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CaliforniaPeggy (1000+ posts) Wed Mar-25-09 01:27 AMOriginal message Oh boy...I NAILED it at the open mic poetry reading tonight! Here's what I read:“Death’s Victoryâ€I stagger upon the path I bleed insideYou are torn from meInto the dark earthforeverThe thread that tied usIs snappedBy deathHe laughs at me He has wonHe has taken my prize The journey that I never wanted to stopBeing onIs overA silver tear runs down my cheekIt stands for all my tearsBut now you’re not hereTo kiss it awayMy body spasmsBut not with joyI howl against my loss The wild birds spillTheir notes in the treesBut I don’t hear themAnymoreThe sun tracks overheadBut you are my sunAnd you have fled my skiesNow that angry red ballSlides into the seaI am left in darknessThey say there is security in deathBut I will not knowTill I join you there*************"To Balance On the Wind"Up on a column of airThe gull doesA balancing actThe wind shiftsAnd rolls beneath himHe jockeys to stay aloftHis wings flutter and dipAs he rides It’s the surging wind at the end of the dayWe always get it hereThe flags snapThe trees bend and swayI hold my jacket closedAgainst it.The gull hesitatesAs he climbs against the skyHe’s balancingUpon the wind
hibbing (312 posts) Wed Mar-25-09 01:38 AMResponse to Original message 3. Hi Peggy Hi,Nice poems, I especially like the line about the wild birds. Keep up the good work!Peace
CaliforniaPeggy (1000+ posts) Wed Mar-25-09 01:44 AMResponse to Reply #3 6. My dear hibbing! Ooh, thank you!Yeah, that line resonated with me too...I'd written it some time ago, and when I spotted it recently, I thought it would fit here.Guess so.
Prisoner_Number_Six (1000+ posts) Wed Mar-25-09 01:41 AMResponse to Original message 5. Better and better. Your style is really emerging now, and I'm glad to see you don't always stay on the brightly lit path. You explore it all, and that's what sets you apart from the ordinary. Instead of using your sight you've learned how to use your insight.
CaliforniaPeggy (1000+ posts) Wed Mar-25-09 01:46 AMResponse to Reply #5 7. My dear Prisoner_Number_Six... You are too kind; no, really, you are.Thank you!I guess I haven't posted a lot of my dark stuff...I do a fair amount of it. I really wanted to see if I could make this VERY dark, even scary.I have a lot of material inside...I just have to have the courage to get it out.Again, I thank you...
Vogon poetry is of course the third worst in the universe. The second worst is that of the Azgoths of Kria. During a recitation by their poetmaster Grunthos the Flatulent of his poem "Ode to a Small Lump of Green Putty I Found in My Armpit One Midsummer Morning", four of his audience died of internal haemorrhaging and the President of the Mid-Galactic Arts Nobbling Council only survived by gnawing one of his own legs off. Grunthos was reported to have been "disappointed" by the poem's reception, and was about to embark on a reading of his 12-book epic entitled "Zen and the Art of Going to the Lavatory", when his own major intestine, in a desperate attempt to save lifekind, leapt straight up through his neck and throttled his brain. The very worst poetry of all, and its creator, Paula Nancy Millstone Jennings of Greenbridge, Essex, England, perished in the destruction of the planet Earth. Vogon poetry is mild by comparison.
That first one sorta sounds like a loss a woman could feel from an abortion...... if she were half way normal.
I"ll never in all my life understand why anyone would want to go to a poetry reading....especially one with an "open mic night". Talk about torture!
You know, I'm from where if one can't say anything good about something, one doesn't say anything at all.But in this instance, that "poetry" just really sucks.
BlueIris (1000+ posts) Mon Mar-23-09 10:13 AMOriginal message The BlueIris Semi-Nightly Poetry Break, 3/23/09 (warning: very graphic language; NSFW; NSF minors) Edited on Mon Mar-23-09 10:22 AM by BlueIris"Child Beater"Outside, the rain, pinafore of gray water, dresses the town,and I stroke the leather belt,as she sits in the rocking chair,holding a crushed paper cup to her lips.I yell at her, but she keeps rocking;back, her eyes open, forward, they close.Her body, somehow fat, though I feed her only once a day,reminds me of my own just after she was born.It's been seven years, but I still can't forget how I felt.How heavy it feels to look at her.I lay the belt on a chairand get her dinner bowl.I hit the spoon against it, set it downand watch her crawl to it,pausing after each forward thrust of her legsand when she takes her first bite,I grab the belt and beat her across the backuntil her tears, beads of salt-filled glass, falling,shatter on the floor.I move off. I let her eat,while I get my dog's chain leash from the closet.I whirl it around my head.O daughter, so far, you've only had a taste of icing,are you ready now for some cake?
CaliforniaPeggy (1000+ posts) Wed Mar-25-09 01:27 AMOriginal messageOh boy...I NAILED it at the open mic poetry reading tonight! Here's what I read:[snip]
(to "peggy")Roses are red, violets are blue, you are a DUmmie................**** You!!Much mo betta
