January 1st, 2006
I set a goal, a poem a day
I've not missed many along the way
Completing the challenge, believe it or not
Sharpened my faculties quite a lot
It's time to relax my regimen
Start a new forum? All right, then
Spontaneous newbies, come and play
A lotta carlotta went a long way
I'll keep reading and posting this site
Until then, have a good night.
Temptress
You are wearing on me, like 7th grade clarinets.
This ritual has grown old. I'll take a V8 any day
than give in to you. Who cares that your laying
but-naked with a bottle of baby oil, baking in
your fine house before the fireplace. You're tedious.
Monday morning traffic tedious. And know
I did not lay awake thinking of you, but it was
a fly that kept me up, annoying the hell out of me
as you always do.
Cola,
'Temptress' is a delightful poem.
The first line ('You are wearing on me, like 7th grade clarinets') is a wonderful simile,
and the last three lines are especially pleasing:
'...I did not lay awake thinking of you, but it was
a fly that kept me up, annoying the hell out of me
as you always do...'
keep 'em coming.
jjorge
Edgar,
I have missed many pages on this thread (and I'm sure many gems) but lately I find myself coming back more and more often.
Thanks for this thread. It keeps getting better.
Inspired by the album Amused to Death by Roger Waters
Watching TV
Hope that someone can see,
Hope to God, as you sit here,
Watching TV.
Hope that someday you'll be free,
Hope to God, as you sit here,
Watching TV.
Hope and pray for the needy,
Hope to God, as you sit here,
Watching TV.
Sit here on your fat old ass,
In front of the your dear TV,
Take a sip from your wine glass;
Watch, and sigh contentedly.
Sympathy for those in need,
And fake empathy for all,
Driven by dark, heartless greed,
And that plasma flatscreen on the wall.
Oh no, don't bother to hope for me,
Just hope there's a God out there,
As you sit here,
Watching TV.
YOUR FATHER'S EYES
YOUR FATHER'S EYES
I sit there
Not knowing what to do
Looking at you
Your eyes are your father's.
They belong to him
You have endeared yourself to me.
I love you as a daughter.
The daughter I never had.
You gaze turns to your father.
A contented smile falls across your face
Leaning forward, you rest your head against his
You close your eyes
A warm, liquid, dreamy smile adorns to your face
Your head tilts to meet his
Your eyes slowly close in the moment.
You take a long breath and sigh
You languidly smile
You have your father's eyes.
They are yours
And yours are his.
I sit there
Not knowing what else to do
I sit there
Looking at you
Just looking at you.
jjorge
The people on this thread have continued to amaze me, day after day.
For Daddy, The Preacherman
Get right preacherman, and I'll follow
we been through this before
finding you out was easy as
lifting a sofa cushion, following your blue
capri. Get right. Cause there's
nothing pretty about a ho suited up.
Preacherman you ain't right.
and I ain't right cause our bloods the same
hypocritical blood. Come Communion Sunday
we'll wear our white brighter than the rest
and I'll pop the cork to celebrate celibacy
we never knew. And I've adopted the prophecy
that my new life must come after yours. So,
I wait for an act of God, I wait for a sermon of truth
I wait for you to hold the bullshit from the pulpit
I wait for my turn to testify, I wait for my religious talk show.
I wait, waiting for something to give.
I'm curious, what differences have you all discovered between spontaneous poetry written directly to the site, and spontaneous poetry written off-site in a Word program? I notice my "off-site" poems tend to be a bit longer, more developed. Any one else have a comment?
Jorge-Thank you.
a new poem!!!
Heres one!!!
I fisted my self for forty nights,
and forty days,
up to the elbow in **** and guts,
jesus was a silly klutz!!!
Lametation for the Drive Home
Winter brought wildfires, and lakes lament
the feet they've lost. It's the long drive home
25 minutes seems like a trip clear cross Texas
and a dead man sings from the radio.
I realize that someone has written the opera
with too much polyphony, and the cacophony
gives me migraines, I don't know when to sing
and who signed me up for this requiem. Its
the long drive home that depresses me
and Ive accepted that I must sing, I must
awake tomorrow and punch a clock. I
sort through images on the long drive home
there are body parts, candlelit, I remember
the texture of your hair, the slope of your back
light words, your kiss goodnight. But mostly
I lament, resolved to take the other road.
Written in the quickreply box at 1:07 in the morning January 15. This is VERY spontaneous.
The View Through the Window At My Feet, As I Lay Across the Back Seat of a Silver Minivan.
I'm gonna have myself in shambles,
But I just don't care anymore,
I just don't care anymore.
The shapes fly by like silver swirling pools
Of emotion.
Life is an imitation,
Nothing is original,
What has been said before,
Will be said again,
And what I'm saying now,
Has already been said a million times.
The shapes fly by like silver swirling pools
Of emotion.
There's certain things I've promised,
Not to let you know,
And we're gonna die,
Crotchedy and old,
But things you'll never know, you'll never know,
And I know that you'll never know as long as I know what I'm saying,
But at least I'll be with you,
And my secrets.
The shapes fly by like silver swirling pools
Of emotion.
Life is a heartbeat,
Life is an eternity,
Life is,
Life is,
Life is,
Life is life is life is death,
Death is birth is life is death,
Life is love is pain is pleasure is faith is love is pain is life and life is life is life.
Cycle, cycle, repetition,
Repitition feeds the cycle feeds the repitition,
And I've been looking for some answers,
And you've been looking for some questions.
The shapes fly by like silver swirling pools
Of emotion.
Tonight will make no difference,
Tomorrow hates who I've become,
And Yesterday won't talk to me,
So let's go,
Get in the car,
No, don't tell me you love me,
Prove it.
The shapes fly by like silver swirling pools
Of Emotion.
I think I'm getting hypnotized,
By life, or the view through this window,
I can't tell which,
But I think I'll stick around,
And see how we turn out,
So say yes,
Don't ask questions,
All I want is a reaction,
Say you don't care,
Say you love me,
Say we'll all ways be together,
Wipe my the tears from my eyes,
Wipe the bad memories away,
We'll make it through,
I'll never abandon you.
The shapes fly by like silver swirling pools
Of Emotion.
I would read you this poem every day,
If that's what you wanted,
I'd love you and I'd love your love,
If that's what you wanted,
But there's one thing that I can never do,
One thing I'll never do,
Just one, in love,
Just one, in life,
A single thing:
Stop.
Deep. Straight from the heart. Written in 2 minutes. Hope you like it.
The word was turd, the reply a racial slur.
All purposed to stir, for stares.
The thread's been moved but its still there.
Sill we welcome our guest aboard
chips and dip? punch and puns?
Everyone knows, we joke in fun.
We welcome everyone the same
including the colored ones.
And what better tool than rhyme
to describe the callus remark that I
stumbled upon in an A2K thread.
But its been moved to the humor forum
so no harm done.
For the Barista
Let's blame it on pop emotion
and excuse it with pop psychology.
We can romanticize this infatuation
until we quote Barthes, in French
and speak in unknown tongues.
But it's cultural and magical how
your blond dreads locked me in-
made me look. This is a coffeehouse
so I must post modernize
every movement of your hips.
Does it help, that I season sentences
With adverbs? Should I complete my pretense
with "Gingsbergian" for good measure?
I can speak your language
and hope to seal the deal.
But I would rather be plain about it
and tell you woman to woman
over a five dollar latte-
I imagine us skin to skin.
Spontaneity: Written an hour ago, but edited quite a bit.
Hmm.. I wonder, where is Carlotta?
Nevermind. She posted at approximately 5:26 this evening.
Can't A Man Sleep?
There's a young(ish) man in the UK
Who can't get to sleep, no way
He's tried everything
From hot milk to gin
But his brain is melting away
There's a pissed off bloke over here
Who hasn't slept for a year
He's totally nuts
And there's no ifs or buts
It's sleep deprivation my dear
I'm a f*cked up geezer from Britain
Who can't seem to get enough written
I'm totally spent
But it don't pay the rent
And if writings a bug - then I'm bitten.
