Poems...come share your work.

[Kast]

Originally Posted by SingularNYCFemme

A child stands
rouged with a bouffant
that could only come from hell

She is static as a deer
caught in the headlights
on a deserted country road

As one parent works away the years
in a foundry hot as the hell
from which this child's hair was created

The other parent takes latitude
and with lassitude appalling
believes cheap glamour a blessing

The small girl
trapped within someone else's dream
learns how to blow the audience
a wise and ancient
kiss

I like this poem SNYCF, I have a wide range of likes for various reasons. It grabs me in a slightly disturbing way and holds my attention to it. I didn't look at its structure, format - none of that - I like it for many reasons.

The 9 Words, and thank you Arwen for all the years of hostessing for us, what can we say about the 9 Word format?

What does this poem mean to you and I'm wondering what the 9 Words were and how much they influenced this poem?

[SingularNYCFemme]

Originally Posted by Kast

The 9 Words, and thank you Arwen for all the years of hostessing for us, what can we say about the 9 Word format?

What does this poem mean to you and I'm wondering what the 9 Words were and how much they influenced this poem?

The nine words were

static deserted glamour child foundry latitude kiss blessing hell

I provided them as they randomly floated into and through my brain; then thought ack! What could anyone come up with using those words?

What the poem came to be about (led by glamour, child, and hell) is those little girls whose bizarrely obsessed mothers spend ridiculous sums of money doing odd and inappropriate things to stick these innocent little beings into beauty pageants, a practice I personally find offensive and indefensible, no matter how much of an industry has grown around it. These little children are objectified, and by the time they are 5 or 6 years old are veterans with a competitive edge against other little girls. Anyway, the poem grew out of the words, which is one of the things I've loved about Arwen's thread through the years.

[Kast]

Originally Posted by SingularNYCFemme

The nine words were

static deserted glamour child foundry latitude kiss blessing hell

I provided them as they randomly floated into and through my brain; then thought ack! What could anyone come up with using those words?

What the poem came to be about (led by glamour, child, and hell) is those little girls whose bizarrely obsessed mothers spend ridiculous sums of money doing odd and inappropriate things to stick these innocent little beings into beauty pageants, a practice I personally find offensive and indefensible, no matter how much of an industry has grown around it. These little children are objectified, and by the time they are 5 or 6 years old are veterans with a competitive edge against other little girls. Anyway, the poem grew out of the words, which is one of the things I've loved about Arwen's thread through the years.

Yes, that's what I was thinking the poem was about too. Just wanted to make sure, nicely captured.

[macele]

i wrote this in september 2008, election year. i've never been able to find my place in politics. always feels like a depression of sorts. and this, ...



death is merely a deviation, a digression
from living, but not life
and death doesn't just show up out of the blue
like some alien from outer space.
we can see change coming from a mile away
but still wallow in ... what we don't know, won't hurt us
it's like being surrounded by false hope
dressed in a gracious heart.
breathing on the brink
of an answer that is neither here nor there
and much easier said than done.
we try to make choices feel right
but the choices are all wrong
and then fall on our knees to pray for the kind of rain
that washes the blood off the concrete.
some people run without a caring consequence
until they run out of their shoes.
most are insensible,
and living is numb on the right side of hell ...
in an america that has gone mad with greed,
and mad with you and me.

mac

[Kast]

Wow, Mac! wow, wow... Don't get me started on this topic... that's about the time I left America. But, when you're far away for a long period of time - you'll miss her right down to the center of your soul like no other lover, boogers and all. She is messed up not like her old self, but I love her unconditionally like a mother loves her child because I know she holds hope and promise... and so much more.

Just out of curosity, I plugged your poem into the analyzer, it says you write like Margaret Atwood. America could be a euphemism for her "A Sad Child":


"A Sad Child
by Margaret Atwood

You're sad because you're sad.
It's psychic. It's the age. It's chemical.
Go see a shrink or take a pill,
or hug your sadness like an eyeless doll
you need to sleep.

Well, all children are sad
but some get over it.
Count your blessings. Better than that,
buy a hat. Buy a coat or pet.
Take up dancing to forget.

Forget what?
Your sadness, your shadow,
whatever it was that was done to you
the day of the lawn party
when you came inside flushed with the sun,
your mouth sulky with sugar,
in your new dress with the ribbon
and the ice-cream smear,
and said to yourself in the bathroom,
I am not the favorite child.

My darling, when it comes
right down to it
and the light fails and the fog rolls in
and you're trapped in your overturned body
under a blanket or burning car,

and the red flame is seeping out of you
and igniting the tarmac beside you head
or else the floor, or else the pillow,
none of us is;
or else we all are."

[Kast]

To improve, learn or to confuse myself - I sometimes go study a Master's style to see what I can learn from them. I have found that the more I learn, the less I know. Ok, finally testing the analyzer to see if it is on or off target. Here's one I wrote as a tribute to William Blake in the 9 Words:

Fluid, round, stone, brook, life, sang, polish, tone, & quiet

"Tribute to William Blake"

You are a sick, sick rose!
The invisible round worms
That eat man's souls
Have found a place in your bed.

The many, the few, the one...
Let the fluid of your black blood
Cast out life in the brook's song
Let no stones be polished.

The tone of your voice
Is likened to a hissing snake
So quiet you think we cannot hear,
That you are one sick, sick mf'er!

Most everyone is familiar with his "Sick Rose", let's see how close I am to his?:


"The Sick Rose
By William Blake

O Rose, thou art sick!
The invisible worm
That flies in the night,
In the howling storm,

Has found out thy bed
Of crimson joy:
And his dark secret love
Does thy life destroy."


The analyzer says I write like J. K. Rowling (I'm just thankful that I write like somebody). It wasn't in the style of Blake with his 'O' and 'thou' and 'thy' - for sure, it was more of a 'theme' thing that I was stealing... (and as you can see - I didn't steal too much, lol) ok, I'll try another one later. The jury is still out on the analyzer...

Does anyone have an idea of what my and Blake's poems are about?

[Kast]

I think whomever said, 'curosity killed the cat' should be number one on the list of geniuses. I'm not a big J. K. Rowling fan and just went to look at her style.

I see that she has a $1,000 prize in a poetry contest at:

http://www.poetrycontest.com/j-k-rowling/

I am not promoting this, know nothing about it, have never entered one but do know that there have been many scam sites to pay money to enter, etc. I'm just pointing this out to whomever might be interested and wants to check it out.


"Grigotts Wizarding Bank poem:
by J. K. Rowling

Enter, stranger, but take heed
Of what awaits the sin of greed,
For those who take, but do not earn,
Must pay most dearly in their turn,
So if you seek beneath our floors
A treasure that was never yours,
Thief, you have been warned, beware
Of finding more than treasure there."