Someone somewhere made the mistake of suggesting I post some poetry. I will if you will. It doesn't have to be any good (as you will quickly see for yourself). I mainly focus on haibun, but here is something light-hearted I was inspired to write when my boys were young. I assert my copyright, such that that matters.

Age of Boys

Once upon a time, Boys ruled the Earth,
and the power of flight was attained
through bikes and scrap-wooden ramps.
(The True Believers could achieve much more,
hawk-riding thermals above the street lamps,
dangling from their Levi's jean-jacket sleeves.)

Sorcerers were clad in magic sneakers,
imbued with the ability to run faster,
jump higher, than the mortal neighbor brats.
Oh, Talisman of Power, the red sport logo!

Horrific weapons of warfare were crafted
from scrap lumber, tin pails, and dirt.
Holy Wars raged through eternal Saturdays;
resurrections of the Righteous
and the Unrighteous as even the slain
were called to dinner.

Loyalty was sworn in blood and spit,
bravery and cowardice revealed during
The Ritual Climbing of Mr. Miller's Trees.

Boys spoke all the Animal Tongues:
language of Toad and Salamander,
Robin, Crow, and Lower Dog.

They lived in the woods, their days
a meander along old Indian trails
and the muddy creekbed of the Amazon.

Then in sudden cataclysm
the Age of Boys was over
(a new species was the cause).
Scholars now study that ancient world,
that primitive time,
before the Age of Girls.

I like it. I don't usually go for the less structured forms, myself (I count myself no poetry scholar am I, just so you know), but I like this piece. :yes:

It does a great job of capturing "little boyness" and the abrupt ending has a good effect of demonstrating the abrupt ending there of.

I do forms as well, of course. Today I only write haibun, which is prose+haiku. My prose tends to be highly-cadenced, and in one case the prose is actually a sonnet, of all things, recast. Open form seemed to "feel right" in this instance, though.

Next?

hey, you turned around ! it makes more sense to be facing that way...

thanks for the poem ! i like it too. i like free verse and also structured poetry, as long as it's well-written. i like the way this one takes childhood seriously, without condescension, even though it sees the aspects that adults usually belittle... childhood is very serious, to children.

That's the thing I find so disappointing about adults, myself included too often: the loss of a sense of wonder. Sure, I know about how earthworms move (for example), but a kid doesn't, and when he sees one for the first time, he's fascinated just the same way I was the first time I saw it. I try to respond to kids in those sorts of situations differently than what I usually got: which was something to the effect of "yeah, so?"

This piece does a good job of recognizing and respecting that sort of wonder, even though the speaker has grown beyond it. That may be the core of why I like it, but I don't know if I would have been able to put my finger on it without your comments, zelda_pinwheel.

Let's not overlook the implication that everything changed once Girls were discovered. That's an entirely different genre, however.

Now, we need some other posters here. It doesn't have to be serious poetry. Heck, limericks will do.

I derive much satisfaction
from passive emotifaction
my nouns are all mozzled
because I'm half sozzled
and looking for some action

I was looking for my books (I haven't really written anything myself for about 11 years), when I found them (hadn't unpacked them from the move), I remembered the stuff I wrote wasn't stuff I ever meant to share, and it's not nearly so good as it seemed to younger eyes. :rolleyes:

The things I've "written" since then were mostly in my head, so they're kind of hard to pull back out. :shrug:

Let's not overlook the implication that everything changed once Girls were discovered. That's an entirely different genre, however.

Now, we need some other posters here. It doesn't have to be serious poetry. Heck, limericks will do.

I derive much satisfaction
from passive emotifaction
my nouns are all mozzled
because I'm half sozzled
and looking for some action

sheesh, you're like some kind of reincarnation of Lewis Carroll.

Another on a similar theme. This is an example of a haibun, a Japanese form. Prose and haiku are combined, with a subtle and often tangential relationship between them. In this poem the link isn't so subtle, actually.

NAP-TIME

Just after lunch, when the paper plates and crumbs have been cleared from the table, the hands and plastic cups scrubbed clean, visits to the bathroom negotiated, comes the drowsy afternoon, tucked snug between the sheets in the amber-lit, blue-walled bedroom.

Quiet conversations, whispered at the border of perception, shuffle over the morning's debris: the menagerie loosed upon the ruins of block cities, toy metal cars screaming away from the confusion, storybooks piled in a riot of twisted pages and plot lines.

As the house creaks and settles into the slumber of regular breathing, the afternoon descends into the pages of my poems. Nap-time: morning's chaos woven into measured dreams; frozen stories, flickering eyes, fingers dancing on the keys.

nap-time...
childrens' voices
echo through the vents

There was a device called liseuse
Whose name was pretentious and loose
So we changed it around
And modified the sound
Now we call it a reader with juice

Tommy :)

user poetry.

So you eat but not sleep, I see, I see!
I drink but don't think (I pee, I pee!)
What a pair we would be
on the streets of Paris
eating and drinking all night, mais oui!

more user poetry.

y'all are posting these in the wrong place ! pfff !!

:book2:

Tonight I'm browsing the "Selected Poems of Edwin Arlington Robinson" - "Isaac and Archibald", probably my favorite poem. I've always had an affinity for old men - I often think of old men I've known, the unplumbed depth of their meaningful silence. When E.A.R. writes of the "small boy's adhesiveness / To competent old age", I recognize the feeling.

This copy of the book is secondhand. It's been studied; the margins have penciled notations, a few of the stronger assertions in ink. I like to draw my own meanings from the poems, but take pleasure in the insights left behind. From time to time I add my own marginalia to the pages. I imagine this book making its way to others. I want to write something profound, but settle for a few smiley faces.

on the library steps
the blowing leaves
of a book

i also appreciate the communal aspect of used (or library) books, rendered explicit through annotations (as long as they don't take things too far, and the original text remains legible, of course...). sometimes it's only a typo crossed out and corrected in blue ink, or a cryptic word next to a paragraph...

when i see these traces, the tacit link i have with this anonymous previous reader materializes briefly, almost like a discussion dilated to the extreme, and i feel irrationally connected to them for a moment, almost like a friend.

deeply ironic that the mozzler of "passive emotifaction" should manifest his presence in the chain of used-book readers and annotators with smiley faces...

i also appreciate the communal aspect of used (or library) books, rendered explicit through annotations (as long as they don't take things too far, and the original text remains legible, of course...). sometimes it's only a typo crossed out and corrected in blue ink, or a cryptic word next to a paragraph...

when i see these traces, the tacit link i have with this anonymous previous reader materializes briefly, almost like a discussion dilated to the extreme, and i feel irrationally connected to them for a moment, almost like a friend.

deeply ironic that the mozzler of "passive emotifaction" should manifest his presence in the chain of used-book readers and annotators with smiley faces...
I bought some used books back in college until one of them turned out to be highlighted and marked by an idiot. I felt no linkage.

I bought some used books back in college until one of them turned out to be highlighted and marked by an idiot. I felt no linkage.

well, not all readers can be wise old sages... alas... :p

Do you remember
when we said goodbye outside
behind your house?
Afterwards, we spent two hours
trying to find these earrings.

I somehow had missed this little gem of a thread. I hope you keep it up. I enjoy poetry, especially when there are no rules (does that surprise you?). I write none myself, aside from some occasional fun stuff a la Dr. Seuss.

The previous does have rules... it's a Japanese form called "Tanka", and outside of all the little technicalities of the form, one central component is the concept of a "turn". The poem should turn, twist, shift, somehow. The turn typically occurs in the fourth line. In this case, the "turn" is from past tense to present tense, which is meant to add an unwritten, implied emotional jolt. (Why did they say goodbye? How'd the earrings get lost? Are they saying goodbye again? Why does "he" have the earrings now?)

down from the branches
does it timidly venture
snatching the peanut

Squirrel haiku, you know. :D

A new genre! Squirrelku. Hmmm...

grey squirrels' winter dreys punctuate my morning drive

ah, i thought i was the only one who remembered this thread. nice to see it dusted off.

i quite like your new poem Taylor. elegant but cheeky.

VR, you know Doctor Seuss is always welcome anywhere...

as for squirrelku, i cannot begin to express my enthusiasm. particularly as "squirrel" is my favorite english word. if you want to know why, write it down on a piece of paper, find a french person (preferably who speaks little to no english), and ask them to pronounce it. this is my favorite game.

It's actually an old poem, written in 1995. I remember the year because it won an international award in Tanka. Yes, I'm unashamedly bragging. I found it again recently going through some books looking for something else.

The squirrelku, on the other hand, was spur of the moment. Grey squirrels build big nests, and in the winter when the trees have no leaves, they stand out like periods and commas on the "sentence" of a tree line.

So who's up next with a squirrelku? Hey, we just mozzled a new noun!

Hi, here are three from my latest book, On The Road To Dharamsala. Thanks for reading. John

Bach


Each morning,
in a small courtyard
across the alley,
a teenager walks
slowly back and forth
reading a schoolbook
or manual,
repeating phrases
in rhythm with
the peaceful movement
of her legs through shade;
she turns as a line
of Bach turns,
defining old ground
newly, dark hair
bumping gently
on her cotton shirt.


Chandigarh,
India


Kamal


Kamal drunk, declaiming
by his brick two-room house,
one up, one under for the cows,
high over the valley.
He drinks his army pension,
works the rest of the month
with his wife and teenaged sons.
“They beat me,” he tells us.
“I haven't eaten in 48 hours;
I have a very bad wife.”
He is stronger than any of them.
His wife is loving. Strange.
He raves into the night
for hours using practiced
dramatic gestures,
pausing to sing, pacing
back and forth.
I asked Mickey what
the Hindi words meant.
“It's all bullshit,” he said.
Yes, Kamal
is acting badly again—
reproachful,
indignant, angry
to the point of violence,
long hands pleading
in the moonlight.





Kamal Repents at Dawn


Cross-legged on his roof,
rubbing his face briskly,
extending long arms,
circling his wrists,
Kamal surveys the valley.
A devotional chorus issues
from a loudspeaker below.
At the solo, he
begins to sing; his voice
reaches and spreads
throughout the settlement.
Slowly, musically,
suffering is forgiven;
blame becomes blessing;
Kamal repents.


McLeod Ganj

So who's up next with a squirrelku? Hey, we just mozzled a new noun!

You mozzler. Do you mean, who's up next in the squirrelku queue?

I actually found this link: http://www.scarysquirrel.org/phlinger/pitstop/mitchell.html

The whole site should appeal to squirrel enthusiasts.

A slice of juvenilia:

Of Silver

Nations blessed by ages long for love of gold at last have fell.
The seeds of self-deceit are sown with ploughs of golden metal cast,
And fields of blood and woe are mown with swords forged in a golden blast.
Of all who seek to find the grail, there is not one who'll live to tell,
From mountains pure of basest lead no precious speck of ore to sell.
Yet silver, sonorous and strong, peals long a bell of blameless past,
And would that bonds of friendship were with strands of silver strong held fast,
For silver as a mirror shin'd will secrets of betrayal tell.
So give me not your yellow discs that usury and lies will varnish;
Hang not about my neck a chain that yokes me to a dray of fools,
For gold is nought but evil magic, caster of deceitful spell.
In silver's truth I will be clad and wear with pride it's telltale tarnish.
A metal hard and pure I need, not soft, nor fickle, for my tools.
And all I ask as my reward: to hear the angels' silver bells.



(It's in sonnet form, but with double length lines :))

15j
:D


Sorry for the lack squirrel imagery :o.
I do particularly like the earring Tanka :cool:

Interesting rhyme scheme.

We'll overlook the lack of squirrelity ... this time. :wink:

Italian sonnet form:

a-b-b-a a-b-b-a forms the octet with c-d-e c-d-e forming the sestet.
The octet describes a problem, and the sestet its resolution...

You can't overlook this though :eek:

http://atlasshrugs2000.typepad.com/atlas_shrugs/images/squirrel_nuts_1.jpg

15j
:D

:squirrel:
i suspect i know who's responsable for that... :rolleyes:

Hey! I wanted to use it first! :squirrel:

grumble, grumble, stupid time zones, grumble ....

:D

And what, pray tell, emotional state is implied by a squirrel? I'm trying to add the "squirrel" emotion to my passive emotifaction equation. It's a non-linear recursive equation, of course, it being no small task to cycle through every possible "missing" emoticon to color an otherwise smiley-free post into the properly contextually nuanced nicety of emotional overtone. Really, I admire the efforts at passive emotifaction made by the merely human members of our community, but truth be told only a being with the brain the size of a small planet has any hope of accomplishing this.

I'm afraid when I add "squirrel" to the equation I end up, not with an "aha, what a delicate seasoning of connotation that NatCh adds to the raw denotation of his cromulent squiggles", but instead a vague discomfort behind my left ear, an urge to scratch that spot with my left foot, and the smell of damp leaves.

Hey! I wanted to use it first! :squirrel:

grumble, grumble, stupid time zones, grumble ....

:D

yep, you have to get up pretty early to beat someone who's in a time zone 8 (7 ?) hours ahead of you. :wink:

or alternatively, just do whatever it is in your evening time, when i am most likely asleep. if you had a time machine, you could go back to last evening (your evening) and do it then. i can almost guarantee you i will have been asleep.

And what, pray tell, emotional state is implied by a squirrel? I'm trying to add the "squirrel" emotion to my passive emotifaction equation. It's a non-linear recursive equation, of course, it being no small task to cycle through every possible "missing" emoticon to color an otherwise smiley-free post into the properly contextually nuanced nicety of emotional overtone. Really, I admire the efforts at passive emotifaction made by the merely human members of our community, but truth be told only a being with the brain the size of a small planet has any hope of accomplishing this.

I'm afraid when I add "squirrel" to the equation I end up, not with an "aha, what a delicate seasoning of connotation that NatCh adds to the raw denotation of his cromulent squiggles", but instead a vague discomfort behind my left ear, an urge to scratch that spot with my left foot, and the smell of damp leaves.

you've never heard the adjective "squirrelly" ???
squir·rel·y /ˈskwɜrəli, ˈskwʌr- or, especially Brit., ˈskwɪr-/ [skwur-uh-lee, skwuhr- or, especially Brit., skwir-]
–adjective Slang.
eccentric; flighty.
Also, squir·rel·ly.
[Origin: 1930–35; squirrel + -y1]
it seems to me that would be the obvious answer, and my cranium is significanly smaller even than most satellites.

Perfect. Thank you. And also thanks for not pointing out the obvious error in my previous post: I don't have a left ear.

Perfect. Thank you. And also thanks for not pointing out the obvious error in my previous post: I don't have a left ear.
aw, i didn't want to make you feel inadequate. you can scratch behind my left ear if you want.

It's not the missing ear that makes me feel inadequate. I'm soooo depressed.

It's not the missing ear that makes me feel inadequate. I'm soooo depressed.
la la la, extreme purity of heart, la la la...

a little higher please.

yep, you have to get up pretty early to beat someone who's in a time zone 8 (7 ?) hours ahead of you. :wink:

or alternatively, just do whatever it is in your evening time, when i am most likely asleep.Trouble is, I didn't think to ask Alex to add the thing until last night when he was also most likely asleep. :shrug:

Right now it's 7 hours difference, but in the winter it's 8. I wish we'd just move the stupid clocks 30 minutes and leave them there. :rolleyes:

you've never heard the adjective "squirrelly" ???grumble, grumble, beat me to that one too. :smack:

Trouble is, I didn't think to ask Alex to add the thing until last night when he was also most likely asleep. :shrug:
yep, another situation where the time machine comes in handy...

Right now it's 7 hours difference, but in the winter it's 8. I wish we'd just move the stupid clocks 30 minutes and leave them there. :rolleyes:
oh boy, you and me BOTH !!!

grumble, grumble, beat me to that one too. :smack:
(getting up early, time machine, etc.) :grin:

if it makes you feel any better, every time i look there seem to be more new smileys ; i'll let you use those ones first. :wink:

if it makes you feel any better, every time i look there seem to be more new smileys ; i'll let you use those ones first. :wink:Not so much, no, but thanks for the thought. :beam:

a little higher please.

Yes, yes... and then a little this way, a little deeper, could I go any faster? Then eventually when my finger is cramped and I'm too tired to go on, you'll just end up in the other room behind a closed door, scratching your own ear, and I'll be at the bar, telling lies to the pretty waitress, quietly dying inside.

I think I'm in love....... I love Planethead's way with words. Both his poetry, and the reply just before this one.

If that were a spacesuit, perhaps there are ears (and other bits) inside the suit? If not, I still think he's CUuuute! :curtain: :smitten::wacko:

Hold me?

I think I'm going to be sick. Sorry. I may not poop on flowers but I think I'm about to upchuck on them.

VR is just jealous
:thinking2

Wait a minute, that's Gabrielle's shade of lipstick!

Now I'm jealous! :D

Not to worry, true to character, I "didn't enjoy it." And lest you doubt me, "Why should I want to make anything up? Life's bad enough as it is without wanting to invent anymore of it."

I also contribute the following smiley, meant to mean "User must apply passive emotifaction to this post."

I also contribute the following smiley, meant to mean "User must apply passive emotifaction to this post."

Oh, sure. The muzzler now wants to activate his passive emotifaction. What a great idea.

I also contribute the following smiley, meant to mean "User must apply passive emotifaction to this post."
ah yes, the "passive emotifaction" smiley. nothing ironic about that.

I would never USE it, of course. It would be incumbent upon the collective you to emotifactor it into my posts. But, assuming the Powers that Be adopt it, at least it now exists. While my most of my brain is in hyperspace, at least now my smilies aren't metaphysical.

Hey! I wanted to use it first! :squirrel:

grumble, grumble, stupid time zones, grumble ....

:D

Sorry for the theft of your thunder. But it was irresistable... :)

yep, you have to get up pretty early to beat someone who's in a time zone 8 (7 ?) hours ahead of you. :wink:



Being ahead of the rest of the world certainly has its advantages. Unfortunately these usually amount to nothing more valuable than producing such cultural necessities as Air Supply and Men At Work, inventing barbed wire, and divining which Beatles classic Brooke will butcher next. :smack:

Not to worry, true to character, I "didn't enjoy it." And lest you doubt me, "Why should I want to make anything up? Life's bad enough as it is without wanting to invent anymore of it."

Ok, so I'm slow. I've read the book, but hadn't seen the movie. I'll have to remedy that. With that line I finally realized where Taylor514ce's avatar came from. So I googled, and found I was right. Clips of planethead's best lines:

http://youtube.com/watch?v=sQqeidrlDyw

Now I'm more in love than ever....... :iloveyou::kiss::blush::kiss::smitten:

Boy -- that was a thread killer. Ignore the lady swooning in the corner (he's still cuuuute!) and read some poetry instead. NOT by me, but a childhood favorite. Which works best in print, rather than verbally:

If an S and an I and an O and a U
With an X at the end spell "sue";
And an E and a Y and an E spell "I",
Pray, what is a speller to do?

Then if also an S and an I and a G
With an H - E - D spell "Side"
There is nothing on earth for a speller to do
But go and commit SiouxEyeSighed.

Not mine either, but I like it:Johnny was a chemist's son,
But Johnny is no more.
For what he thought was H2O
Was H2SO4.

I like this limerick, cuz it doesn't LOOK like a limerick:

A mosquito cried out in pain:
"A chemist has poisoned my brain!"
The cause of his sorrow
was para-dichlorodiphenyltrichloroethane


[paraDichloroDiphenylTrichloroethane is the the full name for DDT]

through the kitchen window
neighbor's young wife...
clouds cover the moon

"The Ancient Man"

A man there lived,of whom I know,god knows how I avail

To tell the tale,of how this man,lived in his merry way.

He came from states at Northern lakes and often did he say

„Nor beast nor man,nor thing twice damned,a hand upon him may

lay in wait to slay his Great,as he would often call.

Be on your watch,he said,or scotch,i tell this to you all.“

He hunted in the shermans wood,oh lord if I only may

To avail to say,how he there stood,and gaspeth upon his prey

He took the bones,and made them tools,for play and for his kin,

He threw them to the dogs he did,with many a merry sing

He took the skin and cut it deep,while hanging on a pole,

He made it reek,five feet around,his all-dreaded dome

He took the blood,and made it rise,for lamb or bear or newborn child,

He treausured as a prise

He cut and filled his lonely tub,and did within it bathe

And none who came and saw him thus,could scarcely be as brave

To but a word of acusition breathe,when they remember stil,

How this one man,silent as a lamb,poured blood out to his kin

They said he came then to his bed and a great night there would lie

As though he knew ,not beast or prey,could ever make him die

And often times,through lonely skies,great cries were heard anew

This old man then,was told in spite,to oft amongst them brew

He cried his words in lonely tongues

No ears could ever stand

And a damn horrid sight it was

For one who did be there a-strand‘

This befel one John Canine,from Albertstown,was sure

He came to town,to look for work,to work there was his due

But at no doors did they lend him oars,listen to him at all

For all there feared that him from the breed, of that strange man „of the fall“

For at many times,so lonely sights,some strange men often came

To see the man,whom they all damned,but did not dare him shame

They draged about,all torn and out of them their spirits came

As if they had naught left,but to spread HIS fame

And often did they come anon and strange there sounds did come

And the old man then would go to bed,while the other was surely gone

And none had seen him take his leave,though all had see him enter

And all knew well there was no hope,when steped bellow that shelter

And all did fear that ancient man,who God himself forgot

For a wretch as great as he,could surely not be wrought

From conciounsce of the Lord above,nor did he ever stray

Into the church,bellow the cross,nor did he ever pray

And long his nails and filled with dirt,

And mud and sudd upon him lay,upon his bloodied shirt

Surely he was a dirty man,by body and by soul

But none ere dared to speak alloud,the wish of people all

That ancient man then did there live,so long as I do know

And not a trace of dying grace ever apeared upon his brow

He would often sit at Gorman’s lake and often would he call

At night to frogs,at day to snakes,for sure he loved them all

And his kin they were,all men did think,

For surely this old man

No earthly drink

Could ever waste,to such a horrid damn

But this man Canine knew him not

And came to him to plea

He surely did nor know

What beyond those doors did rott

But when he cried,oh lord,he pried, the door full and a jar

And he found the man there huddled stil,within his hands a jar

And there within a heart stil beating,as that it was yet in bloom

The youngster froze,while in his blood,the anger made to boom

And he took a shovel from the ground and battered with all his might

And he killed the man all did fear,and rid us of his might

But ere he could dipose the corpse,the corpse upon him lay,and hands did grasp upon his throat,in many a hideous way

And the young man did tear the corpse,yet stil it at him blew,till all at lenght,at sixteen eight

His soul all from him flew

And the man who was the corpse ,there erect did stand and to me he did oustretch his utter horrid hand

„Listen man,whether wise or damned be ye

hear my tale,so full of ave,of dreadfull melanchony

I was a man who lived in pain and in anger God did spurn,

Then from the heavens came a sound and its voice upon me burn

And from the voice I knew full well ANOTHER God did speak

Then ever Milton dared record,within his master-streak

And HE spoke to me,who was ye Pan

And made me do his will

For one hundred years I was to do ill

And by his vision peigned

And if I shall then at a time,

Uncertain at all acords,to me and all of mine,

Slay him who would afore slay me,

Then surely the wretched I

Would be free from this mine rhyme

And surely as was said,free for all of time

And secrets great and monstrosely bread

He would show me beneath the sea

But how my heart now acheth with

A stern melancholy

For I shallt never see again

A human face drawn near

All I shall now at all times behold

There at all be a thousandfold

Strange things within the rear

And to those lands

Where a city stands

sunken bellow the sea

I shall be hauled

And shall maraud

Ye great eternal deep

Then with this,ye fearfull wretch

Hear me whilst I speak

My parting song to all mankind,whom long I have despised

And know ye reek, that with your eyes

You never shall see me part.“

And with this the man did fell

And there he lay in heaps

And soon it came upon the folk

To burn that house of tears

And wood they gathered all around

But when that house did smoke

We hear all around a smouldering sound

As of a soul thath be not smothe

And riseth from Hell to lands beyond

The grasp of which I sure have not

But which itself shall master soon

And reign without a doubt.

A little piece I wrote (I stole the first stanza from yet another fraud) for my daughters one Friday afternoon after they both had spent a particularly cold and icy week of their freshman year at their respective colleges. Sorry I can't do much better.


You'll remember the Cat in the Hat
Who got those kids in such trouble.
They were sent to boarding school
Right on the double.

You see, Thing One and Thing Two
Had eaten all the food.
The fish finally tattled
About them being so rude.

Now the Things are in college
To learn something new.
How to be smart about stuff
And how to think things through.

But a long week's gone by
With ice and with cold.
My girls have struggled hard.
College life is gettin' old.

Miss Laura at Drake
And Miss Sarah at Trinity
Need to let go some steam
But not to infinity.

So try to be nice
and make not a mess,
But it's a good time now
To relieve all that stress.

Just pack up your books,
Put away all those notes.
It's party time now.
Be sure to wear your coats!

Not bad at all!

There was a farmer whose barn
got smashed down by some hail,
so he built a brand new barn
and he built it very well.

His name was ManWhoTakesCareOfAnimals
'cause that is what he did
and the animals all loved him
and did everything he said.

The animals were so happy!
The went outside to play.
They took a very red ball
and played with it all day.

They put it in their mouths
and spit it out real fast.
That's how animals play catch
since they don't got any hands.

(From my Shel Silverstein phase.)

aw, i like that one.

Thanks. For awhile there, my kids were my collaborators, willing or unwilling. The "that's how animals play catch" was snatched out of a conversation between my boys when they were little.

As long as I'm on a roll, let's give a nod to this thread (http://www.mobileread.com/forums/showthread.php?t=23099), and let's also keep it vaguely French, by using the form Rondeau Prime

Ths pg is 2 dmn small, my wrting gets all sqshd
How cn I write half the wrds
I wnt to write, it's absrd
But if I hd what I wshd
This pg'd be as big as T H I S
Jst to me has ths occrd?
Ths pg is 2 dmn small!

Jst imagn wht u hav missed,
all the things u havnt heard,
the suble thghts I've infrred
You'll nver see, cuz (I'm pssd)
This pg is 2 dmn small!

As long as I'm on a roll, let's give a nod to this thread (http://www.mobileread.com/forums/showthread.php?t=23099), and let's also keep it vaguely French, by using the form Rondeau Prime

Ths pg is 2 dmn small, my wrting gets all sqshd
How cn I write half the wrds
I wnt to write, it's absrd
But if I hd what I wshd
This pg'd be as big as T H I S
Jst to me has ths occrd?
Ths pg is 2 dmn small!

Jst imagn wht u hav missed,
all the things u havnt heard,
the suble thghts I've infrred
You'll nver see, cuz (I'm pssd)
This pg is 2 dmn small!

Been doing a lot of text messaging lately?

Dale

Traveling through a fabled land,
seeking the answer to karma
I heard stories of a holy man
who knew all the laws of dharma.

He lived atop a secret mountain,
the trail was hidden from sight,
beside a glittering fountain,
chanting mantras through the night.

I followed dreams and avatars
until at last I found the way.
He listened to me strum my guitar
as I wondered what he would say.

He opened his mouth to speak,
perched on that mountain crown,
and said in a voice tired and weak,
"Thank God. Could you show me how to get down?"

Been doing a lot of text messaging lately?

Dale

My thoughts exactly! I love the "Cell Phone Rondeau" :2thumbsup

I had to use code tags to preserve formatting.


*
*polo! *polo*
f i r* f e
*marco!* l* s
*polo*

Subliminal Explanation:

This one may take some explanation. It was the opening verse in collaborative poem, called a "renga". If you look closely you'll see some fireflies, on a summer night, with kids outdoors playing Marco Polo. Or maybe that's what the fireflies are doing? You decide.

Reminds me of a.a.milne -- i think -- the person who used a lot of spacing in poetry. :bookworm:

... And just see if I don't!

(I spared you the rest of the translation from the original Vogon.)

My squirrel-fu


Carefully I open the door
The tail twitches
My finger itches
A scamper, scurry, and shot
The squirrel he is no more


-MJ

driving to work
I swerve to miss the
twice-squished squirrel

I wish I had a squirrel, I do.
They're so much fun to chase.
But if I ever catch one
Mama's sure to wash my face.

Charley the shih tzu

The "car" thread reminded me of a quick jot I made once, intending to turn it into poem. It never worked out, and I no longer drive the supporting character, so... I'll stash it here.

Self-Portrait

Cruising through downtown in a '67 Chevy pickup, finger-snapping each stoplight green, bellowing "Sweet Baby James" out the won't-stay-rolled up window, while the burned-out dash bulbs, like polished hematite, rattle out the hole in the floorboard; dressed in denim and stubble, my head turning to follow brunettes in heels, those pretty office girls clickety-clacking their way through pigeons and the leers of fellow aficionados, I park in brick-paved alleyways with the engine idling to hoof it into bookstores, asking after periodicals to be told "no", leaving with smiles and backfire.

'Manage Attachments'
--Would it were so simple
Away from the screen.

ha Patricia, that is brilliant. bravo.

i like your new one as well taylor... almost makes me wish i had a driver's licence.

I agree, that'd probably be accepted as a senryu in Frogpond or Modern Haiku.

If I stroke your fur
and press a forehead to yours
like I always do,
there's no wonder when my tears
fall warm onto your cold face.

[Edit: replacing "the" with "my" in L4...not that it matters)

Yes, but it could be you're just squeezing too tightly.

Yes, but it could be you're just squeezing too tightly.

"Swing and a miss", as they say (by which I mean by me - I'm well aware of writer-responsibility).

Cheers,
Marc (now dreadfully depressed...I think I'll go spoil some threads...)

Never assume that. I've posted absolutely brilliant stuff here that gets no reply at all. Brilliant, I say. You never write, you never karma... I think I'll go sulk in my squirrel fortress of solitude. It's made out of pine needles and acorn shells.

aw, i thought it was quite touching.

Hmmm, in a digression from squirrel-ku, we now have tech-ku, computer-related haiku:

cosmic rays --
celestial dice rolls
through my system

Yesterday's poem was the first that I have attempted for decades. Here's another (but I don't think it's as good: though it is a computer-related haiku aand has a seasonal reference, plus a refererence to the transience of things):

I see the azure void.
Not cloudless summer sky:
The blue screen of death.

Maybe instead of tech-ku, which should call these hai-tech? Har.

Not bad atall, Patricia. If I were your editor, I'd suggest tightening up just a bit, something like:

my far-off gaze
into the azure void:
blue screen of death

that's a really depressing one patricia. i hope it's not drawn from recent experience. i'm sending you a virtual pat on the back of consolation. i've been there.

(hai-tech... pfff... :rolleyes:)

So the 5-7-5 rule doesn't have to be strictly applied? Eek. I don't think I can write without rules.

So the 5-7-5 rule doesn't have to be strictly applied? Eek. I don't think I can write without rules.
(cue taylor's empassioned and highly detailed explanation of the concepts behind japanese poetry forms and how syllables are immaterial in japanese, "it's all about the turn"...)

Was going to ask if we were going by "on's" or syllables. In either case I'm probably squirreled but still...

(Not user) Taylor, http://media.www.ndsmcobserver.com/media/storage/paper660/news/2005/04/18/Viewpoint/Squirrel.Haikus-928179.shtml

-MJ

The 5-7-5 "rule" doesn't even exist in Japanese. Japanese isn't syllabic. The "rule" was an artifact of very early attempts to Westernize Japanese poetry, and has been ignored for decades among modern haiku poets. Instead, think of "breaths". 2 or 3 breaths, no more, to utter aloud a haiku. Bare minimum of articles. Imagery. I could pare my "version" of yours down even further:

far-off gaze
into azure void --
blue screen of death

Even the three line convention is just that, a convention, one that isn't adhered to strictly these days either, and the above could just as easily be written:

far off gaze into azure void -- blue screen of death

There is even an extreme form of "haiku", called minimals, that crams several words together, cleverly combining letters. One of mine:

gooseasonorouskies

Can you see the haiku hidden in that?

P.S. Zelda, mon canard... you know me so well, all my inhalations are your exhalations.

M R in office cube.
Quick! The boss will be here soon.
Minimize Explorer.

Does that work?

Does it work for you? Then it works! But if you're asking for haiku advice, don't. I'm merciless.

Was going to ask if we were going by "on's" or syllables. In either case I'm probably squirreled but still...

(Not user) Taylor, http://media.www.ndsmcobserver.com/media/storage/paper660/news/2005/04/18/Viewpoint/Squirrel.Haikus-928179.shtml

-MJ

i think my favorite one from that page is :

You jumped on my back
After smelling chips in my bag
I screamed like a girl

There is even an extreme form of "haiku", called minimals, that crams several words together, cleverly combining letters. One of mine:

gooseasonorouskies

Can you see the haiku hidden in that?

P.S. Zelda, mon canard... you know me so well, all my inhalations are your exhalations.

:appreciating:

The rules expounded
A different twist
Confirmed convention-less


-MJ

Pup murmers
Wriggles in sleep
Catching phantom squirrels

Plastic leaves unglued
by dust and climate control
fall; whisper "faux-ku"

Plastic leaves unglued
by dust and climate control
fall; whisper "faux-ku"

so true. a profound and moving commentary on the human condition in the XX1st century. man's inhumanity to man, and all that. the great intersidereal void inside us as we bustle through life like automatons, métro-boulot-dodo. bravissimo marc...

(how's that for a reaction hey ???)

parp!

What? How much more minimalist can you get than a four letter nonsense word with an emotion inducing punctuation? At least on this forum?

I was thinking:

L

But I have to have at least five characters and spaces apparently don't count.

An old one...

Without a thought the earth did roar;
Two plates once bound
for an age, or more
did slip, and unwound.

Distressed, at ocean deep
Land once level, released, now sundered.
Giants of waves no longer asleep,
Delivered ashore, wild steeds, no mere white horses; we blundered.

Galloping forth, unbridled, wanton, unchecked
All in their path
Were wrecked.
What once was, now no more.

Silence,
Force now spent;
But at deep it continued, defiant cadence.
Until another, rent
shook and earth did scream,
again.

A limerick....

There once was a lady from france,
who didn't have on any pants.
But here was the rub,
she sat in the tub,
with none of the bubbles askance.


Go easy on me, it was a first attempt.

BOb

A penguin dressed like a nabob
who goes by the name "pilobob"
took a stab at a verse
it could have been worse
all-in-all a very good job.

An android, who was quite depressed,
Found poetry gave him some rest.
He wrote lots of verse,
In tanka at first,
But limericks suited him best.

In Paris one day late in May,
On the island we had a soirée.
But though rum made us bold,
it was far too cold,
and at 10.30 je suis rentrée.

Good to see that you weren't struck by lightning, Zelda.

not only that, amazingly it did not even rain ! (yet.) however my teeth are still clattering.

Our scholarly gal Patricia
While traipsing through Galicia
Paused in a nook
To sit with a book
I'm sure your friends all missed ya.
As her partner snapped a picture. <-- that rhymes in Chicaco


(Don't tell me "Galicia" is pronounced GAL-uh-SEE-ah. And if it is, then your name must be PAT-ruh-SEE-ah.)

Oh that was lame... but I couldn't work in "militia".

I know from bitter experience that as soon as my partner sees an archway or a reflection in water that he will spend at least 15 minutes photographing it -- often longer.
So now I just find a corner and read, sometimes finding myself inadvertently forming part of a landscape or a domestic interior.

I know from bitter experience that as soon as my partner sees an archway or a reflection in water that he will spend at least 15 minutes photographing it -- often longer.
So now I just find a corner and read, sometimes finding myself inadvertently forming part of a landscape or a domestic interior.

If ever we meet, you and my Loved One can go eat some pie while your partner and I spent two hours getting every single angle and composition recorded of a puddle of water. It sounds right up my alley.

Cheers,
Marc

There are clearly some things I will never understand about men.

That's a scathing generalization
for I, without hesitation
would rather girl watch
or drink a fine Scotch
than discuss angles of polarization

How about if I (or you) jump 2-footedly into their puddle? Make a lovely kid-like SPLASH!!! And probably a mess of our nice outfits. :eek:

Love the poetry occurring here!!!

How about if I (or you) jump 2-footedly into their puddle? Make a lovely kid-like SPLASH!!! And probably a mess of our nice outfits. :eek:

Oh, just perfect! Just think of all of the different photo opportunities. Do it again! Now do it from this angle. Now, jump higher...no higher. Can you take your shoes off? Okay, no just stand in the puddle for a few minutes while I get all those other angles and compositions...

Love the poetry occurring here!!!

Okay, if you insist.

Cheers,
Marc

There is poetry here?
Where, I see no verse,
Just ditties from him,
And dotties from her,
Oh dear, what a to-do...

Oh, just perfect! Just think of all of the different photo opportunities. Do it again! Now do it from this angle. Now, jump higher...no higher. Can you take your shoes off? Okay, no just stand in the puddle for a few minutes while I get all those other angles and compositions...



Okay, if you insist.

Cheers,
Marc
You forgot: "Now, this time, just stay suspended over the water for about three seconds while I bracket the exposure!"

You forgot: "Now, this time, just stay suspended over the water for about three seconds while I bracket the exposure!"
ah yes. a typical walk in a park with my father.

You forgot: "Now, this time, just stay suspended over the water for about three seconds while I bracket the exposure!"

Not quite, you really meant to say :

"Now, this time, just stay suspended over the water for about three seconds while I set up the tripod, connect the camera up, remove the lens cap, fix the shutter release cord, switch the camera on - then bracket the exposure!"

J, don’t ask me how, stapled his finger. No one was paying any attention, and he ain't sayin'. Our first clue was things went quiet. Nature hates a vacuum, right, and the silence made us all look at once. The look on his face, man, like he couldn't believe it, a how the hell expression, plain as day. Then the pain must've set in, 'cause he started this low moan. It built up slowly to a full-on freak-out, with him yelling god jesus god jesus and flopping the hand around with the whole damn stapler still attached like a fish on a hook.

So we couldn't help it, we were rolling. I’ve never heard R laugh like that. Like it hurt, with tears streaming down his face, a full five breathless seconds between spasms of oooh-oooh-oooh real high-pitched. K was trying to help but couldn't and just kept yelling hold still hold still with his hands spaced out around J's like a levitating trick, J's hands gyrating in-between. He got the staple out eventually.

Now and again one of us would start a stifled little laugh, within five seconds we're all wiping tears with J trying hard to be pissed in between laughing himself. Rest of the day we find excuses to ask for the stapler.

in the middle
of anything, anywhere
helpless grin

You forgot: "Now, this time, just stay suspended over the water for about three seconds while I bracket the exposure!"

I take a photo
to capture and suspend you
over a puddle

Cheers,
Marc

Paradox Snob

a box
when opened up
releases evil, hope,
a storage jar, and possibly
a cat


Cheers,
Marc

or, what happens when Schrödinger and Pandora hook up.

Paradox Snob

a box
when opened up
releases evil, hope,
a storage jar, and possibly
a cat


Cheers,
Marc

A Cinquain! Wonderful.

http://icanhascheezburger.files.wordpress.com/2008/05/funny-pictures-cat-kittens-fractal-schrodinger-back.jpg
Since I have no artistic or poetical ability...

fractal quantum uncertainty cats !!!! oh my !!!

Her eyes
trapezoidal
blue, her wide yellow smile --
I've never seen such a happy
spider.

you've got spiders on the brain the past few days. maybe you should have a talk with pshrynk. hopefully his diagnosis will not include mention of any spiders on the ceiling (http://www.mobileread.com/forums/showpost.php?p=176345&postcount=5).

you've got spiders on the brain the past few days. maybe you should have a talk with pshrynk. hopefully his diagnosis will not include mention of any spiders on the ceiling (http://www.mobileread.com/forums/showpost.php?p=176345&postcount=5).

Just as long as the spider webs capture the mutant squirrels...

mutant ? i thought they were genetically engineered ?

mutant ? i thought they were genetically engineered ?

Difference being?

accidental / on purpose, no ?

ah, only the creator knows the answer to that.
we only had the red variety until some twit, a couple of centuries ago, thought the grey ones looked nice!!
they should have eaten them all.

Difference being?

At last!! a question I know the answer to :2thumbsup. 'Genetic engineering' is the artificial introduction of changes to the genes in a cell; whereas 'Mutant' was Secretary General of the United Nations 1961-1971.

At last!! a question I know the answer to :2thumbsup. 'Genetic engineering' is the artificial introduction of changes to the genes in a cell; whereas 'Mutant' was Secretary General of the United Nations 1961-1971.

Erm... wasn't that Uthant?

Erm... wasn't that Uthant?

Doh! :smack:
(I wondered why you were getting them confused.)

Doh! :smack:
(I wondered why you were getting them confused.)

I get everything confused these days, I've still not recovered from the party that never was, or was, or maybe to come...

:chinscratch:

I get everything confused these days, I've still not recovered from the party that never was, or was, or maybe to come...

:chinscratch:
It tends to exist in quantum.

It tends to exist in quantum.


:smack::smack::smack:

The far reaches of the unknown universe...

the small boy
jumps five times, laughs
this recipe works

the small boy
jumps five times, laughs
this recipe works

I love the way this thread moves quickly back to the subject in hand...:)

the small boy
jumps five times, laughs
this recipe works

I bet that recipe would work for most of us. Get up, jump 5 times. Doesn't it make you happier? :D

I bet that recipe would work for most of us. Get up, jump 5 times. Doesn't it make you happier? :D

OW! I just sprained my ankle. NOT HAPPY.

Awwww. I'm so sorry! My bad. Shall I kiss it and make it better? :kiss:

*I* jumped 5 times and it made me warmer, so I'm happy. Gotta stop eating frozen fruit for a snack.....

fractal quantum uncertainty cats !!!! oh my !!!I think I've just acquired a new epithet. :D

Now if only I can manage to enunciate it clearly and without spleen-damage ....

I think I've just acquired a new epithet. :D

Now if only I can manage to enunciate it clearly and without spleen-damage ....

don't worry about that ; we're taking up a collection (http://www.mobileread.com/forums/showpost.php?p=186154&postcount=271) to get you a new one (http://www.mobileread.com/forums/showpost.php?p=186191&postcount=272). it might be genetically-engineered from squirrels (http://www.mobileread.com/forums/showpost.php?p=186251&postcount=275). so far i think we've got something like 5.37$, plus a gum wrapper and something else, i can't remember... i'l have to ask the treasurer (http://www.mobileread.com/forums/showpost.php?p=186415&postcount=282).

I actually saw that -- it's very sweet of the lot of you! But don't worry: my spleen is actually quite robust, it just has a an extremely low pain threshold. :D

that's why you need the CyberSpleen.

Or just morphine. :mellow:

or that, yes... although really, how could you refuse a CyberSpleen ?

The CyberSpleen comes in a variety of different formats from different vendors. There has been no agreement on a standard format or even interface. Also, it comes keyed to a particular individual, which makes it very difficult when you transfer your consciousness to a different CyberBody. You may need to replace that body's existing CyberSpleen entirely.

Also, the CyberSpleen is way overpriced compared to traditional spleens, which are messy and waste resources (what do you do with the rest of the stuff after you harvest the spleen? Plus while technically renewable, it takes a while to mature a spleen), but at least they are affordable.

Rather than buy a new CyberSpleen, consider using one of the freely available user-formatted spleens. You may not be able to legally use them depending on your country of residence, but really, no one really checks up on these things.

http://www.mobileread.com/forums/picture.php?albumid=10&pictureid=149

Memories of Jango

to love
another is
to love one's Self as well
"Keeps rainin' all the time, stormy
weather"

Ciggies, whiskey (with a 'e'), some unidentifiable bits from his, uhhh... pocket? And a Pepsi. The most depressing part of this exquisite photo is the Pepsi, I think. I never did care for "product placement".

... I never did care for "product placement".

I nearly mentioned the can in the title of the cinquain, but decided against it for that exact reason.

Also, aside from "Stormy weather", I kept humming to myself with the words-in-my-head "If you can't be with the clone you love, love the clone you're with".

A beach cinquain...


To not wax lyrical...

Her suit -
bikini cut,
a tidy pink affair -
reveals some nether parts are still
hirsute


Cheers,
Marc

I nearly mentioned the can in the title of the cinquain, but decided against it for that exact reason.

Also, aside from "Stormy weather", I kept humming to myself with the words-in-my-head "If you can't be with the clone you love, love the clone you're with".

A beach cinquain...


To not wax lyrical...

Her suit -
bikini cut,
a tidy pink affair -
reveals some nether parts are still
hirsute


Cheers,
Marc

Hypnotically fixated by your avatar....

don't worry about that ; we're taking up a collection (http://www.mobileread.com/forums/showpost.php?p=186154&postcount=271) to get you a new one (http://www.mobileread.com/forums/showpost.php?p=186191&postcount=272). it might be genetically-engineered from squirrels (http://www.mobileread.com/forums/showpost.php?p=186251&postcount=275). so far i think we've got something like 5.37$, plus a gum wrapper and something else, i can't remember... i'l have to ask the treasurer (http://www.mobileread.com/forums/showpost.php?p=186415&postcount=282).
There was also a fortune cookie fortune, but it said, "Spleens are fragile."

...in bed (http://www.mobileread.com/forums/showpost.php?p=186562&postcount=289).

Now what?
Now that we've each
said that sad, fateful word --
all we can hear now are fading
echoes.

To not wax lyrical...

Her suit -
bikini cut,
a tidy pink affair -
reveals some nether parts are still
hirsute


To wax, or not to wax, that is the question.

porteur
et voltigeuse
ils s'enlacent, se séparent
toute une histoire dans leur ballet
de gestes.


sorry, i wanted to write it in english, but i don't know those words :o it's about circus acrobats.

porteur
et voltigeuse
ils s'enlacent, se séparent
toute une histoire dans leur ballet
de gestes.


sorry, i wanted to write it in english, but i don't know those words :o it's about circus acrobats.

I'll translate...

Wheeeee!
Catch me, baby!
Whoops, mum, no hands,
ARRRGGGHH! [boioioioinggg!]



Okay, maybe I'll let someone else translate.

Cheers,
Marc ("...without a net")

that might be the sequel... :rolleyes:

that might be the sequel... :rolleyes:

Okay, okay...

Going for something reasonably literal (that is, with a fish in my ear - more just words than poetry), I would say...

Catcher
and flyer
intertwine and separate
a whole history in their ballet
gestures


Cheers,
Marc

are they called catcher and flyer ? those are the words i didn't know, and i couldn't find good equivalents in the dictionary... yours seems like a good translation, with just one or two changes :


Catcher
and flyer
intertwine, separate
a whole story in their ballet
of motion.


but the last line is still not quite right. it's not an easy poem in english.

My attempt:

2. leaper
4. and her catcher
6. interlace, separate --
8. their gestures a history, a
2. ballet

Not literal, but going after more of the flavor and trying to keep it a cinquain.

i like all three versions together.

we should try more poèmes à six mains.

i like all three versions together.

I used "catcher" and "flyer" only because I think they're the English terms used in trapeze. Whether they're appropriate poetic translations...well, you're speaking to one who is monolingual, so I couldn't begin to say.

Cheers,
Marc

perfect, now i know those words ; i have felt their lack before. also i think they are quite lovely poetic translations.

we should try more poèmes à six mains.

Please do! I enjoyed the results and the process, reading it in progress.

P.S. I think I've heard those terms too (just finished a book which briefly touched on the circus).

Cinquains are a poetic form, heavily influenced by haiku. Cinquains have five lines, and each line has a specific number of syllables. The pattern is 2, 4, 6, 8, 2. The form was developed by Adelaide Crapsey (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Adelaide_Crapsey).

Cinquains don't generally rhyme, though alliteration and internal rhymes are common, as they are in Japanese haiku. Generally, the form allows for a tanka-like "turn", usually in the form of building and resolving tension.

One poet described it as stretching a rubber band. It starts small, and each line lengthens the rubber band further, building tension, until it snaps back in the final 2-syllable line.

Tension can also be built by skillful use of closed and enjambed (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Enjambment) lines.

I'll use one I wrote earlier to illustrate (not because it's brilliant, but because I know what I was trying to do).

Now what?
Now that we've each
said that sad, fateful word --
all we can hear now are fading
echoes.

Line 1 is closed. Line 2 is enjambed, and that syntactic breaks leaves the reader mentally reaching for closure. Each what? It builds a small amount of tension. Line 3 is closed, resolving tension, and slowing the poem down to a complete thought: divorce? Line 3 is enjambed, so creates tension, and then the poem slams shut abruptly on "echoes". It's so abrupt, the reader can almost hear the word "divorce", echoing. The long fourth line, especially when enjambed, is like rushing around a corner, only to hit a brick wall. Then other meanings can creep in, like aftershocks: echoes of love, still there, but fading? I also used the word "now" three times, to keep moving the poem forward in time by incremental degrees.

It's a very interesting form, and easy enough to try. You don't have to think too hard about closure and enjambment, tension and resolution, or the "snap". The form itself almost FORCES these characteristics. Give it a shot! Let's post some more cinquains.

To wax, or not to wax, that is the question.

All I can say,
bikini wax, too,
ouch...

All I can say,
bikini wax, too,
ouch...

sing it, brotha...

sing it, brotha...

hey sis, do you sing when you wax, or is that too personal a question?

i doubt anyone could call it "singing"...

i doubt anyone could call it "singing"...

From you, it would be pure bliss..

From you, it would be pure bliss..
definitive proof that you have never heard me sing (you aren't likely to, either).

definitive proof that you have never heard me sing (you aren't likely to, either).

I can always come over and help hold you down, I'm sure we can get some willing helpers...

thank you, but that won't be necessary (or effective, so no point in insisting).

thank you, but that won't be necessary (or effective, so no point in insisting).

Ah but I do, don't we lads...

I'd be happy to just watch. Purely out of intellectual curiosity, mind you.

I'd be happy to just watch. Purely out of intellectual curiosity, mind you.

sketch-pad and pencil to hand...

One day, men will learn that no means no.

Draw yourselves while singing instead. Then post the sketch.

Patricia to the rescue... thanks for defending my honor.

Yes, but a no in a virtual world (where am I, anyway?) must certainly leave the door ajar finitely, yes? Or would that be a concrete no?

Yes, but a no in a virtual world (where am I, anyway?) must certainly leave the door ajar finitely, yes? Or would that be a concrete no?

How will you decline when Cthulu wants to have you for dinner?

Sheesh, guys. Subtlety? Tact? Sketch her pictures and write her poetry... I doubt offering to hold a woman down while she submitted to a painful procedure ever won any hearts.

This is the "User Poetry" thread, not the "Virtual Gang Wax Job" thread.

When darkness falls I will have to submit fully and with a smile on my mug. Arf! Only to be reborn yet again, but maybe as a puddle duck next time.

Sheesh, guys. Subtlety? Tact? Sketch her pictures and write her poetry... I doubt offering to hold a woman down while she submitted to a painful procedure ever won any hearts.

This is the "User Poetry" thread, not the "Virtual Gang Rape" thread.

I misread that post, it seems, and didn't realize what I was a part of. I thought this was a casual seduction of PH. My sincere apologies, ZP. Think I'll go chew a bone for awhile now.

One day, men will learn that no means no.

Draw yourselves while singing instead. Then post the sketch.

no always means no...

Rufus
chewing a bone
the slow mastication --
meditation? No, it's just a
good bone.

it's all right, i forgive y'all, now that you've calmed down a bit and returned to civilised behavior.

it's all right, i forgive y'all, now that you've calmed down a bit and returned to civilised behavior.

Is that possible, in this in-sane world we inhabit in our spare time?

Rufus
chewing a bone
the slow mastication --
meditation? No, it's just a
good bone.

Another cinquain. I hadn't come across this verse-form until you posted and explained them, Taylor.
I may have a go at them. But my creativity (and my will to live) has been sapped by marking a large pile of exam papers.

i think we've amply demonstrated the possibility of simultaneous co-existence of absurdity and evolved behavior.

I may have a go at them. But my creativity (and my will to live) has been sapped by marking a large pile of exam papers.
oh no patricia, don't say that !!! good heavens, i'm beginning to worry about you... would you like some help in marking those papers ? i'm sure we could all pitch in and get through them in no time, if you're not too picky about what kind of marks we make...

oh no patricia, don't say that !!! good heavens, i'm beginning to worry about you... would you like some help in marking those papers ? i'm sure we could all pitch in and get through them in no time, if you're not too picky about what kind of marks we make...

Perhaps they've already got the answers on them ...

http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/education/7414129.stm

But my creativity (and my will to live) has been sapped by marking a large pile of exam papers.

No, Patricia, don't succumb to the forces of seemingly bottomless piles of papers! They are, in fact, finite and you will reach their end before you do yours. [trying desperately to evolve doggie's behaviour]

Dogs no longer evolve. You're in a dead-end, my poor widdle puppikins.

Start marking from the bottom...upwards...

One day, men will learn that no means no.

Draw yourselves while singing instead. Then post the sketch.
Patricia to the rescue... thanks for defending my honor.Good thing too: I was afraid we were going to have to add a "Hostile Posting Environment" policy to the forum!

Good thing too: I was afraid we were going to have to add a "Hostile Posting Environment" policy to the forum!

My very humble apology is wrapped neatly in my best dark chocolate for all I may have in-advertantly offended.. :o

Now what?
Now that we've each
said that sad, fateful word --
all we can hear now are fading
echoes.

the reader can almost hear the word "divorce", echoing.

Interesting -- I heard the word "Goodbye". It still echoed hollowly in the vast empty silence.

Perfect! Yep, "goodbye" works, too. That's one thing I love about poetry: the active participation of the reader. It doesn't actually matter what I "meant", because the reader has an entirely different set of experiences, emotions, mental state, associations, education, and so on. Wonderful, thank you for telling me.

Interesting -- I heard the word "Goodbye". It still echoed hollowly in the vast empty silence.

mine was "sorry"...

Discontent and puttering, bounced from one thought to another. This surface of paper was once a stately pine swaying in the wind with what it was, or what it might have been.
A proud jutting mast on a clipper ship. The cut heavy center beam of a cathedral. A pier withstanding the thudding of surf. A pole to wave a flag with.
In the slow seasons the tree grew, this surface held rushing sap and frozen larvae. Woodpeckers wounds and squirrel young. Boy’s shouts and enduring the nails of a tree fort.
This surface, white and shallow as it looks chained by blue jail bar lines and Red Guard sentinel margin lines. Pierced by curved wire and buried behind the cover. Lost in the anonymity of the millions of other bound pages, reflecting none of the original life and beauty of the tree.
Now subjected to the idle scrawl and whims of my pen, a plastic tramping, scratching, rolling, elephantine express.
Thoughts to express. Wind of life to express… (Expressly so)
The paper suffers all of this without complaint. It’s only paper.
The abstract phrases and stumbling lines bounding about like billiard balls seeking to be free of the bordering bumpers and roll far and free on a real, green, sward of Velvet grass. Not dead wood…
They rebound and crack together creating disharmony. A vortex in my head, a thought tornado, a whirlpool that clings and whirls pulling memories and time out to spill like the ink spills out of the end of this pen onto the flattened trees called paper.
How would it be if God took our bodies and bones, our brains with their capability to be an artist or playwright, Poets or minstrel’s statesman or midwife? What if He mowed us down like trees, using our favorite things against us, then crushed us and ground us like sawdust until we were a fine white pulp.
What if He pressed the mess of muck into human paper? A flat, featureless plain of two dimensions with the blood of the visionaries as margin lines.
What would He write on this vast plateau of reduced man? Who would read it? Or understand...
NO!
The ricocheting billiard balls of undisciplined ideas rebound in my head once more and gibberish lands on the impassive white page.
I might as well stand back and blow ink through a straw onto the flattened wood. Random marks aren’t that much different from random thoughts bouncing off the edges of my mind. Yet they bounce and I understand the feeling they mark the page with, understanding not the ideas, or the flow of sense.
Some things are deeper than sense, or logic, or rhetoric. Isn’t that right? (You are not supposed to answer that one.)
I’m not trying to be clever, just honest to my soul.
There is no place in the straight-line fast lane, or the slow. There is no place in megahertz computer banks so adept at endlessly adding one plus one and each time making the fresh discovery that the answer is two….
The answer is not two…
There is no place in the foolish interaction I call ‘conversation’ for the silent signals from the hand of the inner man.
This page suffers the violence…
This page suffers the extreme puzzle of billiard balls never settling to rest in the pockets of dogma hemmed in by skull and skin, never coming to rest in the library of the cerebellum.
Well…
How did you expect to really understand anyway?
You are not I…
Maybe a like feeling in you will stir, maybe you will fling these muddy waters away.
I wish I could…
Maybe you will nod your head with a knowing smile and a little pity for me and remember how you lined up your own billiard thoughts for that trick shot trying to organize your own minds scurrying.
Well I am not you so bear with me while I scramble. I can, and must, drink the only drink that I’ve got. I won’t refuse it and shrivel up no matter what you say.
I’ll drink, and chase my greased pig life here and there even if my feet are bleeding.
As if they aren’t…
At least my footprints will be clear to see.
I haven’t accomplished anything here scrabbling and scribbling, reaching inside to grasp the things that like soap squeezed too hard fly at the slightest grasp.
A fly is hatched. He buzzes and snattles, jerking the air and zagging… Drawn to manure and garbage, born to be despised.
Hey, wait a minute… I ain’t no fly… I’m a man….
Sun on skin… Grass scratched back…
Children with plastic squirt guns learn how to aim…. I hope they don’t get wet. I am a man, a hu-man. I hew my way through life, the only trail the one I leave behind me.
I wonder if any termites got caught in the pulp of this paper?
My billiard balls change color as they rebound some more.
It is life that I long for. Not knowledge, not praise, not acclaim not concepts but life… I’ll do anything, live anywhere, eat anything, for life.
Not the motions of sleeping and waking, not the sham life of the old doddering priest and his rote prayers, the mass-produced masks that portray zombies as alive. Not, oh please not the shell, not the husk of the kernel.
Not the chaff… Oh God…
Not the chaff… Oh God…
Not the chaff but life booming like the laughter of Bacchus and his train. Life still and deep like the abyss between the points of the stars… Life fantastic and wonder-full like the myths of Dryads and centaurs, fairies and banshees of the old tales. Life, still as stone but graceful and fluid.
Let me get old and beautiful, my face chiseled away by pain, patience and sorrow, until at last these wildly rocketing billiard balls fall silent and inert on the old worn table. My eyes at last wrinkled and dry.
Dry and chuckling…
Chiseled and chuckling…
The man who shoulders His pack and stamps His bleeding feet can suffer no real harm. He feels the nails in hand and foot, His brow and side on fire he weeps, he dies.
He lays dead. Chiseled and chuckling he rises.
I can’t surround life there isn’t enough of me. When I try I’m spread thin and pop like a taunt balloon, or dried out soap bubble.
In spite of myself and the caroming pool table of carnival ideas one masquerading as a fat man, another as the hunger artist, another as the elephant man, the tightrope thrill-seeker, or Tom thumb…
The kaleidoscope turns and ‘presto.’ I have another point of view. Another peek behind the curtain…
Michelangelo pounded long and hard on a block of marble. David emerged chiseled and chuckling. You can bet his carnival was over.
A dog barked just now and reminded me I’m writing.

[Comment deleted. Nevermind.]

Nope. You let your children out into the world, and they become who they are. (Plus, I already kinda did.)

One day, men will learn that no means no.

Draw yourselves while singing instead. Then post the sketch.

I should have said that some men still have a learning curve. And some doggies get confused about which thread they're in.

I'm pleased to report that I've got about 4 hours'-worth of marking left from the current batch. I collect another hundred scripts tomorrow (3 questions on each script) and that's the lot for this year. I'm not enjoying it because the students' handwriting gets worse each year. This is only to be expected because handwriting is not really taught in UK schools much any more, and (like everyone else) the students type most of their stuff on a computer for the rest of the year, so don't get any practice in sustained handwriting..

It's lovely to see you back again, Roy. Interesting pensées, especially the doggy ending.

@Patricia: what kinds of questions are these? Just curious whether we would do even as well as your students, at answering them.

@Taylor: Good Heavens, man ...err, android ..... you've come all to pieces!! Need some duct tape?

Yes, he looks in need of both duct tape and WD40. (We love the smell of WD in the morning: it smells like poetry).

The questions ask students to analyse one of Descartes' proofs of the existence of God, his mind-body dualism (with particular reference to problems of interaction), Plato on mimesis, Hume on causality, Hume on ideas of the self... the usual stuff for a philosophy 101 course with an emphasis on metaphysics.
Actually, the students are doing quite well, so I've failed fewer than usual. But the handwriting is much worse than when I first started teaching, so the marking process is more chronophageous. (I've used that word in several memos already: thanks for mozzling it Zelda.) One of my colleagues has reacted to the strain of exam-marking by flying model helicopters around the lecture rooms, for diversion. Another has scheduled a near-continous set of meeting in his room, so that he has less time for marking. I am contemplating the purchase of a bottle of gin, though have resisted, so far. Instead, I am saying that I will mark 5 scripts, then play on the forum a bit.

a philosophy 101 course with an emphasis on metaphysics.
Actually, the students are doing quite well...

That's good, cuz I would do FAR worse. Being a math and physics double major didn't require much exposure to METAphysics .... nor all the chaps you mentioned. I just bought a book on Feynmann, cuz somebody mentioned that around here somewhere. But he's physics ... none of that META stuff.

I think the bottle of gin might be useful. Mark 5 papers, deep swig from the bottle, look around MobiRead for a bit .... repeat. The last batch of papers (and the last posts to MR) should be hilarious!

Yes, he looks in need of both duct tape and WD40. (We love the smell of WD in the morning: it smells like poetry).

The questions ask students to analyse one of Descartes' proofs of the existence of God, his mind-body dualism (with particular reference to problems of interaction), Plato on mimesis, Hume on causality, Hume on ideas of the self... the usual stuff for a philosophy 101 course with an emphasis on metaphysics.
Actually, the students are doing quite well, so I've failed fewer than usual. But the handwriting is much worse than when I first started teaching, so the marking process is more chronophageous. (I've used that word in several memos already: thanks for mozzling it Zelda.) One of my colleagues has reacted to the strain of exam-marking by flying model helicopters around the lecture rooms, for diversion. Another has scheduled a near-continous set of meeting in his room, so that he has less time for marking. I am contemplating the purchase of a bottle of gin, though have resisted, so far. Instead, I am saying that I will mark 5 scripts, then play on the forum a bit.
Don't do it Patricia! The cost in human sorrow is far too great for the brief surcease of suffering that it brings. Many lives have gone straight down the shitter (loo) from such attempts to numb oneself from the dreary mundanities of life.

Besides, gin is faster and you get a lot better crowd to hang out with than surfing MR.:p

Mark the papers in cinquain form?

Plato
on mimesis?
Is it divine madness
to mark student papers in verse?
Untruth!!

Mark the papers in cinquain form?

Plato
on mimesis?
Is it divine madness
to mark student papers in verse?
Untruth!!

Oh yes.
That is a thought
when marking dull papers
on a wet Thursday evening
Quite late.

Bravo. I like especially learning that you pronounce "evening" with three syllables. Most people "around here", pronounce it "eve-nen".

Patricia... I wrote that a llloooooonnnnggg time ago. Thought it was pretty good back then now.. I dunno.. I'm reading A Tale Of Two Cities by the way and... Reluctantly I have to admit... I'm enjoing it...

No need to be reluctant, Roy.
HarryT will be pleased: he's very fond of Dickens.

I can always come over and help hold you down, I'm sure we can get some willing helpers...

Having been present at a Back, Sack and Crack wax...you're on your own, Geoff.

Cheers,
Marc (though it is better to give than receive)

Patricia to the rescue... thanks for defending my honor.

She offered her honour
He honoured her offer
He was on 'er and off 'er
all night.



Cheers,
Marc

...
The questions ask students to analyse one of Descartes' proofs of the existence of God, his mind-body dualism (with particular reference to problems of interaction), Plato on mimesis, Hume on causality, Hume on ideas of the self... the usual stuff for a philosophy 101 course with an emphasis on metaphysics. ...

I'm currently reading The Yiddish Policemen's Union and there's a line in there I've just read that made me think of another teacher (Philosophy), and, now, you...

"...raucous chains of Verbover girls vehement and clannish as schools of philosophy"

Mister Chabon is getting into his stride now, and this book is warming up nicely (which is good, considering its geography).

Cheers,
Marc

Patricia... I wrote that a llloooooonnnnggg time ago. Thought it was pretty good back then now.. I dunno.. I'm reading A Tale Of Two Cities by the way and... Reluctantly I have to admit... I'm enjoing it...

Roy, you should head to the Scribblings thread (if you have not already) and include your current "scribblings". It'll be right up your alley, I reckon.

Cheers,
Marc (Young Missionary in the Church of Moleskine)

he turned
asking me what
I was writing, laughed when
I showed him (me?) then turned and faced
the sun


Cheers,
Marc

I've enjoyed some of the original material written by regular people - people like you. So I've compiled the poetry from this thread, the prose from the 'Vera' thread, and some from the 'Scribblings' thread together into this ebook. There are probably other things I should have added so let me know and perhaps I'll update it. Enjoy! :mobileread:

EDIT:
Posted files removed. See later post.

Be sure to include copyright statements... all rights reserved to the original authors, even if they have funny names. Also, MobileRead has rights that accrue to anything we post or upload into their system...

I may actually want to PUBLISH some of the stuff I've written here, and some publishers are very picky about what they'll tolerate in terms of "previously published" work. I guess that's just a cautionary note to myself, not to publicly post anything I might want to publish. It's just that stuff I post here appears to have a transitory nature... it'll eventually scroll off... but I know that really, it doesn't. It's all in the database. Plus Google steals it and serves it out to the universe...

Wow - talk about throwing a wet blanket on things, when I should be saying "nice work, VR". It was fun seeing it all together, even the 15-20 pages that made me thankful for the forum's ignore feature.

<ignore feature> Hey, added spaces where appropriate. Chill.

As to copyright, I will add whatever statement is appropriate. Do you have a suggestion. But let me ask, since the material is already posted on this forum website, is it still copyrightable? That is, could people just copy it and use it anyway without your permission?

Yes it is. An author holds the copyright to her or his work until she assigns it elsewhere. But a copyright statement would make things clearer.

People could still plagiarise it. We can't actually stop them. But, if anyone tries, we should be able to establish our identity and priority of publication, if necessary -- probably by asking mods to confirm our ip addresses etc.

thanks VR ! nice compilation. i've often thought that there are several threads i would like to archive... but i haven't done it so far, partly because most of them are still active (that's my excuse... pathetic isn't it). the absurdist ramblings (and i mean that in the very best way, obviously :smiley:) and dadaist rampages we've all been witness to / participated in here should absolutely be immortalized for posterity. in fact, i'm not sure that the ebook form (obsolete-able and transient) is the best adapted ; perhaps among our ranks there is a stonecarver, who could transcribe them in marble... :rolleyes:

i do have a tiny request, should you undertake a revision in the future : i am quite flattered that you included my unassuming poem, but i would love it if you could also include marc and taylor's translations of it... i quite like the three of them together.

karma to you for the fabulous gift ! brilliant to have a little slice of portable insanity, to take with me everywhere (in addition to my own, i mean :rolleyes:)

Thanks VR for including my humble bits.

(ps. I think you missed the best story... the second one in the squirrel thread by NatCh
"Neighborhood Hazard
(or: Why the Cops Won’t Patrol Brice Street)") http://www.mobileread.com/forums/showthread.php?t=23124

To my earlier posted ebooks of MR member contributions, I have added the requested posts (squirrels, translations, etc.), did a bit of editing, retitled the ebooks, and have added the statement "This ebook may contain material copyrighted by MobileRead forum members. All rights reserved." I don't have the slightest clue if that's a useful and appropriate statement or not. I have deleted the files