Spontaneous Poems

i can't write poems in english it s too difficult for me ..for the moment

You know, with enough time, you will do...

to Francis and Misspatatra,

I don't see anything wrong with posting a poem here in French.
Most won't understand it, but many will.

I think the only objection would be to carry on a private conversation in French, or any foreign language on this site. (There is a language forum for that.)

Perhaps, Misspatatra will write a verse in French, and then translate into English for all of us to appreciate.

carlotta

#75

Christmas Stories Three

#1 Great-Grandpa's Story

?'When I was a boy,' said great grandpa
?'We read Little Orphan Annie in the funny papers.
The iceman drove a cart with a speckled mare.
Christmas in the city was a muddy, sooty affair
But we all put candles in our windows and bought
penny bags of chestnuts from a ragamuffin man.

When I was a boy,' said grandpa leaning forward
?'I had a skeptical nature. No jolly Santa stories for me.
Let the Spirit show himself. Seeing was believing.
I determined to stay up all night and watch at the grate
Learning the truth would be worth the wait.'
?'You'll be sorry,' said Sister Sue, ?'Toys for me,
But nothing for you.'

?'When I was a boy, that Christmas Eve
I kept a vigil at the lonely grate and watched
All through the night. I never slept, I swear.
The front room below stayed empty and bare
No jolly fat man made an appearance there
And when the dawn pierced the snowy pane-
?'I'm sorry, Sue, but he never came.'
?'How could you! How could you!' cried Sue
As she hurriedly ran down the stairs.
?'Christmas is ruined because of you'
A great weight of guilt pressed over my heart
And filled my skeptical mind with gloom
Then I heard Susie laughing with joy
And my parents came out of their room.

?'When I was a boy,' great grandpa told us
?'I learned about magic and trust.
The tree in the corner glittered and glowed
The presents spilled out in a fan. Santa had come
Between ticks on the clock. It didn't make sense
But I saw it was true. There were present for others
And nothing for me. I wasn't sad, it was just.
I remember that Christmas, I cherish it still
I believe in Santa - I always will.'

On this free forum, open to all, any language, I don't read French, but I don't object to its being used here.

erryma hristmasa
ota dgarea nda llaa


Hey! it all rhymes

Doug do rhyme
He do it all the time

Its a space thing, I think
conversation among bathroom stalls
just breaks my train of thought
which stall is dialouging about
my stream-
good thing i didn't wait
any longer, and i'm not as young as
i used to be.
Flush me, i'm out-done.

Red Red Hot Hot Hell

A world of wishes and desires,
The dollhouse of your destruction,
Light up a match and start some fires,
Submit to the black hole's suction.

A land rife with aspirations,
Eternal cold, eternal heat,
All the ungodly creations,
And always lies and black deceit.

A place where most things seem bad,
The front desk of your rearmost thoughts,
The region that would drive you mad,
And reveal God's hidden plots.




Something peppy for a late-night good time

Okay, so, realistically, I know it's a little dark and somber, but a poet's gotta do what a poet's gotta do, right?
(and yes I typed red and hot twice on purpose)

Dark suits you, crazy Crazy Diamond!

Thanks Carlotta!

today i cannot write spontaneously
i am serious, and every thing is strategized
each keystroke, a deliberation
i would go do my shopping
but i cant find my list, and the motor
has sludge, and i can't move on with life
i am stuck in an unfinished floor plan
sighing heavy, eating molasses.

#76

Christmas Stories Three

#2 Granny's Cookie
(first draft of my next picture book, for ages 4-7)

Up in the Foggy Mountains
On top of Rooster's Comb
There was a small log cabin
Where Granny made her home

On Christmas Eve at sunrise
She gathered eggs of brown
And milked the cow and fed the sow
And took herself to town

Five miles down the mountain
Through woods of snow and hoar
She pulled her snug coat tighter
All the way to Harry's Store

"Howdy, Gran," old Harry said
What shall you have today?"
"A bag of sugar; raisins, too -
I've bought some eggs to pay."

She put the package in her coat
And wished him Christmas cheer
And walked back up the mountain
As she did ?'most every year

At home she did some chopping -
Her granny cheeks grew rosy
She split the logs for firewood
To make her cabin cozy

She built a fire in the stove
And found her biggest bowl
Cracked some eggs and poured some milk
And sifted flour for dough

She added sugar to the mix
And butter for good flavor
Next, a dash of cinnamon -
The smell was one to savor

The batter dough was perfect
She spread it in the pot
And topped it off with raisins
When the stove was good and hot

Granny watched and waited
Beside her Christmas tree
Until the treat was golden brown
A wondrous sight to see

She put that great big cookie
Near the fireplace that night
The snow outside kept falling
As she wished the world goodnight

Around the hour of midnight
She heard a jingling riff
She tiptoed to the living room
And beheld a Christmas gift

Santa's note was very clear,
"Christmas blessings, Granny, dear
We survived another year
May your day be full of cheer."

Santa always found her hearth
He never had played hooky
And she would always bake for him
The Worlds Best Christmas Cookie
© 2005

There is a purpose in this daily grind
in the scripture quoting and positive
confessions, for every morning bowl of milk
and cereal x, i add two tablespoons of
christian television, its a fix, for the traffic
hour, and the tricycles in walmart that call me motherless
cant bring me down, but where is my fix
for the women i long for, my thompson chain
bible on the night stand is oceans away
its been three years, my God i need a fix
or to be fixed

(i like the idea of a spontaneous writing thread ...i think it will help me be a better writer ...peace)

I hope you will all continue writing. I am enjoying it immensely.

Me too.

Carlotta-you're a master at that genre. Have you already sold it?

I had written a little Christmas poem
But it felt thrown together and trite
And then I saw Richard walking in the lane
And I knew what I had to write.

He was walking fast, head down, feet flying
As is his normal habit
Avoiding eye contact, intent on his thoughts
As timid as a rabbit.

I called his name and said hello
He smiled and did the same
It's taken us months to reach this point
He finally knows my name.

I told him about our Christmas tree
He told me about his night
How his house felt so cold, he had built a fire
To give him warmth and light.

We both remarked on the crescent moon
Dimly lighting December skies
And for a moment, real peace seemed to enter
his anxiety ridden eyes.

Richard haunts these hills and lanes
And they haunt him as well, it seems
And in that way, we're two of a kind
Companions, united by dreams.

aidan

The Grandma's Cookie (c) poem is only just hatched, although I've been thinking about the illustrations for quite awhile. I'm not terribly pleased with the poetry yet. Even though it's meant for little kids who like iambic pentameter, it's a little sing-songy. I'll keep working on it. If I have time to do a piece of art, I'll try to post it here.

I may end up putting an actual cookie recipe into the text.

thanks!

Carlotta - I thought it was perfect - the rhythm of the words, and the comforting picture they paint. I also like the fact that it depicts a world that is becoming increasingly rare. Although over here, (I'm living in the UK right now) I'm living in a rural area where people do still trade services, and doing things such as paying with eggs really does still happen. I also think the recipe is a great idea. I know I would have bought a book such as that when my kids were small not only for the story, but also for the recipe. And I'd love to see your illustration as well. Please do post it. Anyway - good luck.

oh, thank you, aidan

(I'd love to send you one of my published picture books, if you can think of a way to get me your address? I wouldn't want you to post it on such an open forum.)

#77

Christmas Stories Three

#3 The Boy Who Saw Santa - Everywhere

It began on Thanksgiving, quite late,
He saw something different on his plate.
Broccoli eyes and a nose of cranberry,
Mashed potato whiskers, how very merry.
"It's Santa's face," he thought on the spot.
But he ate it anyway, why not?

At school, in gym class it popped up again.
A funny coincidence the boy thought then.
Two soccer balls on a wrestling matt,
A basketball nose and a red pennant hat,
The janitor's mop made a pretty beard.
Santa's appearance was certainly weird.

Well, the boy soon saw Santa everyplace.
Every odd grouping turned into his face.
The socks and the towels as they spun in the dryer;
The flickering flames he saw in the fire;
The red roofed house with the window eyes,
The snow on the lawn that finished the guise;

In bubbly baths as he scrubbed his hide;
In cloud formations when he played outside;
Santa's hauntings weren't so bad -
But when they stopped, he'd surely be glad.
Christmas Eve came, and he noted with cheer
He wouldn't see Santa for at least a year.