Poetics and Poetry Discussion


Is there a book you just read, a piece of poetry news or a reading you just heard that you want to talk about? Here's the place to start a conversation.
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  • Professor Plum (8/1/2014 11:27:00 AM) Post reply

    Jeff, I meant the post as a compliment. Do you expect me to say the poem is a " great piece of literature" ?I mean, we're not exactly plumbing the depths of the human soul now are we (any of us) ?Okay, maybe it's somewhere in between, sorry. Once someone called you the Billy Collins of the west coast, and I think that's pretty accurate. The slight difference is, Collins has quite a bit of atmosphere in his poems. Your choice to use that " plain style" doesn't lend itself to much atmosphere at all. It's like a guy at work at the water cooler telling you a story about what happened last night. It's funny and very interesting, but I wouldn't call it a " great poem" .

    God! Did I just question the great JC?Oh, sh*t.

  • James Timothy Jarrett (8/1/2014 10:25:00 AM) Post reply

    I told you that I would fight nice JC. I have found in my travels that poets and writers seem to be the only people who can transcend the normal boundaries in life. Instead of politics or party we speak the common language of the soul.Whether we stop and listen, in the end, is up to us. This is pretty much a public forum apology to JC for all the times I went out of my way to be as rude and abusive towards him as I could and imply that none of his work had merit. Enough said.

  • James Timothy Jarrett (8/1/2014 10:11:00 AM) Post reply

    Clang association: " In psychology and psychiatry, clanging is a form of speech pattern where thinking is driven by word sounds. For example, rhyming or alliteration may lead to the appearance of logical connections where none in fact exists. This, just one manifestation amongst a more general spectrum of thought disorders, is associated with the irregular thinking apparent in psychotic mental illnesses, e.g schizophrenia. " Ever wonder what is wrong with poets?Really, think about it....

  • Tim Dolan (8/1/2014 3:01:00 AM) Post reply | Read 1 reply

    Reason! withdraw your autonomous eudonism,
    ( belief settles )
    dance on narrow spires,
    conspired by the endless orgasm of sunrise


    Hold HEART
    purpose glimmers as the poker face ____________.
    cradle not that will not live
    forgive misery and the long lone line that shall lead away


    Keep climbers at bay with flight
    drone sun on cold concrete,
    price obscures worth, not enough
    passion remains. and I fight


    abide my resolution
    will not return, constituted
    tempt not, kindness, persistence! and fear
    I here, am PRESENT


    Inertia bow please
    chance
    and hope and the beating of drums

    if there is more
    I will find it in you

    Replies for this message:
  • Gulsher John (8/1/2014 12:03:00 AM) Post reply

    The phantasms
    of my filthy fancies
    breeding,
    an exquisite boredom; and
    this monotony,
    when tunes,
    swabs all the vivacities
    and
    screws up my art.

  • Jefferson Carter (7/31/2014 8:11:00 PM) Post reply | Read 2 replies

    Despite management's prissiness about dirty words, sometimes, as a poet, you just gotta use them. For example, this new poem, which I'll delete after a few hours (unless management does it first) gave me a hell of a time; in the second line, I tried sonofabitch, but that seemed too mild. I tried " than a two-bit whore, " which seemed unnecessarily sexist and harsher than I wanted. The solution? Talk like Miles, who used mf all the time. Voila! Perfect!

    CHAIR-DANCE


    I blame “Bitches Brew, ” the live version,
    Miles selling out quicker than a motherfucker
    to the rock crowd & its love of noise.

    After four beers, I steer out of the parking garage,
    chair-dancing to what the liner notes call
    “extraterrestrial Dixieland” & somehow run

    a stop sign. At least that’s what the motorcycle cop
    tells me as I hand him my driver’s license.
    He looks about thirteen, his little face peering out
    from under the visor of the gold helmet.

    I’m glad my wife never uses clichés, never says
    if life gives you lemons, make lemonade
    or every cloud has a silver lining.

    She does believe young cops target old drivers,
    an ageist conspiracy that needs exposing.
    She got a speeding ticket last week
    & swears the traffic cop wore his cap backwards.

    But every cloud has a silver lining.
    We’ll attend Defensive Driving School, bonding
    together as all us oldies raise our hands
    when the instructor asks, “How many of you
    here consider yourselves excellent drivers?”

    Replies for this message:
    • Kyle Schlicher (8/1/2014 8:59:00 AM) Post reply | Read 1 reply

      I understand their concern but I agree with you on the use of the " right " word. If used appropriately it just makes the statement one needs to make. Occasionally, I use dirty words if the ... more

    • Professor Plum (7/31/2014 8:26:00 PM) Post reply

      Any time the author uses an '&' instead of 'and' I mistrust the poem.....I'M KIDDING! Humor. Irony. Cute story. That's Jefferson! (were you smoking a joint too?because that explains the stop sign.)

  • Jefferson Carter (7/31/2014 6:05:00 PM) Post reply

    Well, I'll be hornswaggled (as we say in Arizona) ! ! Management has deleted Thripp's putrid wallpaper! Congrats, managers, for doing your job! !

  • Professor Plum (7/31/2014 2:36:00 PM) Post reply

    Well well. Where's Ritardo?Shame he had to leave. I wonder how many books he sold. he-he-he!

  • F. J. Thomas (7/31/2014 1:13:00 PM) Post reply

    Would someone please let me know what the qualification are for becoming a " top 500" poet?
    I only ask because I've read several of these " top" poems and I mean no disrespect but....well....I'll just ask, what made them qualify please?

  • James Timothy Jarrett (7/31/2014 9:31:00 AM) Post reply | Read 3 replies

    The pomegranate tree

    It was a small bit of freedom
    Stolen under the dark desert sky
    It was counted out
    Not by minutes or hours
    But kernel by kernel
    Of delicious forbidden fruit
    Eaten slowly
    Like a lover
    Savoring every sweet drop
    Nothing else existed
    For the moment
    But the wide open night
    And sweet rough skinned fruit
    Torn open bit by bit
    Slowly anticipating every ruby orb
    That would burst it's sweet juice
    In wet pleasure
    The nights were hot and dry
    The smell of dust
    Still hanging like a veil
    And was it all was about the dust
    That freedom giving dust
    Not from the dry desert
    But the dust left on the window sill
    Tended in soft careful piles
    Next to the bars
    To be carefully packed back into place
    So they could lie
    Lie about the night
    Lie about the fruit
    And the forbidden trysts
    Under the outstretched arms
    Of the small twisted tree
    But the rough red peels
    Left carelessly strewn about
    By small unwitting fingers
    Eventually told the truth
    That the bars wouldn't
    And they started counting the fruits
    Every day and every morning
    The bounty now left untouched
    But the night was still there
    With stars close enough to hold in your hand
    The hot desert breeze gently breathing
    And every moment
    Free

    Replies for this message:
    • Gulsher John (8/1/2014 12:15:00 AM) Post reply

      If the worth of a Dance or tune (or any form of Art) measures in parts or in steps, her charm and charisma disappears. Art is something to be taken or assessed as a whole.

    • Professor Plum (7/31/2014 6:07:00 PM) Post reply

      Terrific poem James. Best poem to be posted on here in a while. And, I had to go to Grammar.com again to see if it was 'awhile' or 'a while'. CURSE YOU JEFFERSON CARTER!

    • Jefferson Carter (7/31/2014 2:59:00 PM) Post reply | Read 2 replies

      A couple of good lines here, but any poet who mistakes " it's" for " its" makes me mistrust the poem.

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