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  • Gulsher John Rookie - 1st Stage (8/1/2014 12:03:00 AM) Post reply | Read 1 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.

    Replies for this message:
    • Professor Plum Rookie - 1st Stage (8/1/2014 12:24:00 PM) Post reply

      This poem is growing on me. Creepy, that thing about " swabbing something" . I like it.

  • Jefferson Carter Rookie - 1st Stage (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 Rookie - 1st Stage (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 Rookie - 1st Stage (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 Rookie - 1st Stage (7/31/2014 9:31:00 AM) Post reply | Read 4 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:
    • Lamont Palmer Rookie - 1st Stage (8/4/2014 4:16:00 AM) Post reply

      I like how it moves from image to image, but unfortunately many of those images are cliches. It needs to be reworked a bit. -LP

    • Gulsher John Rookie - 1st Stage (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 Rookie - 1st Stage (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 Rookie - 1st Stage (7/31/2014 2:59:00 PM) Post reply | Read 2 replies

      A couple of good lines here, but any poe ... more

  • delilah contrapunctal Rookie - 1st Stage (7/30/2014 10:26:00 PM) Post reply | Read 1 reply

    Richard/Ricardo...can you not be content selling your books, etc. elsewhere as you have done/continue to do?...people here do not appreciate this forum being flooded with the ramblings of just one being...you have not tapped a viable market...you have engendered no little amount of rancor with your deluges...if you must post here, do, as has been the practice of most, post your lengthy treatises as replies....unless your interest is in angering and frustrating those who would appreciate the space to post what they would like to bring to the forum you shall fail in whatever it is you are attempting to do.... you shall be unread and scrolled past...do yourself and the rest of us a courtesy...post as replies..you are indeed being noticed, it is true, but not with interest or affection/appreciation......thank you

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  • Drashi Shah Rookie - 1st Stage (7/30/2014 8:06:00 AM) Post reply | Read 1 reply

    DEAR DAD
    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

    *Shrusti=world

    ©Drashi P. Shah

    Replies for this message:
    • Gulsher John Rookie - 1st Stage (7/31/2014 8:26:00 AM) Post reply

      Can't your love(for your Dad) be content at home? do love him but don't public it... gud gal

  • Dan Reynolds Rookie - 1st Stage (7/30/2014 7:27:00 AM) Post reply | Read 2 replies

    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.

    Replies for this message:
    • James Timothy Jarrett Rookie - 1st Stage (7/31/2014 11:49:00 AM) Post reply | Read 1 reply

      " Out of boredom" God' you would never believe the amount of bad stories I have that start with that line

    • Jefferson Carter Rookie - 1st Stage (7/30/2014 11:43:00 AM) Post reply | Read 1 reply

      Dan, your problem isn't " lo" in this poem. It's how you have to employ filler to achieve a rhyme (" still to find" ;) and how you lose the meter completely (" To wish upon a ... more

  • Gulsher John Rookie - 1st Stage (7/30/2014 6:49:00 AM) Post reply

    From...
    JEAN-PAUL SARTRE

    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.

  • Mike Acker Rookie - 1st Stage (7/30/2014 12:01:00 AM) Post reply

    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.

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