, based on those comments. (btw, the really old-fashioned dirty words are very much in use today by irish teenagers, so maybe it's the irish who are old-fashioned.) But those words are the narrator's words.

Doesn't mean you need to like them, and I respect your opinion that you do not. It is *useful* to me to know what reaction a poem is getting. I may or may not make changes based on that type of reaction.

In this case, the poem was selected by an online poetry community's judge for inclusion in the IBPC international "best of" competition for a two-month period, so I won't be able to make any changes to it until it is judged in that competition.

You are mistaken if you think I'm offended that you don't like these two poems or the effin' one that has engendered so much controversy. Would it help you to know I don't think it's very good either, now, if ever? I'm not at all hurt or upset that you don't like it or anything else I write. Once again, your reaction is feedback to me as to how it is communicating. I can take that into account as I revise. I can promise that if you stay and get to know me, you will find there is no harsher critic of my writing than me--things I write often end up being defended by others against my own dissatisfaction with them.

Not at all sure certain what my age might have to do with anything, but I never said that I was here to teach you. If you look again, you will see that I said we could learn from each other. I've always felt that way. I learn from readers and I learn from other writers, such as you. So, I benefit if you stay and participate, because I gain from it. And were I you, I'd never want you to be some kind of poet like me--I wouldn't wish that on anyone.

I do not know what English 101 is...are you at university? I certainly hope this is not an introductory level class, because your writing is quite sophisticated, interesting and absolutely error free for your age, and your talents would be wasted in a basic level class.

We'd love to have you stay and participate.

6023. Crafty Critter - 11/5/2007 1:18:22 PM

Thanks E1. Here's the deal. I quit school after my mom and dad split up a couple years ago but my dad says that if I want to keep the car he bought for me that I have to finish. So I went back, got my G.E.D. and now I am taking all of my general studies at a two year Tech school. Seamas, English 101 is basic English Composition. My plans are in Nursing and I want to continue to write on the side. I am moving in with my dad until February starting this weekend and he doesn't allow me to use the computer except for school work so, before I leave I was going to ask how I can make this poem better. I wasn't told to write it in any certain way, just to write a poem about an emotion and I picked Greed. I have to turn it in by Friday. Hopefully, I will get to talk more before I leave. If not, it's been ,well, ODD ! Smiles ....CC

Greed



This is the path

Of unrighteous woe,

Neither gleams, nor blooms

No, not this road.



Despair is its tree

Gloom, it’s rose,

Maker of mischief

Fog soon grows.



Shades of contempt

Waltz shamelessly by,

Snarling and envy

Fill the sky.



Anger and pity

Just hang around,

While judgmental crafts

Swiftly abound.



Deceit and treachery

Ride a wagon here,

Take one and all

For what they hold dear.



Rage with jealousy

In the dead of night,

Claim your soul

Without struggle, nor fight.



Travel this road

With care my friend,

Don’t dance in the dust

Most call mayhem.





CC

October, 2007

6024. NuPlanetOne - 11/5/2007 9:55:59 PM

C.C.

'Greed' was a good first draft. The emotion you chose is a powerful one. Perhaps the most powerful one. And as such it incorporates and instigates a display of pretty much all the major categories of emotions. When you think about it, love, which might win the number one spot in a poll of what people would consider the most powerful emotion, is quite similar in ferocity to greed by virtue of the fact that the act of loving very often becomes a need to want all of the thing or person you love, and even more and forever more of it. In your poem you found yourself having to run through the various modes of emotion that were triggered by this one primal emotion, such as despair, gloom, contempt, anger, deceit and treachery. You did this because unconsciously you realized that these other strong emotions are, in your poem, step children of this greed you are trying to warn others off. Look at your poem. Don't try to ryhme anything. The first weak spot was when you tried to ryhme rose and grows in the second stanza. Try changing 'Fog soon grows' with something that helps the 'Maker of mischief' line sound more greedy because having recognized that these other strong emotions are driven by greed, you should avoid a throwaway metaphor, or an attempt at one, especially containing fog, as greed is a clear and focused entity. Then try the same process on the following stanzas and continue to link all these emotions to the fact that they are borne out of greed. In any case, were you to hand that poem into me I would have to pass you just as it is. But do work on it and let the others offer some help as well.

6025. TheWizardOfWhimsy - 11/6/2007 5:50:08 PM

Please excuse the intrusion, but I was curious to see how the poets and word-junkies might respond to my attempt at visual poetry.

[This is the final version of the catalog, so please flag a screw-ups if you spot any before it goes to press at week's end.]

6026. Seamus - 11/6/2007 9:17:52 PM

It's no intrusion, Wiz. That is one breathtaking collection. Nothing but admiration and wonder from these quarters.

6027. NuPlanetOne - 11/6/2007 9:37:00 PM

Wiz,

As a word junkie I found the intro to the collection brilliant. Really, quite an elegant piece of writing. And as not so much a vagabond, but as the son of an Italian immigrant, my longing for the antique home of my paternal forbears, borders more on a yearning I had often observed in my father's mien when friends or relatives would talk of a recent trip back home to the Old Country. I do believe in visual poetry, it is a non-phonetic rendering of those same conflict stained or joy filled wondrous moments that need an outlet and memorial. The visual arts, as well as literary, music, dance, stage, film, oratory, et.al.,(in some defined order), are the statuary embodiments of those imaginings. And I have a paticular fondness for the Graphic Arts, as you described them, having dabbled briefly years ago with ink on rough hewn paper. But your querry is how as a poet, I or others equally self described might evaluate your attempt at an example of visual poetry. It goes like this. Were I to stroll casually through a well orchestrated gallery within a peaceful setting with my favorite Borolo in hand viewing these monoprints, it would be much the same as if I were sipping a wonderful Tawny Port by a fireplace reading a good poem. Going along from print to print would evoke, for me, the same quiet and private renderings that are suggested in frozen time on the face of each picture. So in that sense, it is poetry. More so, because they are a collection of similar ideas even though each one might provide a tangent as to close itself off. But they do ultimately hold to a theme that reaches back to the begining as in the way a poem should explain its purpose by providing some sort of connection to its premise. Oh, did I say I liked the prints? I do. Very nice.

6028. TheWizardOfWhimsy - 11/6/2007 11:36:24 PM

Yikes--I wasn't expecting an embarassment of riches--thanks. Being dyslexic, painfully self-conscious of my writing skills and a very sloppy reader, this thread has always represented a snazzy restaurant I might get thrown out of–but this repast has been most enjoyable!

6029. NuPlanetOne - 11/23/2007 10:27:51 AM

A Moment's Peace

What thanks are these
If you please,
We give again
Of course, to the Lord

But not for all we have
But for what
Lies ahead

I have more moments
To breathe, than some
Who are gone
And I wonder,
Gone where?

And I fear
They are gone again
And I hear
Are born again
In remembering
In recalling
Their faces
The times we had
Together, the dreams
We shared, the effort
And significance

And I see it
As I pass the potatoes
In blushed cheeks
And exuberant conversation
That this is the reward
The prize
We are thankful for
Even bitter animosities
Blink off intermittently
For a second
A feeling of inclusion
A moment of gladness
An awareness of purpose

By all means, thank you
Lord
But here, amidst
The jangle of China
And after Grace
Having had the luck
To sit and marvel
At the feast
At least
I had the moment
And now wish,
Uncertain,
For what lies
Ahead.

6030. wonkers2 - 11/26/2007 9:22:28 PM

Here's one of my favorites by E.B. White, a precursor to another favorite, The Deadline Poet, Calvin Trillin. I Paint What I See

6031. Ulgine Barrows - 12/1/2007 3:55:06 AM

I know this girl
As pretty as can be
The sign of an Aquarius
She was born on the 18th
UFOs, snakes and spiders
Give her the creeps
And she's got a half life, a half smile
And lives in semi luxury
Questions God, drugs and bullets
And the high school beauty queen
And she’s courageous but scared to death
But that’s what courage means

She’s looking for some courage
She feels faithless, she feels earthless
She wants to run
She’s strugglin’ for purpose
I tell her hang in you know it’s worth it
You’ve just begun
You’ve just begun

Her bedroom is her temple
The books and the stereo her muse
She feels humbled by this equation
And sets fire to all her shoes
Not because of Henry Miller
She’s just not leaving anytime soon
And as the smoke pours out her window
An image forms behind the moon
And it looks like the face of Jesus
But if it’s Jesus she needs proof
At the heart of the matter, and a matter of fact
The science of matter
She hopes that it’s true

She’s looking for some courage
She feels faithless, she feels earthless
She wants to run
She’s strugglin’ for purpose
I tell her hang in you know it’s worth it
You’ve just begun
You’ve just begun
And you’ve just begun

~Raine Maida

6032. NuPlanetOne - 12/9/2007 8:58:23 AM

keeping thing out

in exile i have built
my fortress
yet,
it has no walls.

i am protected
from harm
yet,
i have no enemies.

i am in love
so deeply in love
yet,
i am alone.

i desire so little
i feel contented
yet,
i need so much.

i sip my wine
by the winter fire
yet,
i am cold.

those around me
accept my advice
yet,
i know nothing.

i built my walls close
many years ago
yet,
they are not so high.

and yet,
i know,
walls keep things in.

6033. NuPlanetOne - 12/23/2007 10:30:41 AM

The Boy Who Saw Santa.

I was frowning and cold
As I jumped swiftly into bed
Knowing the coals in the fireplace
Were long since dead
Shivering to bring warmth
Pulling the blankets ‘round my head
Waiting to be cozy and safe
Yet feeling just colder instead.

Outdoors,
The wind whistled
Inhaling the heat
From every crevice
From every corner,
From both of my feet
Now shuddering,
On this cold Christmas Eve
Then smiling
For I so wanted
To believe,
In Santa.

My big bossy sister,
She declared it was silly!
“It’s illogical, only boys
would believe in such things,
could believe someone brings,
all those toys.”

“Yes! You are a gullible little goof.”
She would recite with a snare
“You will never find proof, Ha!”
“And you have waited all year!”

“But Oh!” What is that? Up there?
Up above on the roof?
Is it the sound of a sleigh?
“Is it the tap of a hoof?”

I strained. I listened
Outside the snow glistened
Then all quiet, all still
As I listened until
My ears ached.

Determined, I promise
“I will see him this night!”
I must stay awake.
“Could the storm
slow his flight?”
Surely Santa,
Will take his time.

“But I know he’ll arrive!”
“I will prove he’s alive!”
Just let me survive,
This wait.

Now if I could just catch him
If he slid down the chute
Somehow nothing could scratch him
Or could smudge that red suit
Is it magic? Is he real?
Is there truly such a being?
“Tell me, what’s the big deal!”
What’s the mystery about seeing,
This jolly old man.

Now all were sleeping
On this snowy Christmas night
I had to keep keeping
My eyes from shutting tight
I could hear gentle snoring
From my tired old Dad
My eyelids drooped heavy
As if they had had,
Rocks tied to their lashes.

Then suddenly, so strangely!
It seemed I could hear
Through a silence in the storm
There was something drawing near
I thought I heard bells!
I was tingled with fear
With wonder, with smells
With the scent of reindeer!
Had my eyes now closed?
Could I now be sleeping?
Dare I move, dare I speak?
And as I went leaping
I knocked over the bed table
As I crashed, as I fell
Could he hear me!
Would he spare me?
Shall I ever live to tell?

So I crept from my room
Like a cat on its paws
Off to find Santa
To see Santa Claus!
On tip-toes, on knees
With my heart beating quick
Like the blind man who sees
Through the dark with his stick
Silent as a snake
That glides across the ground
So careful not to make
Even a tiny little sound.

Till, crouched on one knee
At the living room door
My eyes strained to see
Tried to focus, to be sure
As through a mystical glow
His image I now viewed
Like a silhouette in the snow
Moving fast, moving slow
As if all time must wait
While he emptied his sack
Spinning, twirling, sideways
Now back!

And if he could see me
He did not seem to mind
For even through the blur
He looked gentle and kind
“But goodness!’
Did he grin?
As his eyes saw my face
Then a jolly good laugh,
And he was gone from the place!

Yes, as quick as it started
As quick did it stop
Like the rabbit that darted
Then ended its hop
I now stood there amazed
Like a statue with eyes blinking
Not moving, but dazed
Like I was frozen but thinking

Then quietly I came to rest
Back safe in my bed
Swallowed back up in blankets
Covered up to my head
I didn’t move,
I didn’t think
I didn’t dare take a breath
For it was all in a blink
And I swear to my death!
I will always believe,
In Santa.

And as for big sister
With her theories and laws
Only those who believe,
Can see Santa Clause!

Merry Christmas!

6034. NuPlanetOne - 1/6/2008 10:33:20 AM

Bad Memories

That decade is gone
And, looking into
The next one,
I see nothing good
I know that is what
This moment suggests
But, past and future
Are only this moment
And because it is always
Now, every time I try
To look ahead
I’m right back at the beginning
So fuck that nonsense
Give me another yesterday
That time I was happy
Even better, let me forget
Every old moment
Except the good ones
Let my reflexes remember
The dangerous shit
I won’t touch a burning flame
And I damn sure won’t remember
You.

6035. NuPlanetOne - 1/29/2008 4:06:40 PM

The Crazy Chef

Like January
My heart thawed
Briefly, gently
Amidst a stormy
Season of cold
And nasty temperament
I wonder if I am sick
I thought
Smoking outside
After exploding, again
This smoke, this time
Feeling a sudden calm
A surprise at my seriousness
A difference in myself
That I tried to recognize
Was it time to quit?
The cigarettes too,
But quit the whole
Environment
Love what you do
Grandpa said,
And it is not work
He made shoes
I make bouillabaisse
And my face
Grows long
Not for hating it
Or the stew
But because he knew
The difference.

6036. Seamus - 2/8/2008 1:23:09 PM

I quite like this, Nu.

What an amazing punch in this:

He made shoes
I make bouillabaisse
And my face
Grows long
Not for hating it
Or the stew
But because he knew
The difference.

6037. NuPlanetOne - 2/12/2008 4:48:59 PM

Thank you Seamus. I must accept that there is heat in the kitchen.

6038. NuPlanetOne - 2/12/2008 4:49:32 PM

Pass. Fail.

Funny thing, regrets
Those lessons learned
When suddenly it turned
Out bad
And,
When finally you put them
To rest
They become, morph
Into little quiet daydreams
It seems, with time
It is not regret at all
That tips the pail of water
Into the stream
Because how often does it seem
You chose wisely
Or had no choice
At all
The little voice
Saying you should have
Judging now
Judging how
It might have been
Has no echo
Is always fresh
And as you play it out
And as you say it out
Loud, lament
Curse and sigh
You wonder, no
Long
Only for something different
That, what could have been
Is just one more yearning
Are you finally learning
The lesson is your life?

6039. Seamus - 2/20/2008 9:55:34 AM

--------------------

roundabout


at last she dead drops
hope away he'll ever haul
half a ton, go—no, he'll always be
one more guinness, one more something sweating

this way comes all the pretty ponies
he'll still wring from her hand, taking hold of her
today so she never knows tomorrow
will be another bleeding from between the cold-circle

--------------------small of her
--------------------back against

the grown-grey walls of a flat,

--------------------and a face
--------------------come now to be

the last thing she skives away slow
every old forever night
and the brisk, round mask she molds
each nevermore morning

6040. NuPlanetOne - 2/26/2008 4:12:55 PM

Seamus,

There is definitely an eerie tonality to that piece. Black and white. Still life. Maybe stillborn if I may play with words here. I hate, but recognize how it can be just a now, this moment, slice of her existence. That although she sees the futility, and how she is trapped by his static grip, she has lost or perhaps abandoned all hope. And I hope that is what it is mainly about, that is, hope. Damn, it keeps us alive! Very nice.

BTW/ I remember you placating alistair a while back with an idle threat to pen something fictitious. You might at least review my meager attempts in Fiction and add to the current suggestions surrounding the graphic vrs the cerebral approach to describing that most wonderful of pleasures.

6041. Ulgine Barrows - 3/2/2008 6:05:59 AM

Show me how you do that trick
The one that makes me scream he said
The one that makes me laugh he said
And threw his arms around my neck
Show me how you do it
And I promise you I promise that
I'll run away with you
I'll run away with you

Spinning on that dizzy edge
I kissed his face and kissed his head
And dreamed of all the different ways I had
To make him glow
Why are you so far away? he said
Why won't you ever know that I'm in love with you
That I'm in love with you

You, soft and only
You,lost and lonely
You, strange as angels
Dancing in the deepest oceans
Twisting in the water
You're just like a dream
You're just like a dream

Daylight licked me into shape
I must have been asleep for days
And moving lips to breathe his name
I opened up my eyes
And found myself alone alone
Alone above a raging sea
That stole the only boy I loved
And drowned him deep inside of me

You, soft and only
You, lost and lonely
You, just like heaven

You, soft and only
You, lost and lonely
You, just like heaven

6042. Ulgine Barrows - 3/2/2008 6:43:25 AM

What do you get when you fall in love?
A guy with a pin to burst your bubble
That’s what you get for all your trouble
I’ll never fall in love again
I’ll never fall in love again

What do you get when you kiss a girl
You get enough germs to catch pneumonia
After you do, she’ll never phone you
I’ll never fall in love again
I’ll never fall in love again

Don’t tell me what it’s all about
’cause I’ve been there and I’m glad I’m out
Out of those chains those chains that bind you
That is why I’m here to remind you

What do you get when you give your heart
You get it all broken up and battered
That’s what you get, a heart that’s shattered
I’ll never fall in love again
I’ll never fall in love again

Out of those chains those chains that bind you
That is why I’m here to remind you

What do you get when you fall in love?
You only get lies and pain and sorrow
So for at least until tomorrow
I’ll never fall in love again
I’ll never fall in love again
I’ll never fall in love again

6043. Ulgine Barrows - 3/2/2008 6:50:25 AM

What do you get when you fall in love?
A guy with a pin to burst your bubble
That’s what you get for all your trouble
I’ll never fall in love again
I’ll never fall in love again

What do you get when you kiss a girl
You get enough germs to catch pneumonia
After you do, she’ll never phone you
I’ll never fall in love again
I’ll never fall in love again

Don’t tell me what it’s all about
’cause I’ve been there and I’m glad I’m out
Out of those chains those chains that bind you
That is why I’m here to remind you

What do you get when you give your heart
You get it all broken up and battered
That’s what you get, a heart that’s shattered
I’ll never fall in love again
I’ll never fall in love again

Out of those chains those chains that bind you
That is why I’m here to remind you

What do you get when you fall in love?
You only get lies and pain and sorrow
So for at least until tomorrow
I’ll never fall in love again
I’ll never fall in love again
I’ll never fall in love again

6044. Ulgine Barrows - 3/2/2008 6:53:25 AM

ooops, that was good enough to post twice, winky.

6045. Ulgine Barrows - 3/5/2008 3:27:52 AM

aw, c'mon, lyrics aren't dirty words!

6046. NuPlanetOne - 3/13/2008 8:16:43 AM

How Free Am I?

Not paths, but choices
How will I choose?
Because any road, after all
Will decide your fate
You can not compare
What could have been
Unless you have chosen
As even a slave
Will evaluate his options
And decide upon a role
Freedom?
How free am I?
On the one hand,
I ask myself,
Is vice and addiction
My master?
On the other,
Sits my god and salvation
Am I truly free
To choose my fate?
And if I chop off one
Can I with the other
Carry the burden?
Or could I gently
Put one down,
Place it off to the side
And fill that hand
With something else?
That is what we do
I know that
In my worst nightmare
Choices come flailing
With no hands
Out of the depths
Of reason and superstiton
Because they have put
Everything aside
And they come from
Every possible road
And I awake screaming
And sweating cold droplets
Hoping I have fingers.

6047. Ulgine Barrows - 3/16/2008 2:03:10 AM

Yeah, NuPlanetOne, I gave up 20+ years of corporate jobs to do something different.

It's scary, but go for it. Loved your poem.

6048. Ulgine Barrows - 3/16/2008 2:45:42 AM

Raine Maida:


Today i got to thinking
the world's in a strange way
feels like i'm at a 7-11 when a robbery takes place
do i hide behind the counter with my hands covering my face
or do i dive for the gunman
before he makes his break,
does a 45 go off
and the bullets richochet

this is not some random nightmare
see for me, this is everyday

chorus:
i've been waiting for this train to come round
i've been waiting for this deal to go down
i've been looking for the things not found
so far, so far away
i'm just doing my best today

cigarettes and alochol
and a few minutes to pray
but it don't do what it used to
so we'll have hell to pay
a penny for your thoughts
a penny for my cliches
i tried to get some distance
i tried to espace
but this nightmare's so persistent
in a shakespeare kind of way

be not afraid
oh, f**k that, be very afriad

chorus

who sold out
we did we did
who let you down
we did we did
who...crown
we did

6049. Ulgine Barrows - 3/16/2008 2:51:32 AM

More Rainer Maria:


I remember the days when we talked for hours
And we were young; we thought we had superpowers
We kissed the sky, expanded our minds, thought we could fly
We were dreamers, and we'd never die
We were young punks but we showed potential
Us against the world, we weren't sentimental
We weren't our problems, our age or our paychecks
And we weren't taking anybody's shit

If I knew now what I knew then, I'd
Back up do it all again, I'd
Take a bow, take it real slow
Take a ride down the yellow brick road

Knew now what I knew then, I'd
Back up do it all again, I'd
Take a bow, take it real slow
Take a ride down the yellow brick road

Come on, come on wise up
Come on, come on wise up
Come on, come on wise

The winters were cold but we had your parents basement
This underground was for sinners and we embraced it
Magic pills, fairy tales, Syd Barrett's ghost
Oh, we'd all get on that spaceship
We measured our lives in coffee spoons
And those Friday nights quickly turned into Sunday afternoons
We weren't our money, our muscles or our regrets

If I knew now what I knew then, I'd
Back up do it all again, I'd
Take a bow, take it real slow
Take a ride down the yellow brick road

Knew now what I knew then, I'd
Back up do it all again, I'd
Take a bow, take it real slow
Take a ride down the yellow brick road

I remember the days when we talked for hours
And we were young; we thought we had superpowers
We weren't our problems, our age or our paychecks
And we weren't taking anybody's shit

If I knew now what I knew then, I'd
Back up do it all again, I'd
Take a bow, take it real slow
Take a ride down the yellow brick road

Knew now what I knew then, I'd
Back up do it all again, I'd
Take a bow, take it real slow
Take a ride down the yellow brick road
Take a bow, take it real slow
Take a ride down the yellow brick road

Come on, come on wise up
Come on, come on wise up
Come on, come on wise

6050. Ulgine Barrows - 3/16/2008 3:22:27 AM

keeerist, my father-in-law said he stopped drinking when he was 60.

I don't think I can another 15 years of this.

6051. Ulgine Barrows - 3/16/2008 3:23:27 AM

I don't think I can TAKE another 15 years of this.

6052. Ulgine Barrows - 3/16/2008 3:25:13 AM

Maybe I'll wise up.

6053. NuPlanetOne - 3/29/2008 6:44:51 PM

Unfaithful Flowers

I do begrudge the blossoms
The cuttings, the pruning
Those hours you spend
Amidst your vibrant daffodils
As you call them, by name
You claim they know you
Petunias, Geraniums, the Morning
Glory walkways that bloom
On my early stroll to the car
Then gone, yet greeted by Moon
Flowers in concurrent rows,
As I return in the evening
The Glories closed up to sleep
Then the rows of blue back
With the sun, now the white asleep
And that wild amusement
In your eyes, like you and a lover
Had put one over on me
Because I was astonished
You could conspire like that
I guess there is some jealousy
That you could plot with another
That in obsessive trysts
You sneak out there, to commiserate
To be alone, to experiment
As if golf or poker were comparable
Which you say is my time
I don’t know if the two are equal
Distractions, because watching you
Through the greenhouse panes
You are not distracted
You are in love.

6054. NuPlanetOne - 4/21/2008 12:21:34 PM

Motion Sickness

If there is no friction
There is no motion
That is why
Nothing really moves
In space

It is why we do not feel
Motion, unless something
Blocks our path
A gas, a obstacle, a liquid
And can all provide
The sensation

All motion is enclosed
Within a membrane
Ours is the atmosphere
The object we are part of
In any real sense
Stopped moving long ago

Should anything
Cause it to move
In any real sense
It would disintegrate

Individual consciousness
Is finite
Your body will travel
Forever through space
If nudged
But you will die
Long before
Forever

6055. Seamus - 4/23/2008 5:03:03 PM

Words fail


Words cannot explain gauze curtains that wheeze
morning's soft blows, sun that chooses sides
between blankets and legs pulsed carelessly
akimbo, your beryl eyes which haunt black
tea steams for news and clues. I cannot sing
kitchen lyrics--you untangle bunches of off-
kilter coriander leaves, grate parmesan
for bread sticks, zest lemons for pizzelles,
daub anise oil over springerlee dough.
I make nothing. I should have learned to play
an instrument. When I turn south to you
in the roiling dark of the room you choose
to wake in, I bring no art and no book
of poems ever sits on the bedside table.


Seamus

6056. NuPlanetOne - 5/4/2008 10:29:51 AM

Seamus…

I like that one. A different structure for you. A kind of stream of consciousness soliloquy. Very nice. And I can’t decide if you share a bed with the one you turn south to, or just share a universe. I’ll call it run-on imagery. All good.

6057. NuPlanetOne - 5/4/2008 11:28:10 AM

On the lighter side……

Panting Schnauzer

I am like a dog
Humping the leg
Of life
It shakes me off
And sends me flying
But it is near me
When I get that urge
To be part of it
How can I know
It can’t bear fruit?
I’m just a dog
I hump everything
If there are no other
Dogs nearby
Besides,
Life is always receptive
I never know
When to pounce
It always mounts me
It seems,
What is the fruit
Of that?

6058. alistairconnor - 5/5/2008 3:08:42 AM

I like the way 6055 seems to respond to 6053, reflections on what we share or don't share in a relationship.

It makes me ponder what I would have to say on the subject, were I to find a voice.

6059. NuPlanetOne - 5/11/2008 3:34:55 PM

Mine Forever

How do the seconds tick by
If you are worse off than me?
I think about that, that type
Of thing. Because if I feel
Hopeless and lost, and I am
How do you survive the thud
Of a second going by
Because you are twice
My pain. You are suffering
A sting by swarm, and I know
You are bitten all over
As you sit there stunned
In front of that huge hourglass
Skyscraper tall. Do even the tiny
Pellets of sand whiz and clang
Onto the pile and avalanche
Down the slope. My time goes by
Quicker than that. My hourglass
Sits on the sill of a panoramic
Window looking out at a waiting
Mountain. I might be like a
Cartoon cat that was hit in the head
With a colossal hammer. Stars and
Sparkles whirl around my ears
You must be in a serious drama
In shock from an explosion
A possible survivor wandering
Out of the cloud of dust and debris.
I also think, at times, about forgiveness
And fault, but what if I survive this?
What if I leave you to wander, forever
That must be a longer time
Than the last hour gone by.

6060. NuPlanetOne - 5/25/2008 7:00:20 AM

Class of ‘08

They are, after all
Half of what we want
Them to be
And half of what
They want to be
Our half, drilled
Into them, taught
Enforced, shown
Us, remaking ourselves
Into them
Feeling every second
Of their emotions
And when they begin
To think
For themselves
And contemplate
Our motives
Childhood ends
And if we learned anything
From our parents
From that second on
We can only hope
They will survive
The choices
That lay before them.

6061. Ulgine Barrows - 7/13/2008 8:22:10 PM

yeah, to be that age again...thanks be i managed to survive

6062. wonkers2 - 7/13/2008 9:30:21 PM

Stick around, Ulgine.

6063. Seamus - 7/25/2008 12:44:55 PM

Quite liked Panting Schnauzer, Nu. Loved the ending.

6064. Seamus - 8/5/2008 9:46:39 AM

Convergent evolution


Cast through grasses
with your hawthorn staff;
I'll be four again
so you can carry me
and instruct:
Old leaves tent
the morels
and give them up.

Explain again how
two must never fight
the tide
off Inisheer
unless there is faith.

Say Boyo,
when the whitebeam shows
her silver side,
there's a wind
with a worry in it.

Then prove you'll never stand still
if the fuss is over you--
Tell me how there's no profit
in fruitless protocols
in pharmacology.

I'll be manoeuvred
by your voice gone
garlic, becalmed
as if I were still away at university
and you'd come, absent
whistles or steam, by train
for a drop in and a pint up.

On that last platform, each of us
will discover: Everything runs
from Heuston Station.

But years after I've carried you at last,
my back will still strain
over shipped oars
when I watch

a laggard teal pull hard from Corrib's cold waters
and dip,
dripping,
over my skiff--
wafting

above the water
until he turns west
to the hills of Clifden
and the sea.


Seamus

6065. Seamus - 8/6/2008 12:25:05 PM

Lane end


Commerce thirsts
in the next street of haze but one.

Here, whips of woody petunia
bow to phantom passings of no man.

Bits of crap paper the curb,
the browning grass in bivouac

around the oak, dead
but for the zizz zizz zizz

of the locust, waiting in vain
for a crisp answer.


Seamus

6066. NuPlanetOne - 8/15/2008 5:13:25 PM

seamus…

That is a finely tuned and nicely structured rendering, 'Convergent evolution.' It almost needs a dedication, an homage to a specific individual, because you carry the story through a sea of time, yet the present moment is never obscured or lost in blurred remembrance. The images are remarkable, I could feel the spray off the hill of Clifden sure as I sat aft wafting along there in the skiff. Excellent poem. Your progress these ten plus years is no longer progress my friend, but just the norm.

6067. TheWizardOfWhimsy - 9/12/2008 1:46:52 PM

How do the poets vote?

6068. TheWizardOfWhimsy - 11/7/2008 5:07:00 PM

This is finally in stock at Amazon--for those of you with a penchant for melancholy, madness & addiction . . .

6069. NuPlanetOne - 1/8/2009 2:46:56 PM

This one is a final draft of a version posted previously. Which ties in with my goal of finalizing all my Mote poems.

Out of The Silence

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 shut it off

You asked again,
Why I ignore you
You said now and then
I do that
I ignore you

No, I spat
I do it all the time
I ignore you, I said

She goes red with desire
I was thinking
Before the interruption
Merely
Because I smiled or
Brushed against her arm

Not like you,
I said it within
She is magic
And you are not
I felt guilty, defiant
Then said I was joking
Out loud
Poking fun,
Said I always pay attention

You shot that glance
Then stared at your lap
Your left hand gripping
Your right as the light
Strobed illuminating you
At intervals

But what was I thinking
Just now, you asked
Claimed
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
Sweat in furrows
It was starting
To rain

It is true
When you drown
So much
Dances down
And across your mind
It felt like drowning

And if you can find
The words
If you are the kind
That uses them
You might begin quietly

You won’t say anything?
She asked
Then unbearable quiet
Except the wipers
Scraped the windshield
I reached for the radio
She hit my hand
The motion fanned
The cigarette smoke

The time we had spent
Trying to fix things
Denials and acknowledgement
Beat like a heart
In the air between us

Like shooting stars,
Long tailed
Lights whizzed by
Your head trained on me
Soul, strained on me

Out of the silence
I began quietly
Yes, whispered
Yes I do.

Poetry pt.4

The Mote | Mote Archive

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