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  • Peter Stavropoulos (8/7/2014 9:46:00 PM) Post reply Stage

    From: Canto LXXXI By Ezra Pound

    " What thou lovest well remains,
    the rest is dross
    What thou lov’st well shall not be reft from thee
    What thou lov’st well is thy true heritage
    Whose world, or mine or theirs
    or is it of none?
    First came the seen, then thus the palpable
    Elysium, though it were in the halls of hell,
    What thou lovest well is thy true heritage
    What thou lov’st well shall not be reft from thee"

  • Adam M. Snow (8/7/2014 5:23:00 PM) Post reply | Read 3 replies Stage

    A poem about September 11

    Black September
    Written by Adam M. Snow

    Burning to ashes, smoke brazen 'gainst auburn skies,
    with black-like coal, flowing down like rain.
    The tears of many flows the streets below,
    many on their knees crying, pleading.
    The blood that day overflowed the land,
    the blood that day filled the seas.
    Orphans were born, O' such tragedy,
    the towers fell, ashes erupt;
    crashing like ocean waves onto the land.
    Stampede of many people running,
    lost within the cloud of dust and ashes.
    A nation mourning the loss of many;
    children among many in their forever sleep,
    The world witnessed man's darkest desires,
    O' such a black September morn;
    a tragic day, a year of terror, a massacre.
    Short cut lives, forever remembered;
    a nation coming together.
    Candlelight glow fills the nightly streets,
    that day still lingering years pass.
    Many left with unanswered questions, burning;
    burning forever, forever, 'Why?'

    Replies for this message:
    • Mike Acker (8/8/2014 5:23:00 PM) Post reply Stage

      The worst thing that has happened to the Arab countries, to protect American and European interests(oil primarily) is that the middle classes were decimated by years of ruthless, corrupt and dictator ... more

    • Jim Hogg (8/8/2014 11:20:00 AM) Post reply Stage

      Fair point JC.... One of its earliest such activities - with the help of the Brits of course - was the overthrow of Iran's Mossadegh.... one of our first successful efforts at regime change.. And oil ... more

    • Jefferson Carter (8/8/2014 10:28:00 AM) Post reply Stage

      Why? You're entering the realm of politics instead of really bad poetry, Adam. I'll ignore this terrible poem and answer your question: because the US has practiced and exported terrorism to Arab cou ... more

  • Mike Acker (8/7/2014 12:57:00 PM) Post reply | Read 1 reply Stage

    Moving on...... The Two-Faced Woman (as reply)

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    • Mike Acker (8/7/2014 12:57:00 PM) Post reply Stage

      The Two-Faced Woman I see a woman with two faces looking my way. I wonder, what she sees of me. Can she truly see anything, this two-faced woman whose gaze wandered my way? Now and t ... more

  • ... Dog God 8hate (8/7/2014 5:47:00 AM) Post reply Stage

    .
    .

    i have no boring friends
    silence CAN...
    be the most poignant
    gest of all, that's why
    i never talk in my sleep

    ?

  • Frank Ovid (8/6/2014 8:50:00 PM) Post reply | Read 4 replies Stage

    I kind of like that poem. He tries some stuff that's really out there, but at least it's not boring. A for effort. Thanks for posting it. I related to it a lot because I love Talk Radio as well. I listened to Don Imus every day for years. I noticed when you read the whole poem (instead of lines taken out of context) some of those lines make more sense. Good job posting Mike.

    Replies for this message:
    • Mike Acker (8/7/2014 1:01:00 PM) Post reply | Read 1 reply Stage

      You are welcome, Ovid! ? " A" for effort.....after 40 years of writing poetry? Well, Ok! I guess it could be worse. Worse than Driving a tongue from city to city? Is the tongue in a coo ... more

    • Alexander Rizzo (8/7/2014 8:09:00 AM) Post reply Stage

      palmer did you get my addy, you did not reply

    • Mike Acker (8/7/2014 12:18:00 AM) Post reply | Read 1 reply Stage

      You were laughed out of here once before and I don't want to do it to you again. You were very proud of it until you were laughed out of here. Why delete it, you wrote it stand by it! Anyway that's ... more

    • Lamont Palmer (8/6/2014 10:39:00 PM) Post reply Stage

      Thanks Ovid. What 'Acker' the stooge is ... more

  • Mike Acker (8/6/2014 5:07:00 PM) Post reply Stage

    Lamont Palmer can retrieve any conversation between himself and others going back to the early part of this century. He even keeps track of what others discuss on this forum. Here is an example of his " fantastic" ability to retrieve past forum comments:

    When I bumped into JC in this forum in 2005, we immediately started out debating and clashing over poetry. I thought his poems were put-ons, as they were written in such a surprisingly plain, chatty way, with, in my opinion, no music or rhythm at all. Then one day, he asked me what I meant when I used the word 'music' in relation to poetry. I sent him to my page and told him to read one of my poem, 'Rain, Isolation'. At that time it was a new poem. This is what he came back and said, a most definitive remark, which I kept:

    7/23/2005 2: 47: 00 PM FORUM: Poetics & Poetry Discussion
    This message has 1 reply ]]] Lamont, I read your 'Rain, Isolation, ' keeping in mind your description of it as a more 'structured' free verse poem. It's not my kind of music; to my ears it's too elaborate, too fancy, but that's really just a matter of my personal taste. I like plainer, more under-written work. To me, this poem has moments when it seems overwritten. Thanks. JC "

    Sorry, I can't resist posting this one more time. That will be it for a while then......
    Whenever Lamont Palmer critiques without being asked to I like to bring some humility to a pompous @$$!
    (He has tried to wipe this one off the face of the earth!)

    Allan Prell's Voice

    Barbed wire rousings and puckish grins:
    Morning erupted and deepened guffaws.
    Before noon could calm the nerves,
    An audience of listeners is
    Held like love. That speech, that tenor:
    A liberal sun enters daily
    Into the room of your life, in the car
    Of your thoughts, waking all
    Moribund impressions that
    Lay like roadkill at the entrance of ears.
    (I loved the way he screamed Baltimore;
    Baltimore, in the shriek of microphones;
    It was his heart by the misty harbor) .
    I gave myself to the show,9 to 12,
    To AM radio's weakening sprawl,
    To a demi-god of shrillness who
    Touched airwaves and subsisted on them,
    Till night came crashing loudly,
    Fifty thousand watts of doom,
    Driving his tongue from city to city.

    Lamont Palmer


    Please note the following lines of pure tripe!

    " the room of your life, in the car"

    " Lay like roadkill at the entrance of ears."

    " Driving his tongue from city to city. "

    I assume the entire poem, Allan Prell's Voice, was meant as a joke! ! ??

    Of course, all the forumspeople wildly praised the magnificent " poetry" of the Lamont Palmer, afraid to admit that he is nothing more than a mediocrity, until a new forum member said:

    " But he has nothing on" ! or tranlated:
    " " But he has no talent" or " He is just another medicrity" or " What a pompous @a$$"
    or But he wrote " Driving his tongue from city to city."

  • delilah contrapunctal (8/5/2014 7:46:00 PM) Post reply | Read 1 reply Stage

    Contemporary Rebellion

    A newer way of makin' your bones:
    Go outside and flip off the drones....

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  • Mike Acker (8/5/2014 5:48:00 PM) Post reply Stage

    Bedouin Woman (revised)

    The Bedouin woman seems old and tired.
    Her favorite son's star is tattooed
    inside her heart. Outside hangs that bloody
    cross. Every morning she places a golden
    dome upon her head, becoming a beacon
    for all those dead.

    Her oldest has returned from a bitter
    exile and inhuman fate, displacing his
    brother from their Mother's side. She cried
    sanguine tears for many thousand years
    to have him back, but he's not of her,
    like before.

    Her children play their cruel games
    at her ancient, brittle feet. All are hers
    from Fathers now buried deep. Her old hands,
    brown and warm, cannot comfort, anyone,
    anymore. She will live for ever.
    She is the mother of them all.

    Mike Acker

  • Lamont Palmer (8/5/2014 2:13:00 PM) Post reply | Read 6 replies Stage

    Nice to see my name so bandied about when I'm not around. :) Good post Ovid. There's a lot of shameful (and shameless) jealousy among poets, not just on sites like this but in the greater literary community. I suppose because poetry doesn't have a vast and eager audience, everyone's battling for the same scraps and scant rewards. Of course, guys like 'Acker' are a dime a dozen; I shake my head at them and their attention-seeking antics. They're unpublished amateurs. But in the case of JC and I, in particular, we respect each other's passion and commitment to the craft, even though we're more or less on opposite sides of the spectrum in terms of style. And thinkers like you, who despite the levity you bring to the forum often, are clearly serious about poetry. I don't come here too often because the trash talk is, really, beneath me, but its to be expected in cyberspace where everyone can talk under an alias.

    I have two poems coming out this winter in Smartish Pace, a very fine print journal. Thats what a poet is judged by: not bravado and trash talk in an online forum, but actual CREDITS.. Would love to hear more about your short story. Keep up the work on it. Fiction takes a lot of time and dedication. Probably moreso than poetry. -LP

    Replies for this message:
    • Mike Acker (8/7/2014 3:27:00 PM) Post reply Stage

      Sorry to burst your bubble, Palmer, but every one of these so-called literary reviews needs the token-" blank" entry, other they may seem exclusive and haughty(which they are, of course) .

    • Alexander Rizzo (8/6/2014 6:29:00 AM) Post reply Stage

      my problem with mr acker is his poetry is so dull, such boring phrases....not to mention his repeated postings of it, anyway i know of smartish pace, get me a copy, dude, seriously. my addy is forthco ... more

    • Mike Acker (8/5/2014 11:36:00 PM) Post reply Stage

      I love how you make your grand entrances. First you prepare the stage with comments by your own aliases(Rizzo et al) , then you must take up an entire page just to state that the world is jealous of ... more

    • Frank Ovid (8/5/2014 6:39:00 PM) Post reply | Read 1 reply Stage

      Oh, okay. Best buddies....Well, I wouldn ... more

    • Lamont Palmer (8/5/2014 3:53:00 PM) Post reply Stage

      Much to the contrary about JC's comments ... more

    • Frank Ovid (8/5/2014 3:02:00 PM) Post reply | Read 1 reply Stage

      Lamont, it's admirable that you say you ... more

  • Frank Ovid (8/5/2014 10:10:00 AM) Post reply | Read 1 reply Stage

    @Rizzo, I was working on a short story about my experiences on these sites (Poemhunter, Poetfreak, etc.) , and about how people post poems, and then all of their friends pile around them slapping them on the back telling them how great they are regardless of the quality of the poem. In fact, none of them even understand what makes for good poetry, they're just going through the motions and jacking each other off to make each other feel better.
    Then, you have the other side. When the reader is NOT enamored with a poem, and the person who wrote it will sometimes get enraged to the point of wanting to kill that reader (Acker towards Palmer, as well as other combinations of people) . It's as if the reader is attacking the person and not the poem, which in some cases is true. All of this is exacerbated by the fact that everything is cyber. We're all hiding behind computers. You can say whatever you want because there's no recourse for the person being " insulted" . Many of the people on these sites have fragile egos anyway.
    Well, my short story starts with the premise above, but the guy being " insulted" (his name is Mark Factor) , is a psycopathic computer hacker and he somehow finds out who the reader is (reader's name is Tremont Solver) that's trashing all of his poems. He hacks into the guy's computer and smart phone and starts to drive him crazy. The hacker is a " Dr. Hannibal Lecter" type character, and finally shows up at Tremont's home and terrorizes him and his family.
    I put it aside though because I haven't figured out a good ending. I'll keep you updated.

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