Spontaneous Poems

Oh yeah, please Toronto people, do NOT vote for Stephen Harper, or shall I say, Bush Jr. Jr.

It's 'Harper' Cav (you know, one who 'harps' - on outworn traditions, and misconceptions (especially the abortion kind)); if they're not going to vote for him, lets be sure they can recognize who not to vote for, eh?

In my haste to encourage local folks to avoid this mess of a politician, I made a typo. It has been corrected.

if you wish to expand..................

http://www.able2know.com/forums/viewtopic.php?t=26619&highlight=

The sure way to have a poem go unnoticed, in my view, is to produce the poor pitiful me kind. Seems so many beginners write this stuff. I guess they have to get it out of their system before they can begin to create.

You never know Edgar. Some of those kids could grow up to write fine country songs, or death metal.

Sonnet on a West Cork honeymoon

Come with me my bride, down to the inlet
Where sand and seafoam kiss the mussel beds
Walk with me my love, across rocky crags
Rough-hewn by the wind and the sea's torrents
Let us walk through gnarled woods, where faerie folk
Sing mournful airs and dance ferociously
To the unheard sound of secret jigs and reels
We listen in wonder to the tall tales
Of the old ones enjoying pints of stout,
Inky black, topped with a virgin white cap
That echo the colours of raging waves
In a winter storm. The gannets, in flight,
Live our dream of Ireland, gracefully
Traversing the landscape, at one with it

Very nice, cav. I was Irish once.

oh what the hell, why not:

flowing down the pitted, cast wall; embracing
cracked fissures, and caressing the barren flatness
bending sharply at the transition to floor
hesitating,
unsure of the gravitational upheaval from vertical to flat
scouting hesitantly out in a random harmony of tendrils
seeking a new discovery, an altered landscape
in which to express greenness
as a way of life,
the essence of being,
the blanket at one with its occupant;
bed and being merge.

flaring outward across the soft savoury, damp earth;
plunging roots with sexual abandon,
deep and strong supporting life,
creating new life,
rushing with growth, outward
sounding the limits of infinity,
dashing inertly -

until encountering the edge of a foreign land;
ungiving, nurtureless, yielding not
to the fervent needs of life born of chlorophyll, and sky.
a stubborn slab, cold and inert
concrete slab, disinterested,
of a different manner of not being
barring progress, impeding growth;
digesting green to grey.

Well, I'll be damned. Bo of TO is better than I ever imagined.

Marvelous!

Not bad at all, bo.

I think I've only read two original writing pieces by Bo, and both I thouroughly enjoyed. This would be the second one.

Bo, your poem is cool. The only suggestion I'd make is that you take out the first line where you say it's a vine. I think we can gather that from the rest of the poem, and it would be fun to figure it out as you read, I think. I hope you don't mind me giving suggestions, I know these are supposed to be spontaneous...but I'm sorry I can't help it. Your poem reminds me of an exercise I did back in high school where we had to look at an image, and write poetry about it. The assignment was very cool because I was writing poetry about something I wouldn't normally have done...I didn't have strong emotions...I was plucking the poetry out of something real and beautiful, it's a different kind of poem and I think I'll have to try again...but it sounds like you were doing a similar thing (I'm guessing).

Anywho...

I have revised my last poem on this thread...and comments are also welcome on mine as always. I hope it doesn't sound too amateur.

-------

If I believed in fate,
I'd say that we were meant to be.
Want to believe.
Want to be with me?

I think about it, and I hate
the fact that I am just
a summer's toy
to occupy your wait.

Or am I more than that to you?
When you leave,
will you look for someone new?
I just want to stay with you.

I hope this doesn't scare you,
but if it does, it must;
because there's more to this than trust.

Trust, which anyone can give with time…
You give me your time, I'll give you my time;
Trust is good after waiting in line,
but anyone can give me time.

You have so much more to give than time.

I'm sad because:
I know you're at a different stage in life;
I'm sad, because I know
I could travel the world around twice,
and not find a better wife.

But right now when you're so near,
I can whisper in your pretty little ear:
please, please don't let it end here.

I know you have to go.
But that's okay, I'll take it slow;
if you're back here in a year,
or two, it doesn't matter;
I'll wait for ten.

I'd say that we were meant to be.
Want to believe.
Want to be with me?



EDIT: i wanted to write the same thing in a bit less open way. here 'tis:

birds are singing with ephemeral joy
wishing for each other
to believe in something false
fearing one is less than the other
and pleading for a chance to be more

tears from the future see a new bird
beautiful in a scary and different way
not wanting to scare the other
but doing it anyway

treasure is found in the sifting sand
but sand is everywhere
and sand sings a sour tune

tears from the present see a new life
and see a better life
while this bird is singing softly
falsely promising no end of time
but willing to wait nonetheless
so birds can sing forever

They are both decent pieces stuh, but in terms of feeling, I like the more open version better. Even if it might be simpler, it speaks more directly to the reader than the more poetic version.

Guitar in hand, I jam.
In free-form musical verse
my memories live and become whole.
I remember
jamming with junkies and drinkers,
deep thinkers all,
raggedly aloof,
kings of strings and sundry things.
I jam to an ocean breeze
and a calypso beat.
I take a seat
beside a leathery bluesman,
and shout out his pain
in pentatonic glory.

As the music plays,
the dance begins,
and I remember.

I dance between the flurrying fists
of schoolyard bullies,
with a smile on my face
and diplomacy on my mind.
I dance to the rythym
of a man crying for loss of love,
and coax an awkward waltz
from his tortured soul.
I dance to make allies
out of enemies.
I dance around a world in limbo.
I dance so that I never forget
the nature of the heart,
the drum-taps of life,
all the while
holding my guitar,
strumming out the stories.

Sound and fury,
beauty and pain.
I stand upon a mountaintop and play,
and all of it comes back to me
in echoes.

Thoughts on a party I attended Thursday night (My wife and I left early).


I weave my way through a sea of sticks,
a forest of the terminally thin,
to grab another brown hors d'oeuvre.
A would-be model nibbles a tiny quiche
and I anxiously await the statement
"Oh boy, am I stuffed!"
Her shoes cry out to her.
"How beautiful are we?
Look at us, talk about us,
and you will forget you are eating."
The sangria is watery,
and as transparent as the guests.
A young photographer, eager to make his pay says
"Pose and smile!" Click, flash, my eyes hurt.
Where's the bathroom?
Someone tells me
"You should really meet the party planner,
the one in the low-cut pink dress
that shows off her saggy breasts."
Sounds like fun on a stick.
Is that a rib I smell? Where the heck did that waiter go?
Maybe the ladies just wanted those ribs back,
so they ran out.
Hindsight is always 20/20.
Everyone here needs a cigarette,
and I don't smoke.
I have to leave.
"Sorry sir, you can't go.
The fashion show
is about to begin.
Please clear the way."
He was huge and surly.
I cleared the way.
I stood and watched the peacock parade
thinking
"Thank god the camera adds ten pounds."
After the show, I left,
making sure to bump into the security guard on the way out.
He apoligized to me.
I said, "Don't worry about it.
Society is not your fault."

Good writing Cav. I sympathize for the party.
You too, stuh. You are quite talented.

Thanks for the compliments gang;

i must attempt this 'genre' more frequently - and strangely, having harbored a hesitancy toward 'poetry', i am beginning to realize that all writing is potentially 'poetic', what the word actually is, is an adjective for 'art' with relation to 'text'.





not only liked your suggestion, but incorporated it; i like the idea of the piece being 'subjectless' in a grammatic sense!

[last page] http://www.able2know.com/forums/viewtopic.php?t=1332&postdays=0&postorder=asc&start=1680

and as always suggestions are golden;
'riches' we may not need, but valued as highly on the cutting room floor, as absorbed gratefully into our presented 'image'!

stuh; part two definitely;
however if you could incorporate the improved text of the second, having more emotional - hence artistic - content, into the first (the blank verse helps -rhyming is for the only the top end of 'wordsmiths' and never holds for me the intensity),
i'd like to read it.

both 'great' Cav; (i'll have to venture in here more often)
particularly liked the wistful dance of sanity.

Another convert is Bo. <smile>
And Cav found a new way to go.
The anecdotal poem
The reality of warm
The eternal progression
In spite of oppression
With stuh leading on through the snow.