Someone write...
Nast
Posts: 127
Somebody needs to write something thought provoking.
Someone needs to write something not about themselves.
Someone needs to write something not about someone else.
Someone needs to write something amazing.
Something inspiring.
Something that makes this entire board go "whoa".
Cause it's been a while.
And I'm not feeling inspired.
So I won't be the one to pull it off.
Someone write...
I need to find somebody write!
Someone needs to write something not about themselves.
Someone needs to write something not about someone else.
Someone needs to write something amazing.
Something inspiring.
Something that makes this entire board go "whoa".
Cause it's been a while.
And I'm not feeling inspired.
So I won't be the one to pull it off.
Someone write...
I need to find somebody write!
The king of run on sentences...
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The risk I took was calculated, but man, am I bad at math - The Mincing Mockingbird
Sorry.
I can read them, perhaps I'm reading them wrong. They all have their own message sure.
But it doesn't feel like it's enough.
Even if I were to post on it...
I'd feel mine wouldn't make sense as I haven't read all 100 haiku pages to know what it's all really about....
La Di Da...
I miss all the spanking that used to go on.
A poem that doesn't portray a message.
I wanna see it done.
pretty high expectations,i'd say.i'd be up for the challenge but i don't know if i'm that brilliant and would not want to embarrass myself in front of everybody.
that's probably my biggest fear.
---
Walking on the pavement in the summer heat.
Young and barefoot with yellow calloused feet.
When I come upon a mass of black feathers,
picking apart some child’s favorite pet kitty.
My eyes fill with hate for the corvine cowards.
I am ready to chase them from their feasting circle.
I envision a charge and a triumphant victory shout,
but something holds my skin to the sizzling pavement.
Even as evil black beasts, they feel the power of hunger;
even as they pluck out the bits of remaining fur and collar.
I decide they are an anomaly in the cycle of life–
but they are still part of it, and so they deserve their share.
But I can’t remove the image from my youthful mind,
of a tiny child when he finds his mangled kitten,
and the tears in his eyes as his mother tries to describe
the way things happen, when a little kitty dies.
So I run at the wicked black birds. They mostly scatter.
One of their baby black birds will feel the power of hunger.
----
I'm still and quiet.
No one can see me.
I fade into shadow.
The tireless foe is licking
his chops with greed and haste
as I skip across the pool's shimmer.
Sight right upon me.
I can sense its presence.
A shudder shoots up my spine.
My knees buckle
when the bullet hits my leg,
and I fall in the chocolate mud.
Snowflakes fall on my desperate lips.
My tongue flicks out, just one last time.
It runs on up to wet my nose–my last taste.
The white powder I loved so much.
The sick indulgence I always knew
would blow up in my face.
---
I don't know, even the love/despair poems I post generally are pretty fictionalized. Just because a poem is in the 1st person doesn't mean the author is the narrator
I write down good reasons to freeze to death in my spiral ring notebook. But in the long tresses of your hair--I am a babbling brook.
-Nast
settled this morning off the bluffs
white sands fell to meet the sea
where were these skies packed away?
amongst the seashells and wax dripped from a one-night standing candle
the broken mask and rippled satin exposed my eyes for what they were:
racing jewels set afire by a sunrise never seen
where were the keepers of grass's green?
settled prow now unsettled by dolphin's wake
a sea dreamer nettled,
taunted by ancient laughter
felled by siren's luck
kneeling on tar-stuck mahogany and a cotton flax: denim tweed
there were pelicans at play and sharks targeted
sails flown by the southerly gale
a night alone entrances and holds me shy
I cannot look
I cannot return her gaze
so worthy of secrets,
am I,
So shy as to whisper the sun's many names;
Fingertips dragging ripples to a shore
Quiet and saturated by wine and more and more and more
The dolphins have taken their scattered, spritely play elsewhere
And the sharks have tasted better mix
Settled brow by a kiss
So worthy of secrets to miss the lips and come to this
Skin bronzed and a woven bliss of cotton flax and satin sheen:
In my mind a sunrise seen:
Hills of wheat, hours of lust,
A farmhouse, a castle, and a moon...
a cyclone for my bed, a room's seaward view.
These sailing days and our nights of dripp'd wax,
splinters of stain'd wood upon my feet,
Half metal, a stolen throw, discreetly stated needs must
Invisibly share the rippled stone:
a broken chalice once filled with hooded wine,
a king, a queen, and two thrones,
a settled bowsprit of racing jewels aglow with
a wandering sight my eyes have never seen:
a dragon upon the sea, her shined silver iris upon me,
I bow low, humbled, loved, grown,
my tears mixed with salted tea
an ocean's nymph has flown.
lust and landscape for everyone, right?
I have "patience" but I don't have "time."
So poetry has become a love.
check it
it's reallllly good stuff
-Nasty
-Nasty
I should say, "better than anything".
And "interaction." I must be tired. Time to sign off for the night.
-D
Pours emotion from it's pores like musical notes,
Drawing the attenion of the voice,
of all that can be.
They will come,
And come and come and come,
'cause salivating pon the clouds,
hasn't satisfied the need.
Creatures of character will crawl,
Beasts of narrative will race,
Ghosts of inspiration will soar,
and the branches will reach;
For them.
-Nasty
http://forums.pearljam.com/showthread.php?t=33616
upon you all...
mind fucked
he's got this little problem
a cotton swab went too deep
consonants look like vowels
he sees demon clowns in sleep
there's a giant hole in wall of his room
it sucks him in; distorts his features
his fingers stretch and teeth pop out
he's naked and shaking, he's naked and shaking
a man with no mouth screams in his face
he can't close his eyes
because they've been taped
he can't look away, he can't look away
he wakes up from his dream.
he's on a gurney.
a blood soaked doctor is singing gospel hymnals
his stethoscope is cold, really cold.
I write down good reasons to freeze to death in my spiral ring notebook. But in the long tresses of your hair--I am a babbling brook.
吸
苦
夜
星
盖
和
保
浩
大
和
小
I think the criteria also excluded poems about other people.
By the way, I like the dreamlike quality of this poem, produced in clear language. A lesser writer would have used all sorts of flowery language to try to get the same jarring effect. The present tense is handled with skill and dynamic, and the narrative holds the reader's attention. Well done.
It's close Kwyjibo... it can stil be read as though it's an experience the author had though. Every second line starts with "he" or "his" and may as well just say "me" and "mine" I like the way Fin described it though; " A lesser writer would have used all sorts of flowery language" I do it a lot myself... mostly in describing something and thinking one word and one word alone should be able to do that.
Back to your poem though it becomes first person whether you've intended or not "his stethoscope is cold, really cold"
That would be tough, for what voice is truly objective and devoid of standpoint? How might one attempt to get that quality of perspectival neutrality? One could leave out adjectives and adverbs that express value judgments, for example.
I only wish I had the time to join in!