Poetics and Poetry Discussion

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  • Rookie Shelley B. Keats (8/29/2005 10:51:00 PM) Post reply | Read 1 reply
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    I am convinced that the best thing going on this site is the Hepner gang (Gershon, Linda and Jessica) . Give them a read- and no, I am not a Hepner.

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  • Rookie Rev. Dr. A. Jacob Hassler (8/29/2005 2:13:00 PM) Post reply | Read 3 replies

    and without further adieu, fellow Hunters & Peckers, i unveil the Second Corpse!


    I know that face! She sat across the room
    in algebra. She never spoke. I used to turn
    around to ogle at her breasts.
    I never even knew that she wrote poetry,
    Or lived a hundred fifty years ago.
    Announcing love swept up and other stuff we'll never need
    Emily Dickinson I want you to know I once startled highstreet revellers
    And also their pizza boxes, whilst wearing nothing but a pair of socks.
    Hope is the thing with feathers that perches on the soul, you said.
    Now do you doubt your Bird is true?

    Paned thoughts, stricken from your murals
    To bind your broadcloth breasts in pearls
    Punctuation no longer yours
    And lines re-worked for simpler shores
    Because you would not stop for death?

    Every gentle breath is followed
    by delicious quivers of pearl-white flesh
    above a modest bodice covering treasures
    satin-smooth, shivering, and soft enough
    with promise to sustain a lust-filled head.
    Oh, what combustible thoughts of Thomas’ hands on an
    uninhibited body – her body

    He, famished for the unleashed passion of a woman
    socially kempt for far too long, but cognizant of her
    fragility, coaxing her, coaxing her out of her rigidity, freeing her from
    the corset she knots herself each morning,
    moving the hand mirror until she can see
    the top of her head, which prickles & opens, letting
    in starlight whenever she reads a perfect poem.

    And the moon stands by, her own yellow hunk of cheddar,
    watching words of sadness and love rise from the heather,
    only to drift away and be lost forever now.
    Leaving her, flushed and covered in the rouge of virginity
    with the longing of her childhood's treasured and wordless dreams.
    The longing was endless
    Together she was a dream for many
    Even though her life so sheltered
    Never left her wanting anything
    Just something so far out of reach

    But not so far that I cannot sail on her bay,
    And trace the punctuation of dashes downward
    To an unread manuscript so pungent
    Lurking there like circumference
    And I dream of the key to her father's house.

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    • Rookie Herbert Nehrlich1 (8/29/2005 5:10:00 PM) Post reply

      What spellmaster slipped in an 'e' inplace of the 'i'. Is it supposed to draw attention to the actual shape of the two objects? I thought the 'i' at least has a dot as do mammaries. The Nitpicker

    • Rookie Rev. Dr. A. Jacob Hassler (8/29/2005 2:37:00 PM) Post reply

      i'll be posting the credits tomorrow so you'll know who wrote what.

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  • Rookie Michael Shepherd (8/28/2005 6:00:00 AM) Post reply | Read 1 reply

    t.h. - as you gather, we are genuinely interested in your poetic welfare... in view of this, do you want to say anything more about your work after our response - not in terms of 'blush' or gee thanks guys etc, but for instance, why you should ask? No obligation...

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  • Rookie Michael Shepherd (8/27/2005 6:56:00 AM) Post reply

    This is the gist of what I said in response to t.h.:

    t.h. (surely an admirer of k.d.?) - Do you need to? When did you not dare...?

    You have garnered more heartfelt praise from fellow poets on this site, in your short time with us, than any. Your range of reference and inmagery is quite exceptional; and though, as you know already, I'm too literal-minded to necklace together all your images, I know that (as rarely) it's worth the effort. I think, imho, that your potential is greater than any of the younger (!) poets on this site.

    I would suggest that now you expose your poems to the finest poetic (rather than critical - they might be jealous) judgment - wherever that may be; others may have their own advice. Perhaps best would be to submit your poems to a celebrated poet whom you admire.

    You will make (have made?) a great defence lawyer (better than prosecuting, for a poet...): but don't take on too many hardened felons - it ultimately affects your own speech. But you may surmount this.

    I can't believe you doubt your own talent. But if you would like some more specific critique, there are those here who would be better equipped for this than I.

    As dear Gert would say - best wishes are best wishes if they are wishes, and the best, and if not, why not?

    Michael, with apologies for a reheated dish of admiration...

  • Rookie t. h. ashbury (8/26/2005 7:44:00 PM) Post reply | Read 1 reply

    do i dare, request, a critique? (what the hell)

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  • Rookie allan james saywell (8/26/2005 7:31:00 PM) Post reply

    good evening cartwheels and pieced custard pies part time critics and
    poetry teachers and fellow poets and poets who aspire to be a poet but
    are finding it impossible how are yahall all your
    yes i watch movies about the deep south i have been delivered just arrived back
    from a trip down the tweed river, with my pet dog snuff, no where not english
    what a great Country i live in just thought i'd tell you i have another poem
    on site now, i'll whisper so that young fellow doesn't hear you know who i mean
    the young man with a dirty custard critical mouth, anyway enjoy

  • Rookie Rev. Dr. A. Jacob Hassler (8/26/2005 9:44:00 AM) Post reply

    it seems like it has been an eternity since we initially discussed this, but the Corpse is actually moving right along. we are nearly to the end of the list, and, barring any time difference conflicts and such, the Corpse might be ready to be unveiled on Monday.

    each contribution has been strong. i have to say i am quite pleased and impressed by the submissions so far! if you haven't been contacted yet, keep faith. i haven't forgotten ya!

  • Rookie Allan James Saywell (8/25/2005 8:21:00 PM) Post reply

    send the custard forget the poem

  • Rookie Herbert Nehrlich1 (8/25/2005 4:31:00 AM) Post reply | Read 1 reply

    In Australia and New Zealand father's day is celebrated on the first Sunday of September.
    I thought you all wanted to know this.
    Best wishes

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  • Rookie - 150 Points Poetry Hound (8/24/2005 7:55:00 PM) Post reply | Read 3 replies

    Here are some terrific lines and images (in my opinion) from the recent past. There is some true talent on this site:

    eight thousand men prepare to meet thy maker and everyone else (You and I)
    cross lines we should never have to cross, in time to music, with a spring in our step.
    -From A Kind Of Kristallnacht by David Harkins

    Does the daughter
    Sense her grandmother’s
    Hands grasping
    Forever in her thumbs
    -From 8.36 Holding onto Forever 2 by Charlotte Ballard

    The drone of locust and cicada,
    asleep for one hundred years,
    waking now in stringent song,
    -From This Is The Summer by Stephen Parnell

    you remind me of the lullaby which rocks
    the silence into dreams of voices, noisy
    with singing the same song, until they eclipse or rewrite
    the lyrics in the chorus of years
    that is the funeral procession from birth to rebirth.
    -From Swing-Sets by Amberlee Carter

    Buying only outlines of dreams you once devised
    That I could squeeze into
    As awkwardly as the virgin foot into high heels
    As redundant as thanksgiving cards to neighbors.
    -From Eating In by Matthew Pearson

    The purpose of arts is to seduce women and when women produce a piece of Art, they are longing for a kiss
    -From School Of Arts (Soothing Madness) by albert vynckier

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    • Rookie - 150 Points Lamont Palmer (8/25/2005 11:39:00 AM) Post reply | Read 1 reply

      Thank you, Mike. But why do you hate to admit that? I dont hate to admit if I like your work. Are going soft in the head and biased too, or am I misreading your comment?

    • Rookie - 150 Points Michael Shepherd (8/25/2005 11:06:00 AM) Post reply

      Charlotte Ballard's recalls Lamont's own (I hate to admit this) beautiful, fine poem on Mothers and Daughters...

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