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Poetics and Poetry Discussion

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  • Sherrie Kolb Cassel (4/6/2014 9:52:00 PM) Post reply | Read 2 replies

    Might be fun....

    Replies for this message:
    • Sherrie Kolb Cassel (4/6/2014 11:58:00 PM) Post reply

      Fed two birds with one seed...I combined the chaos poem with the pantoum poem....it's on my page and it's called " The Seduction of Chaos" . My first attempt and it was very difficult to sta ... more

    • Sherrie Kolb Cassel (4/6/2014 9:53:00 PM) Post reply

      Poetic Form: Pantoum The pantoum originated in Malaysia in the fifteenth-century as a short folk poem, typically made up of two rhyming couplets that were recited or sung. However, as the pan ... more

  • Atheanga Tiomaint (4/6/2014 9:49:00 PM) Post reply

    You just cannot resist can you, Mr. Lamont (the snake) Palmer. Based on our analysis of your personality and your insecurities, it is clear that you cannot hold yourself back from making a total @$$ of yourself. As Ovid or Palmer you must respond.

  • Atheanga Tiomaint (4/6/2014 9:01:00 PM) Post reply | Read 4 replies

    In case any one has overlooked this post.

    Palmer's poem below does a great disservice to a a great artist. His writings, J.D. Salinger was anything but overly sentimental or flat. That is unfortunately all I see in what has been posted below me.
    " I can be a twin and not" ! ??Oh please Mr. Palmer, do not soil Salinger's great art with your drivel and doggerel. What you have done is force fat through a fancy gadget to write this nonsensical tribute.

    Over the years it has been known that your abilities have been no more than average and when one adds in the forty four painful years of producing garbage it makes it pathetic. It appropriate to post another's member's poem at this point, to save myself more typing than necessary. It is Mike Acker's poem named L.P. and his Mediocrities. Here it is. A poem is worth a thousand words...


    Pathetic, pathetic, pathetic.
    The recurring theme of the 'plasti' poets.
    Thousands sitting in ill-fitting poetry sites,
    and vacuum-laden forums making
    hydrogenated-fatty comments broadcast
    through a dispassionate, torpid ether,
    or stuffed into serpentine fiber-optic cables
    emitting lard laden signals that slow down
    and clog ever-bored photons grudgingly carrying
    this vacuous data to burned out screens just
    to display sent, read, unread, dead messages.

    Nothing really works, but the virile springs
    of keyboard letters, livelier than the words
    they form so well, morphing into flat,
    fat final locutions that reek of nothing, nothing, nothing.
    Empty shells of language used as currency
    to buy and sell the wasted moments of mediocrities.
    Self-congratulatory writing, good/bad writes,
    don't give up; the silent scream of
    the failed poets who, like the wingless birds
    flutter aimlessly on the ground unable
    to fathom what has happened.

    Jump, jump is all they can do now,
    the closest thing to ascension,
    but that is OK, no one really cares.
    With the droppings from soaring giants
    on their heads, some feel empowered
    to keep going, the stink of guano
    is their accolade from these gods,
    high above. How could they see,
    how can they know, in this mass of chaos,
    confusion and conformity. Who gives a damn,
    a letter here, a word there; one massive
    self-obsessed mind talking to itself, incessantly.
    Pathetic, pathetic, pathetic.
    Mike Acker

    Replies for this message:
    • Atheanga Tiomaint (4/6/2014 9:47:00 PM) Post reply

      You predicted everything perfectly. I owe you a dinner and that is that. You are so smart, Herman. I am curious now about your other three predictions about Lamont Palmer and Angie Gunnell. I hope ... more

    • Herman Hermanlungen (4/6/2014 9:40:00 PM) Post reply

      Vat did I tell you Atheanga? The psychiatric profiles never lie. His insecurities would not allow him to restrain himself. The poor man. His paranoia of someone possibly reading ze truse about him ... more

    • Atheanga Tiomaint (4/6/2014 9:27:00 PM) Post reply

      It looks like we have our " jacka$$" back Herman. You win the bet as usual. Herman bet me an Indian dinner that you would respond, and do so in a most venomous way by today. It looks like ... more

    • Lamont Palmer (4/6/2014 9:18:00 PM) Post reply

      No one's overlooked your post. Its just ... more

  • Sherrie Kolb Cassel (4/6/2014 6:18:00 PM) Post reply | Read 3 replies

    Wonderful to see a few hits to my blog. Thanks!

    United States 42

    France 14

    Canada 8

    Germany 1

    Replies for this message:
    • Atheanga Tiomaint (4/6/2014 9:08:00 PM) Post reply

      You just cannot resist can you, Mr. Lamont (the snake) Palmer. Based on our analysis of your personality and your insecurities, it is clear that you cannot hold yourself back from making a total @$$ ... more

    • Frank Ovid (4/6/2014 9:00:00 PM) Post reply

      I'll bet you the German visiter was that Herman dude.

    • Herman Hermanlungen (4/6/2014 8:29:00 PM) Post reply

      Ah, ze German visit vas I am sure from our German investigations team. It assists you zen zat is good. Good for everyvone. It doesn't help diminish ze extremely serious psychiatric issues Atheanga ... more

  • Herman Hermanlungen (4/6/2014 5:16:00 PM) Post reply

    Yes, I can see some people using zat description, slithering snake, Atheanga. Of course we have scientific terms to explain his personality disorder, but I must say it gave me a chuckle to hear some people say it as it is. Slithering snake, I just can't stop chuckling over zis.

    On a bit more serious side, I must say that zis man has many grosse nerves to assume he is any good let alone average. I am too tired tonight to get into a lot of detail but I vill bring up one immediate observation of his tribute to van of ze greatest writer's of our time. His poem is doing a great disservice to a great artist.

    What struck me right avay vere zees two lines:

    " And hookers who hook you on anything but
    joy; their fishnets, a web, almost eternal."

    I vent from chuckling to outright laughing. It is not that it is only silly but a man in his fifties, writing and reading since he vas eleven or twelve writing this level of drivel is unforgivable.

    I am tired and vill get into zis more tomorrrow. Have you announced the good news that ve now have the correspondence between this Lamont Palmer and his one time " lover" , Angie. It vill emphasize the snake analogy but will also shed a very bad light on the innocent little Blue Bird. Ven will you be posting sections, Atheanga?

  • Atheanga Tiomaint (4/6/2014 5:02:00 PM) Post reply

    Ah, finally the person they refer to as the snake of PH forum, Lamont Palmer, has slithered out, as they say.

    Palmer's poem below does a great disservice to a a great artist. His writings, J.D. Salinger was anything but overly sentimental or flat. That is unfortunately all I see in what has been posted below me.
    " I can be a twin and not" ! ??Oh please Mr. Palmer, do not soil Salinger's great art with your drivel and doggerel. What you have done is force fat through a fancy gadget to write this nonsensical tribute.

    Over the years it has been known that your abilities have been no more than average and when one adds in the forty four painful years of producing garbage it makes it pathetic. It appropriate to post another's member's poem at this point, to save myself more typing than necessary. It is Mike Acker's poem named L.P. and his Mediocrities. Here it is. A poem is worth a thousand words...


    Pathetic, pathetic, pathetic.
    The recurring theme of the 'plasti' poets.
    Thousands sitting in ill-fitting poetry sites,
    and vacuum-laden forums making
    hydrogenated-fatty comments broadcast
    through a dispassionate, torpid ether,
    or stuffed into serpentine fiber-optic cables
    emitting lard laden signals that slow down
    and clog ever-bored photons grudgingly carrying
    this vacuous data to burned out screens just
    to display sent, read, unread, dead messages.

    Nothing really works, but the virile springs
    of keyboard letters, livelier than the words
    they form so well, morphing into flat,
    fat final locutions that reek of nothing, nothing, nothing.
    Empty shells of language used as currency
    to buy and sell the wasted moments of mediocrities.
    Self-congratulatory writing, good/bad writes,
    don't give up; the silent scream of
    the failed poets who, like the wingless birds
    flutter aimlessly on the ground unable
    to fathom what has happened.

    Jump, jump is all they can do now,
    the closest thing to ascension,
    but that is OK, no one really cares.
    With the droppings from soaring giants
    on their heads, some feel empowered
    to keep going, the stink of guano
    is their accolade from these gods,
    high above. How could they see,
    how can they know, in this mass of chaos,
    confusion and conformity. Who gives a damn,
    a letter here, a word there; one massive
    self-obsessed mind talking to itself, incessantly.
    Pathetic, pathetic, pathetic.
    Mike Acker

  • Lamont Palmer (4/6/2014 4:35:00 PM) Post reply | Read 6 replies

    While the jackasses are posting foolish garbage, (amazing how stupid people can be) I thought I'd put up my EK poem. The form can be based on any work of art: a painting, a novel, sculpture, etc. Mine is on one of my favorite novels that still amuses and fascinates me: Catcher in the Rye. I wrote a poem in tribute to Salinger's birthday a few years ago before he died, which would've fit the bill for our exercise, but I thought I'd scribble a new one. -LP


    Two Catchers in the Rye



    1.
    We have double vision, and double hurt,
    A penchant to only laugh on the inside,

    To know absurdity is moments from your
    Life; to accept the loneliness of taverns you enter,

    And hookers who hook you on anything but
    joy; their fishnets, a web, almost eternal.

    There are hills to run to, and to run from, in the
    Town of your cosmopolitan dreams; highballs

    At night, and old New York being new again,
    When Broadway didn’t know commercial despair.

    That context itself is a novel; a tempting
    Wish to give outsiders a place to exist,

    To give our individual Phoebes a chance
    To blather on beautifully, while we sulk.

    I met you first at sixteen; did not know you till
    Adulthood; the wittiest facade to understand.



    2.
    I can be a twin and not
    Come from the same womb
    As you,

    From the sounds of subways
    And dinner clubs
    And boorish classmates

    Devoured by libido.
    I can be that twin in the necktie
    On the train to delusion,

    Yet with a mind, cerebral
    And touchable. Unaware
    Of each other

    We can be joined
    At the cynical waists,
    Pronouncing the world, overbought,

    Or fending off advances
    Of people who love too much;
    That is the fiction, the secret self;

    Man and protagonist
    Merging unwittingly, yet
    calm on Freudian furniture.

    Replies for this message:
  • Herman Hermanlungen (4/6/2014 12:31:00 PM) Post reply

    It is interesting in life how some people will speak in a vay and project an image which often is contrary to vhat zhe facts show, once determined.

    These two cases of Lamont Palmer und Sherry Kolbenhousenbunzenburnerkrachen are ze best examples of such borderline deceivers. All it took vas just a few days of digging und fact checking.

    I am tired now und so vill go to take my after noon nap.

  • Atheanga Tiomaint (4/6/2014 12:24:00 PM) Post reply

    Forum members sick and tired of your animal manure, Sherry, have sent us more and more past postings or links to interesting insights into what makes you tick. You and Mr. Lamont Palmer, according to many members, have had a very negative influence on this forum. According to what we have received you and Lamont Palmer have used every trick in the book to manipulate, distort and attack innocent members who believe your posts after planting multiple negative persona posts. It is time you concentrate on your " higher education" and your illustrious and world -famous poet husband. There is doubt being cast now as to whether you even have an AA degree, Sherry let alone a BA or BS. Someone indicated that we will know in the very near future.

    It is simply time for you and your slimy gang of snakes to vacate here.

    Below are the types of poems flying around the Kolbenhousenbunzenburnerkrachen household. Yikes. After World War II, Argentina had a sudden rise in the number of disgusting poetry. Afeter some research it was discovered that the rise of terrible poetry forcing a decline in great Argentinian poetry was due to the massive migration of amnesic ex adolf followers. They brought this kind of poetry with them. Can you imagine adding HUND From HOELLE in a poem for a loved one. Well here you go enjoy...
    I would recommend having some barf bags close at hand.

    Of course, none of this is personal. It is after all is said and done, about the poetry.


    Für mein Sherrie, mein Dora

    ************************************************************
    I could not have written this Surrealistic poem to anyone but you, but you still may not like it much. Dora Maar may not have wanted to have her portrait done as a Cubist, Guernica-infused Weeping Woman, but she loved the guy, you know?

    yB

    ************************************************************
    There is a chocolate fondue fountain into
    which lovers could dip marshmallows, black-
    berries, or lovers, understanding that
    love, perfect undipped love
    can be metaphysical, should be;
    I will have it surreal, and love you
    as I am now, as I wish to perceive you,
    mindful, body-full, and full.
    It’s potent and paradoxical, like
    dreams of wizards or flying fish or
    looking at a sunrise in our windshield and not
    talking about fire.
    Only with you can I see these things
    with such clarity that they blind us
    and fill us with understanding.

    I will blaze unchocolated through your world, through; JUST WHEN YOU THINK YOU HAVE GOTTEN PAST THE WORST THIS COMES ALONG
    you into mine and together, AND THIS
    remembering a time unreal and true,
    long ago and never, when
    we would see fish in the clouds,
    I would become your wizard forever
    and we’d walk past the unvisited section
    of the ancient bookstore, past
    an unopened copy of
    Liebe ist ein Hund von der Hölle
    and remark with pure pleasure
    that had he lived, Freud
    could have read Bukowski.

    By Ben Cassel
    ************************************************************
    Every year for our anniversary, Valentine's Day, birthday, etc., my husband and I write poems for each other. This one was written in 2011, and since it's the 8th anniversary of our first date, and he's right smack dab in the middle of performance night of his high school play, I wanted to share this poem that, to me, said, " I know you."

  • Sherrie Kolb Cassel (4/6/2014 12:21:00 PM) Post reply | Read 1 reply

    Check out Thomas Vaughan Jones; his work is hysterical. Yes, it rhymes, but it is brilliant. I really enjoyed " A Brief Note for my Surgeons" - fun stuff. When rhyme is brilliant (in the eye of the beholder) - it is good (of course, IMNSHO) .

    Replies for this message:
    • Atheanga Tiomaint (4/6/2014 5:28:00 PM) Post reply

      I think, my dear Sherry, it is time for you to simply and fully check out. And I mean CHECK- OUT. Thank you. INMHO OFYA@@

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