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this is still rough-draft. we did another assignment where he gave us a list of ten "starter lines" and we had to choose one, and go from there. but it's about a cannibal in jail and i didn't think it'd go over well, heh! (the opening line was, literally, "come into my cell. make yourself at home.")
anyhoot, in light of the recent lunar eclipse, enjoy:
sky-secrets
we hang in a canvas of velvet:
grains of salt suspended in (better word for 'thick') ink.
we cannot be counted, although They try --
M124, Altair, and one for Alice's mother
three years gone.
trust, we are souls long gone,
hand-picked by Nature herself
to sprinkle shifting sugar-drifts on the planet
we were plucked from.
trust, that what They call M124
is really that star for Alice's mother --
she and i spend our nights together
brushing Bernice's Hair with soul-fingers, and
dodging Virgo's spear for a sip of night
from the Little Dipper.
outranking us all is Luna --
gracious even when she waxes,
baring her full-milk belly piece by piece,
night by night.
waning, she believes she gave too much of herself --
she turns to the darker side of space, swearing
never to do it again, but she will always do it again.
she forgets that we surround her,
that while the dead can speak,
no one listens.
and even when she pulled your mudball's shadow
over her head like a black slip-dress,
she was still howling despite her decency --
totality means nothing when the whole world watches
what is taken for granted every other
once-a-month.
(hdr)
my void does not want.
-- 2.13.61.
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Wonderful job, Heathyr!
I really like it! It's fresh and origanol.
As the French would say: très bien fait! Very well done.
You said when you'd die that you'd walk with me every day
And I'd start to cry and say please don't talk that way
With the blink of an eye the Lord came and asked you to meet
You went to a better place but He stole you away from me
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I don't understand it, and I can't write it, but I guess I admire those who can.
This does not extend to poetry *critics* by the way, whom as a group seems to be a snobby, presumptious lot, haha!
I tend to see poetry more in images than in words. Images of beauty where few other people see them... I have this wondrous place, where I will go today, weather permitting. It's a suburb where concrete rules absolute. There's apartement blocks of all shapes and sizes there, laid out like bricks of Lego in neat, ordered formations. Very sterile, very impersonal, and yet so beautiful. Especially on a cold late autumn afternoon with leaden clouds hanging overhead...
That is a weird kind of magic to me, and, I guess, poetry too. In images.
Hugs:
-L
"But he that hath the steerage of my course,
direct my sail."
-William Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet, Act One, Scene IV
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in a sense, lenny, you've just written poetry right there--in describing this suburb.
it's not always about meter and line-breaking, about syntax and diction. it IS, and as far as "graded work" they look for that, but for contemporary poets, i hold philip larkin up as my model. and out of the eight syntax rules (modifiers kept next to the noun it modifies, etc. blah blah grammar grammar!) that were created, he follows number eight: "above all else, break the first seven rules when necessary."
e.e. cummings loved that rule, too. 
the point is you're selling yourself a wee bit short. i could never write the kind of poetry where you think it's one thing, but are told it's something else, and THEN are able to see the hidden meanings. i can't quite pick words that have several connotations and they ALL work with the poem, but who cares? not everyone can, or has to. and for you to say that you can't write poetically, yet that paragraph right there showed me that neighborhood as though i were skirting by it. i bet if you went there today, and just jotted down comparisons, how you feel, how you see it explicitly, you'd be surprised. heck, you even had a great similie in there!
okay i have to go out in freezyweather and drive the pixie to school. though she's threatening to take the keys and drive herself....
thank you for the compliment. AND this extends to syyton, too!! i giggled aloud at the french version, might i add. that tickled me and made me smile.
my void does not want.
-- 2.13.61.
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timmy
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Has no life at all |
Location: UK, in Devon
Registered: February 2003
Messages: 13796
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Must it have metre and rhyme?
Should each line start with a capital letter?
Is this one?
A poem is really something that simple, correct prose cannot express.
Author of Queer Me! Halfway Between Flying and Crying - the true story of life for a gay boy in the Swinging Sixties in a British all male Public School
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