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Another poem
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DeD CHiKn



Joined: 04 Aug 2006
Posts: 10224
Location: Baltimore, Maryla*gunshot*

PostPosted: Sat Oct 31, 2009 1:23 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

I immediately regret requesting it be reposted.
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dazedb42



Joined: 09 Jul 2006
Posts: 2348
Location: Margaret River, Australia

PostPosted: Sat Oct 31, 2009 1:26 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

I wanna reading. That is some hard hitting stuff there. I'm having trouble with the tempo though.

*genuflects to the Squidbunny*
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Michael



Joined: 09 Jul 2006
Posts: 10682

PostPosted: Sat Oct 31, 2009 1:42 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

and on top of that I'm really curious how you made the metrum work

kill me now
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Dennis J. Squidbunny



Joined: 09 Jul 2006
Posts: 3715
Location: AUSTRALIA YOU FAKIR

PostPosted: Sat Oct 31, 2009 12:45 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Quite a few years ago I met a couple of young Sudani poets and did a lot of fun theatre times with them. I was completely amazed by their poetry, because while I was hurling out trashy middle class WHY DON'T PRETTY GIRLS LIKE ME poetry they were hurling out 'one time I had to crawl over the corpses of my family because I had been hurled in a rudimentary mass grave while I was still alive' poetry, followed by awesome trashy pop R&B inspired 'I am going to have sex with all the ladies now poetry'.

It remains that a lot of the 'serious business' poetry I do has it's roots in Africa, because of how much these guys who are my age had been through these awful atrocities, but in no way used it as leverage, in no way made you pity them, but were just telling stories.

Look at the expression on the girl on the lefts face in the photo in the article Wheels (then smeat) put up. There is something so strong, and so mighty in her facial expression, in both of their faces, that in no way accepts defeat. People can be defeated so easily but these guys, and the young Sudani poets I worked with could not be defeated. They had atrocities piled upon them, but still could not be defeated.

It is weird, to be a more or less middle class raised white man but feel the need to tell these stories, and mine are so much more ham fisted and blunt than when these guys have told their own stories. Still, we don't chose the story, in a lot of ways.

It is all spoken more or less out of time, except for the chorus, which is yelled at the ceiling at the top of your lungs. What a weird rant.
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dazedb42



Joined: 09 Jul 2006
Posts: 2348
Location: Margaret River, Australia

PostPosted: Sat Oct 31, 2009 1:10 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Thank you Mr Hadley for just giving a fuck, ham fisted or not.
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andrew



Joined: 13 Jul 2006
Posts: 4495
Location: the raging sea

PostPosted: Sat Oct 31, 2009 6:55 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Dennis J. Squidbunny wrote:

It is all spoken more or less out of time, except for the chorus, which is yelled at the ceiling at the top of your lungs.

Slam poetry done right, methinks
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thewaitersitsondown



Joined: 09 Jul 2006
Posts: 2673
Location: The walrus was Paul

PostPosted: Sat Oct 31, 2009 7:44 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Dennis, I am drunk, but if I ever meet you I will buy you a hatful of beer.

In my own hat.

I associate you with hats.
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nathan



Joined: 10 Jul 2006
Posts: 6282

PostPosted: Thu Nov 05, 2009 6:03 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

There is an argument about tables which does not include bottles
knocked off in party foul fashion.

It is possible for everyone to leave their house in the morning
(we usually see each other climbing into cars
and kissing the wife goodbye
from across the street as we clear the windows of
ice and such,
and warm it up)
but this time perhaps we do not unlock the car.
Instead we walk, each on our own,
into the silent street
and stand there amidst fog and frosted grass
in the middle of the street
and all turn in the same direction
staring silently in the direction we normally go,
toward the foggy green stoplight at the end of the road.

I don't know what it would mean,
but it would mean something.

We might even feel it.
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Lasairfiona



Joined: 09 Jul 2006
Posts: 9702
Location: I have to be somewhere? ::runs around frantically::

PostPosted: Thu Nov 05, 2009 6:15 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

Squiddy: I don't usually frequent this thread but I am very glad I did. I feel a bit sick but whoo.

And for nathan: I really like the fog imagery.

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andrew



Joined: 13 Jul 2006
Posts: 4495
Location: the raging sea

PostPosted: Thu Nov 05, 2009 7:00 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

(this one isn't mine, I just revisit it from time to time and thought I'd share)

I was lying when I said I didn't love you

What a muddled and shiny night (as if Virginia
Woolf had written it as a favor), and so cold!

I mentioned how I like the cold best,
you answered me but I missed it.

It didn't matter, you said, and kept riding.
I guess we both had red cheeks.

My head was haloed by whiskies and the moon.

You wanted to borrow a movie with a cute male lead,
just a clean face to crush on while you waited for sleep.

(You didn't say that, but I know you.)
I told you to pick one and you scanned the titles

while I was pretty intent about some dust on a sill,
or else I was thinking about the carpet's many stains.

It was about cleaning, I can say that for certain.
We talked about films, their relative merits.

I decided not to mention something I'd remembered.

Justin Taylor
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reasonablymad



Joined: 03 Apr 2007
Posts: 6783

PostPosted: Fri Nov 06, 2009 6:00 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

claude levi-strauss
lived in a house, I suppose.
one maybe like this one,
and hated it too.
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nathan



Joined: 10 Jul 2006
Posts: 6282

PostPosted: Fri Nov 20, 2009 5:06 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

It occurs to me that the shared narrative constituting
America is basically a family
of movies.
What does it mean
now that our heart is carved from Hollywood?
Do any of us get to be Cary Grant?
Can I be Buster Keaton?
No.
I cannot be Buster Keaton.

I can't stop this runaway train
of thought any more than you can, my dear.
We are generals of generic goals and little more.
At best we can duck beneath our desks
and fend off the sirens with the silent lessons
of our pale fictive underbellies
while the bombs of mid-century middle-america
irradiate the cribs where our children
will one day sleep
without a night-light.
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nathan



Joined: 10 Jul 2006
Posts: 6282

PostPosted: Wed Dec 09, 2009 3:33 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

It's Christmas time and the most sentimental
words I know go like so:
"You scumbag you maggot
You cheap lousy faggot
Happy christmas your arse I pray god itīs our last."
and every time I hear it I think of places I heard it before
and the memories creep out of my past like ghastly
caskets dug up and thrown open.

Grandma doesn't look like I remember,
oh Dark Christmas of opened caskets,
she does not at all.

It's the darkest time of the year, you know, Christmas.
That's why we string up lights and holler joyous tunes
like maniacs toward the moon as it slinks away
toward another day,
a hunchback moon
dragging its bad club foot across our roof
with slow scratching sounds
while somewhere deep below
the children hear footsteps and wait with held breath
for sudden sounds saying
"Ho Ho Ho!"
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nathan



Joined: 10 Jul 2006
Posts: 6282

PostPosted: Sun Dec 27, 2009 6:13 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

I was waiting all week
for a jolly someone
who didn't come today,
who wasn't Santa.

One builds a ship of expectations
three hundred cubits long, fifty wide
and thirty deep
and dreams of rain storms in their sleep
(that comes itself in passing showers
amidst long hours that stay like good dogs
beside their master's cold body).

And with the animals loaded,
the plank pulled up,
the townspeople laughing with their noses up,
I waited resolutely for rain
and my lips became chapped, and cracked, and dried
as a warm wind rose
and flaked white paint
off a baked blue sky.
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nathan



Joined: 10 Jul 2006
Posts: 6282

PostPosted: Mon Jan 18, 2010 8:03 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

When you visit an old town where you used to live
it has a tendency to get flatter over time.

It's like watching your friend inhale a balloon full
of helium, and then he opens his mouth
and his voice isn't funny at all!
It's the same old voice!

Where'd the helium go?

That's what I'd like to know
about this old town.
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