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  • Rookie - 20 Points Pushkar Bisht (7/10/2009 9:00:00 AM) Post reply | Read 1 reply
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    Life is just for a moment,
    Not for hours, weeks, days, years or centuries,
    so why do we regret
    why not enjoy the moment fullest,

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  • Bronze Star - 5,558 Points Lorraine Margueritte Gasrel Black (7/6/2009 11:30:00 AM) Post reply

    Time is getting shortes as we approach the July 30 deadline for a publishing opportunity and a chance to give a helping hand.Please read my poem AFRICA'S SOUL for the details following my poem.I posted the information to make it easier to find....

  • Rookie Augustus Egg (6/30/2009 8:04:00 PM) Post reply | Read 2 replies

    New opening for freestyle poem renamed:

    The goldfish in his little house

    The factory is shutting down
    and everyone’s belly is hanging out like bunting
    but it’s so deadly cold that
    the word cold must be emphasised.
    Similarly, socks, in which holes have been drilled
    is in my head as annoying as
    stout wooden pegs or plugs or unexplained follicles
    orbiting the sculls of twin girls
    like smelting moons,
    one monocled to distinguish from the other

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    • Rookie Stephen Magill (7/2/2009 10:18:00 PM) Post reply

      was looking for a tutorial or something but this mostly looks like ads and whining. saw the beginning(or parts there of) of your poem and i just went with the feeling. its your idea so i give this to ... more

    • Rookie Augustus Egg (6/30/2009 8:50:00 PM) Post reply

      this is rubbish..

  • Rookie Augustus Egg (6/18/2009 9:23:00 PM) Post reply

    the blue factory: freestyle poem project,6th draft

    opening and closing

    the blue factory is shutting down.
    And everyone’s belly is hanging out like bunting.

    for weeks we shuffle, spellbound
    quilted
    like coverlets
    but it’s so cold in here
    that the word cold must be emphasised:

    (even the goldfish is staying put in his little house.)

    my biggest fear
    is flowing straight out of me

    outwardly
    a shepherd
    driving his flock

    but blow the same breath outwards

    and see
    how the old machines
    throw up the dust

    Part 2
    the new order
    (bollocks to all this we know the smell)
    heralds
    another lunatic fringe
    honing its listening skills
    on an orange

    Part three
    never are those authentic.
    Never.
    these
    gnarled sad relics with their corrugated lips
    pursed like buds
    bull ridden
    like ancestral aunts

    Part 4
    the impact of all that woolly thinking
    especially on socks
    in which holes have been drilled,
    is
    in my head
    connected
    to stout wooden pegs:
    plugs
    expressions of unexplained follicles
    orbiting the scull

    Part 5
    by any yardstick
    being pecked to death
    by
    ancient aunts
    is all
    and not
    as previously stated a bulldog

    scarcely
    a small delicate

    with about half of its bulk protruding from its mouth
    teeth like dry stone walling
    longing for whistles

    and those strong comforting hands
    for pushing back
    and
    yet
    there crouching
    on the floor
    soft and resistless

    as former plastic pleasures,
    smelting of iron
    twin girls, like moons, and a monocle
    to distinguish one from another

    sweet ravens
    cruel and curved

    Part 6
    good.
    it’s dark
    we can make our assessments

    driven by twitching fingers,
    colour covers the canvas
    tacky
    still
    these years later

  • Rookie Augustus Egg (6/14/2009 8:13:00 PM) Post reply

    the blue factory: freestyle poem project,5th draft of an estimated....

    opening

    the blue factory is shutting down. all the doors are stuck up and everyone’s belly is hanging out like bunting.
    the story is so universal it’s frequently used as the central plot in tv dramas

    Part 1
    for weeks we shuffle around spellbound
    quilted
    like blankets on a scorching hot day

    but it’s so cold in here
    that the word cold must be emphasised
    even the goldfish is staying put in his little house.

    Part 2
    After we hear of
    the new order for buttons-
    bollocks to all this
    we know the smell-

    another lunatic fringe
    comes
    honing its listening skills

    Part three
    never are those authentic
    Never.
    these
    gnarled sad relics with corrugated lips
    bull ridden
    like ancestral aunts
    current wave, prematurely wrinkled

    Part 4
    the impact of its wool,
    especially on socks
    in which holes have been drilled,
    is
    in my head
    connected
    to stout wooden pegs:
    plugs
    expressions of unexplained follicles
    orbiting the scull

    Part5
    by any yardstick
    being pecked to death
    by
    ancient aunts
    is all
    and not
    as previously stated a bulldog

    scarcely
    a small delicate

    with about half of its bulk protruding from its mouth
    teeth
    like dry stone walling
    longing for whistles

    and those strong comforting hands
    for pushing back

    yet there
    crouching
    on the floor
    appear soft and resistless

    as other plastic pleasures,
    smelting of iron
    twin girls, like moons, and a monocle
    to distinguish one from another

    sweet ravens cruel and curved

    Part 6
    good.
    it’s dark
    now we can make our assessments

    driven by twitching fingers,
    colour
    covers the canvas
    still tacky
    these years later

  • Rookie Augustus Egg (6/14/2009 8:15:00 AM) Post reply

    ..there’s a sketch by the two ronnies where they both reply to each other’s lines with their reply to each other’s previous line. the outcomes were very often unexpected. i think an adaptation of this method can definitely be of practicable use in freestyle poetry..

  • Rookie Augustus Egg (6/13/2009 8:04:00 PM) Post reply

    freestyle poem 5th draft/ unhampered
    part 1
    wool

    i won’t sit spellbound forlorn
    sucked in, hunched up, enthralled
    for days on end
    only to find
    when asked

    Have the radiators been bled?
    It’s so deadly cold

    is tempting to assume no

    even the goldfish is staying put in his little house

    when one of the quartet writes a new stanza
    bollocks to loneliness

    you just know he has already sorted out for himself
    a kind of lunatic fringe
    honing his listening skills
    on a button

    never were these daguerreotype lovelies
    but
    gnarled sad relics with corrugated lips
    bull ridden
    like ancestral aunts
    coal black currents, prematurely wrinkled

    the impact of wool,
    especially socks
    in which holes have been drilled,
    is
    in my head
    connected to stout wooden pegs:
    plugs
    expressions of unexpected hair


    part 2
    the follicle

    straight from the lolloping buttocks, the
    frequent bloody stools, by any yardstick,
    is stock.
    For
    Like being pecked in the face
    is
    an ancient aunt
    and not
    as previously stated a bulldog?

    scarcely
    a small delicate,
    with about half of its bulk protruding from its mouth

    teeth like dry stone walling

    Wind breaks

    And the longing for whistles
    is doubtless
    her strong comforting hands
    for pushing back

    yet she appears hardened to the time worn gestures
    of affection
    there
    crouching on the floor

    and there, her other plastic pleasures,
    smelting of iron
    twin girls, like moons,

    to distinguish one from another, i advise a monocle
    or a forename:
    one
    whose success depends on the virtue of its speaking the truth
    though they say
    the truth diminishes one
    by virtue
    of speaking it
    lunick: the cosmonaut’s daughter’s word for muzzle.

    sweet ravens, beaks
    full on
    curved and cruel

    part 3
    the factory

    the glue factories on both sides are covered with glue.
    all the doors are stuck
    and everyone’s belly is sticking out
    like wrens’

    part 4
    the night shift

    good.
    it’s dark
    now we can make our assessments

    driven by twitching fingers,
    colour covers the canvassers
    still tacky
    years later


    part 5
    real life is not wrong, stop fighting it

  • Rookie Omotayo Micheal (6/12/2009 11:31:00 AM) Post reply

    i just like to know perhap i shal be allowed to partake in the workshop.then is it free? and more, is it concerning international relation?

  • Rookie - 83 Points Bullion Grey (6/11/2009 12:45:00 AM) Post reply | Read 2 replies

    Why is there a shut down of 14 factorys in 7 states in the north east?
    They said there was 500,000 out of work....waiting for these factorys to reopen.
    These 500,000 people could get together and buy these factories with venture capitalist and make Green Cars like: The Air Powered car, runs on compressed air. The electric car. The Sea Water Car runs on pure salt water from the ocean. And the Solar Powered Car. What is it that stops them from Brainstorming together to find new ways to use these factorys? Its better to try than sit around and feel defeated.
    BG

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  • Rookie Augustus Egg (6/10/2009 8:48:00 PM) Post reply

    freestyle poem project 4th draft
    part 1
    wool over

    i don’t want to sit spellbound
    sucked in, hunched up, enthralled
    for days on end
    only to find
    when asked

    Have the radiators been bled?
    It’s tempting to assume no
    It’s so deadly cold

    even the goldfish is staying put in his little house

    the thing about wool, especially
    socks
    in which holes have been drilled,
    is
    in my head its connection to stout wooden pegs:

    they’re expressions of a lover’s unexpected attachments
    apparently

    part 2
    the lover

    straight from the lolloping buttocks, the
    frequent bloody stools by any yardstick,
    is stock.
    For
    Like being pecked in the face
    by
    a lover
    and not
    as previously identified a bulldog?

    scarcely
    a small delicate,
    with about half of its bulk protruding from its mouth

    teeth
    Like dry stone walling

    Wind breaks

    her methodic longing for music
    that doubtless is
    with her strong comforting hands for pushing back

    and yet
    she appears almost to resent your gestures
    of affection
    there
    crouching on the floor

    and there, other plastic creatures,
    twin girls?
    like moons smelting of iron


    i advise a monocle, to distinguish one from another
    or a forename:
    one that depends for its success on the virtue of its speaking the truth

    lunick: the cosmonaut’s word for muzzle.

    (sweet ravens,
    he kisses them full on
    beaks
    curved cruel)

    part 3

    the glue factories
    on both sides
    are covered with glue
    all the doors are stuck
    and everyone is either stuck in
    or stuck out

    part 4
    (the night shift)

    good.

    it’s dark
    now we can make our assessments
    when no etiquette is more rigid or bad deportment
    less frowned upon.

    driven by twitchy fingers, colours
    cover the canvases
    still tacky
    years later

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