Poetics and Poetry Discussion
(7/30/2014 4:58:00 PM)
This character Jefferson Carter is a student of human phallus.
(7/30/2014 4:01:00 PM)
WEB: Iris Shun-Ru Chang (March 28, 1968 – November 9, 2004) was an American historian and journalist. She is best known for her best-selling 1997 account of the Nanking Massacre, " The Rape of Nanking." She committed suicide on November 9,2004. Chang is the subject of the 2007 biography, Finding Iris Chang, and the 2007 documentary film Iris Chang: " The Rape of Nanking."
On November 9, 2004 at about 9 a.m., Chang was found dead in her car by a county water district employee on a rural road south of Los Gatos (California) and west of State Route 17, in Santa Clara County. Investigators concluded that Chang had shot herself through the mouth with a revolver. At the time of her death she had been taking the medications Depakote and Risperdal to stabilize her mood.
It was later discovered that she had left behind three suicide notes each dated November 8, 2004. " Statement of Iris Chang" stated: the third note included:
“There are aspects of my experience in Louisville that I will never understand. Deep down I suspect that you may have more answers about this than I do. I can never shake my belief that I was being recruited, and later persecuted, by forces more powerful than I could have imagined. Whether it was the CIA or some other organization I will never know. As long as I am alive, these forces will never stop hounding me. Days before I left for Louisville I had a deep foreboding about my safety. I sensed suddenly threats to my own life: an eerie feeling that I was being followed in the streets, the white van parked outside my house, damaged mail arriving at my P.O. box. I believe my detention at Norton Hospital was the government's attempt to discredit me."
Act not on suicidal inclinations upon hearing Abdel Halim's name
as balcony-leaping a la Malina Olinescu casts the sad pall of shame
not that getting run over by a truck is in the slightest any more tame
Maneuver your pungent ass into the casino race to the bottom game
Why tool around in electric carts when you can hobble about lame?
(7/30/2014 3:56:00 PM)
I'm not happy when I eat cat, chimpanzee, rattle snake, dog or bird
The slopes with leukemia from Kagoshima see with vision blurred
as they can't seasonably taste the subtleties between whey and curd
Which dulls not the sensibilities of Eskimologists stalking elk herd
Epicures claim the tastiest cat had mewed more than it had purred
By the roadside one may see a cigarette butt, a beer bottle or a turd
Regarding a pretty sister's virtue, no greaser'll keep his greasy word
Blood & bile is spilled and splashed among friends in fighting bout
A millionaire will spread his millions generously to establish clout
We must not resent a millionaire nor cast his generosity into doubt
For he may be afflicted with sicklemia, gigantic pin worms & gout
An idiot who spends the day bawling & weeping is less apt to pout
Fancy restaurants don't serve carp, because millionaires order trout
" If you talk to God, you are praying; If God talks to you, you have schizophrenia. If the dead talk to you, you are a spiritualist; If you talk to the dead, you are a schizophrenic." — Dr. Thomas Stephen Szasz (Apr.15,1920 – Sept.8,2012)
(7/30/2014 3:53:00 PM)
Separating hide from joints cleanly as field mouse relates to hawk
Beating my door with a hammer deviates from a neighborly knock
Because I don't trust you with my silver and ammo I use a padlock
Lounging around in my casual attire I imagine your mawkish mock
and slipped disk, herniated paunch or maxillary crater from a pock
This margin twixt heartily living or not is a properly-placed shock
by a schmuck in costumed finery including white jacket & smock
It's sad the cruelty that befalls creatures of the higher orders.10,000 U.S. citizens die from compression ulcers (bed sores) each month.95,000 of us die annually from hospital-borne staph infections because armies of over-fed, over-paid nurses are too occupied with grab-ass & gossip to give a rat's ass (or harlot's hello) for hygienic & sanitary protocols formulated to keep cross-contamination in check.
(7/30/2014 8:06:00 AM)
You are not a Actor,
nor a film-maker still,
you are marvelous factor,
and a great director...
You are not a Tree
that gives us shelter but
you are that warm shade
under which I grew up…
You are not a stunt-man
that would peel-off bad men;
still you are a great man
who saved me always from worst men…
You are not any lotion
that would heal my skin
still you are the healer of
my sadness, wound ness and broken heart....
You are not a big hero,
that is found in many eyes
but you are that superhero
found only in you daughter's eyes..
You are not a coal,
that would catch fire rapidly
still you will caught red, if
one will put me in danger bed...
You are not a wonderful place
where one and all like to come
but my " Dear Dad" to sleep
in your lap is that place
where I feel SHRUSTI under my feet.......
-LOVE YOU DADDY
©Drashi P. Shah
(7/30/2014 7:27:00 AM)
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Out of boredom, I decided to search my archives and see if i had ever used " Lo" in my verses.
I had, and despite the fact it was obviously used as a bit of archaic filling, I still kinda like it.
Vessel of dreamscape.
A sailboat’s silhouette lies in my mind
caressing the horizon’s orange hue.
She carries all my treasures, still to find.
She carries all the dawns I’ve yet to view
And lo, she warms the waters as she breaks
the shimmer of the lull between the tides.
Meandering, her rudder gently shakes
then harnessing the breeze, with ease she glides.
The sun has perched upon her fading mast
and falls into the sea to douse the flame.
Another night’s arrival comes so fast,
the afterglow before the starlight came.
To wish upon a sailboat at sunset,
the Ocean voyeuse gladly pays her debt.
(7/30/2014 6:49:00 AM)
Once i felt you in my blood and bones and your silence screamed in me
but now I no longer have anything to fear, so
why and what do i care about Jupiter, Zeus or lord the Savior?
you are the king of gods- you say- of stars, but you are not the king of man
any more. Do you ever feel the sufferings of others?No, but i do,
and it is a painful secret that men are free and yet you don't know it,
I know justice is human issue and i don't need any one to teach me it.
Don't you see what i m feeling: the rage and revolt,
not to obey the foolish rules that humiliated me long.
I am not virtuous but our sons will be, if we shed enough blood to give them the right to be:
i know the sin, the remorse and the mighty anguish and i will take upon myself but first
let me claim my kingdom and my will, without it I wonder if I really exist?.
O, let me embrace my freedom,
if i fail to satiate this urge, it will surely infect my soul, and i will not be a MAN any more.
Frank James Ryan Jr...fjr
(7/30/2014 1:55:00 AM)
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Of Respect To The Rose " Posted as a reply so as not to(God forbid) interrupt the recent wallpapering of fatuous postings whose dreck serves a purpose in value comparable to a legless tripod...FjR
(7/30/2014 12:01:00 AM)
After speaking to someone whose opinion I respect, it was recommended that I deny the accusation that I am Richard Thripp. Alexander Rizzo is full of venom. I sense that the scorn may be from one of our female members, if Rizzo is not Lamont Palmer.
Just in case I wasn't clear, I am not Richard Thripp. Having checked him out on Google, it seems that he is a real person named, Richard Thripp.
While I am at, I have never been anyone but Mike Acker.
(7/29/2014 7:16:00 PM)
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Just starting to get into Pound's Cantos. Is there a better line in poetry than this?- " out of all this beauty something must come." Written by Pound after having been imprisoned in an open air cage, sleeping on the ground.