2013 ILE Poetry Contest: I speak for the trees, for the trees have no tongues

Poems must be 40 lines or less, not including empty lines or the title. Maximum of 2 entries per person. Post your entries in this thread, and they'll all be included in the poll. if you want to resubmit your poem(s) from the defunct 2011 Poetry Contest, post them here as well (but you can still only submit 2 poems total).

Deadline: July 1, 2013

Richard, Wash Your Hands

Richard, you and me need
to really have a talk
About the kind of subject
that I normally would balk

It's about something that
usually makes me rather sick
But your lack of hygiene means
I have to do something quick

You might think it something
that really doesn't show
But many people have found out
in case you didn't know

You're an adult and this habit
must really now desist
It doesn't matter that you're
a well known physicist

Maybe you think it's funny
or perhaps you just don't understand
But it's gross when you take a leak
and then don't wash your hands

i'll do this. i haven't written much since the last time but i'll give it a shot.

i would be pleased to read any poem you contribute, elmo

An angler, blaming not his line
(passed as was from father to father)
must then look on scant catch
and wonder at the flaw of cast
or on a changing current's lather
and wondering, ask

Did my father, did his father
wonder at scant catch
Was each given to examine his cast?
Or did he, did they
cast each time
as the rod pointed
as the tide allowed
as the bait presented?
If not,
By what measure flows the line?

I have wondered on the task of each,
in time passed from the father before.
Moulded, shaped and cast along a line
out to changing tide from a lonely shore

Libra

The capacity for anger,
the capacity for kindness,
for concern
for the welfare
of dead cats
as I lay is the word
ensconced
in the floor- in the
sunshine in the floor
and the dust that is
also that sunshine
and the sun it is
pretty bright
when I wake
up from those cubicle days,
bourbon nights,
and more days, more
time to choose
which type of container are you, which
seascape pulls you through
the particle board
and pushes your face
to the floor, your cheek
to the pavement
and leaves you there
wondering
how ants build cities
in the gaps, little
cracks
in all the things you build
your life around.

After Reading in Su Tung-P'o

In spite of my grayshot scraggy beard
I don't think of myself as an old man.
I do not dream incessantly of past times.
I make plans that stretch out for years.
Whenever I like, I can walk all day long.
The wrinkles in my face are not yet deeply set.
Are these the traits of one who nears life's end?

But when I consult the whole truth
I easily see how far behind me is my youth,
How carefully I spend from my store of strength
As if I counted coins out of a small purse.
My flights are now low ones, well spaced apart.
Prudence is as welcome to me as my bed of rest.
There is no mirror left on any wall
To show me that bright heedless man I once was.

Aftertaste of Birth

Look at these magnificent viaducts!
I stuttered while I scissorfucked a girl aimlessly,
two heathens at cross purposes.
Oversharer, you should have started elsewhere.

Senators open love letters chockablock with ricin.
But why not mandrake, or wolfsbane?
Mark E. Smith knew his haruspex from his anthrax
though admittedly a great flabby flapping cunt was he.

Am I not a man? Do I not LOL?
Maybe Father was right.
It's a numbers game.
I should just stick to my cards.
Miracles happen every day.

Now you insist
everything's already been said,
and probably better, by others.

Why do you denigrate what you do not understand?
It's preferable to understand nothing.
You should try it.
It's working for a lot of people.

Some people won't stop saying
IN TODAY'S WORLD
and those are the ones we hate.
IN TODAY'S WORLD
some people never learn.
IN TODAY'S WORLD
some people are always the problem.

Give us Barrabbas,
they cry in the darkness,
forsooth, forsooth.

I bet you don't even know what that means.
Close your browser. We're done here.

points off for misspelling barabbas

Points off for dissing MES.

I love MES!

^__^

I plead unreliable narrator

I like all of these so far, btw.

waiting for el mo

he won't post his poem till he's in his right mind

it'll happen.

love the last two lines of Aimless's poem

"The Contrary Blues"

Born in the haze of a summer afternoon
Children's hospital San Francisco Dr James Muldoon
The caul was on my brow There was no sugar on my spoon
I heard the Crossroads Blues as my nursery tune

I was a contrary baby Contrary to nature's plan
And now this contrary baby has grown into a contrary man

My momma tried to tell me life don't last too long
She said it's the only pleasure that you just cannot prrooollloooonnngg
She said walk lightly through this world Don't stomp like old King Kong
But something somehow somewhere went HORRIBLY WRONG

Now I'm a contrary man This is my contrary pome
I never knew nobody's house I did not call my home

I go out to the circus every time it is in town
Pull the beard off the bearded lady Beat the shit out of every clown
I only chew my food eight times and then I gulp it down
And if you ask my favorite color I will tell you "Doo Doo Brown"

I'm a contrary man I sing a contrary rhyme
You know I pull my pants on two legs at a time

I'll pick your daughter up at seven Have her home by eight
Leave my leafy vegetables untouched upon my plate
I never clipped no coupons My library books are late
I fold and then I spindle And then I mutilate

Cause I'm a contrary man I spin a contrary yarn
And now I'm gonna hit you with the broad side of a barn

I brush my teeth with Borax / Gargle with a cake
Never liked the Lorax / That environment shit's a fake
I'll wrap around your thorax / Like a boa constrictor snake
I'm the milk I'm the sugar I'm a frosted fuckin flake

And I'm a contrary man Just ringin those bells
Got more evil in my little finger Than anywhere elzzzz

The Pissing, Beware

If one must thieve, do it elsewhere
- The plain-clothes common-coursers could be close
And should your bladder shake and heave
The implication is – you too beware
Caught bestride a holly sapling, full gush
Or down, doggish by a hollow log
Discreetly risen, only seen by
Mother crisp frowning afternoon waistline jog
Better this than a breach of the peace in somebody’s home
Better this than a spoilt child’s coy spray report
Best to piss where it can be controlled
In fading rivulets of what could be the clouds’ work, or a dog’s,
Offending only those yet worse aggrieved by fat
Or those who make sport of that fatal compact –
Drake-gang shun runt flyaway pylon-fizz flat –
“Our floury trash to victors’ gizzards!”
Algae spreads and uric acid
Spills remorselessly through soil sewers
Brown water turns yellow,
Fish strangle each other, Old Man Heron ruptures,
Park-keeper – O undone park-keeper!
Forty years you’d bathe in your bathing-hat –
Kids’d fling chips, or quoits –
Like a dolphin –
Now he weeps in the control-centre
Hammers the panic button dyspeptically
As in the jogger-mother’s earpiece
Beep after beep after beep –
Here he is
Unambitiously behind a plane tree
Guilty cock in hand
Thief

― once a week is ample, Thursday, 10 November 2011 23:12 (1 year ago)

Before creating Family Guy and American Dad, Wm S. Burroughs and Brion Gysin did punch-up work for the Simpsons:

'we steal the car, right?'
'Somebody up there likes me.'
'Is your wife up here?'

'My friends, do not eat.'
'A candy corn volcano!'
'Fire it up, boys.'

'Fresh out of ice cream!'
"But I'm not coming back yet."
'In your face, Belgium!'

'A chocolate husband!'
'You mean like', 'Child Labor Day?'
'Oh, it shines so bright.'

'Congratulations.'
'"Can I Borrow a Feeling?"'
'Not me. I got this.'

A Haiku

She said it's really
happening and I said what
and she said my life.

the contest closes in a week, so hurry up!

(that includes me)

Pink Slime

We saw you at the meeting,
We saw you in the back,
Slipping out, discretely,
With pink slime.
We were all disturbed by the pink slime.

Don't deny it.
There is nowhere.
It's not okay.
It simply is.

Untitled

i.

hold me in terror
anticipate ruptures that don't dare to speak
capitalize on the tragedy of legs blown off at the knees
monetize poetry to make status shifting moves
lay me down on the grass
touch my leg
after boston it's barbaric
kissing is barbaric lips peeled
help me oh god
fuck fuck me
i feel like we've been on our second date forever
when does history end already?

ii.

footage of
a snow wheel
barrow
glazed with red

STUCK

Precipitously
We fell into a
Silence of eyes: our
First communion.

i like those two poems. i like mordy's allusion to william carlos williams.

Alchemy Lost

I had alchemy skills, once
A neccesary gift to lift the lead from my heart
And even if the gold weighed just as much
It was at least of some value

Seems this skill has left me now
The lead levels are at critical mass
I have heavy limbs
They are breaking everything they touch

(I cheated, I actually wrote that some time ago but I like it).

Cheating is when you didn't write it.

:)

time's a wastin' y'all ilxors

deadline tomorrow

i arrived independently at the love song of j. alfred prufrock but decided not to post it in case i would be suspected of cheating. i'm leaving it to the judges if they want to credit me with that or not.

we're supposed to post the poem and then what happens?

The entrants are then corralled into an arena, where they fight to the death, bidding for the approval of fickle ilxors.

like the vikings did.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Skald

I'm not even close to being ready to die. This is clearly not the contest for me.

i wouldn't worry about it. aimless is generally merciful. he usually pardons the losers unless they have done something to offend him. the key thing is to write panegyrics to aimless.

xxxp seriously what? we're doing what now?
that's what I get for being first to post I suppose...

Against those who offend me I deploy the sharp edge of killing satire, which bites deep and leaves wounds that never heal.

That sounds worse than death. So Aimless decides who the winner is? Is that what happens?

i think the youngest entrant decides. and the prize is $50 from all the other entrants.

Yeah you all come here and fight me, I got an OCEAN in the way.

we're supposed to post the poem and then what happens?

― free your spirit pig (La Lechera), Sunday, 30 June 2013 18:20 (Yesterday)

then I'll make a poll of all the entries, probably on July 2.

Ok thx. So the poll will be first line or title? Title is necessary?

can i withdraw my first entry, "a haiku"? i don't like that one.

xpost - titles are optional. I'll list titled poems by title and untitled poems by first line.

(but please don't be an asshole and title your poem "http://i.imgur.com/MhchgAH.png" or something)

c'est nes pas une bike

or rather, ceci n'est pas une http://i.imgur.com/MhchgAH.png

can i withdraw my first entry, "a haiku"? i don't like that one.

ok, I'll leave it out of the poll (and you can enter another one if you'd like).

I liked your haiku, mainly because it reminded me of a line from Cristina's "Things Fall Apart" (which happens to be haiku-able, in an awkward way)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s5Xgktqp-Zw

"I can't stand in your
way, it's wrong."
"Way of what?" I
asked, but he was gone.

or rather...

"I can't stand in your
way, it's wrong." "Way of what?" I
asked, but he was gone.

24.

At 15 I had faith in the internal consistency of my opinions.
Or I remember having had this.
Or I remember remembering this.

Full disclosure:
I remember that I remembered remembering this,
Very recently.

Faith remembered is different but the same as
Faith lost,
A leap of faith into a canyon,
An A+ paper,
A wasted moment,
The moon.

I don't know now if I ever was in love,
Or if love is real,
Or if it is social construct,
Or if social constructs are real,
Or why wouldn't they be?

I have an opinion on why this matters,
On why I matter,
And you:
I have an opinion about you too.

And here's the part where I tell you why it matters.

a very old one (all my poems are now v. old)

City Crows

Crows will separate to nest
And raise woodstraw strewn
Leftover sucklers of pups
Who scream when lonely
Like broken glass.

They will chitter to attract mates
And offer tasty meals of rot.
Crows kiss with clacking
And though feathers are well spit-slicked sleek
Their stubby little wings can't hug.

From those high up separate carrion nests
They perch and observe this Saturday night.
Monocled heads cocked and sporting suede vests
On the watch for spoiled food,
They'll ignore the bewildering plumaged sights
As people, idiot creatures, flock.

And another v. old one (even by the standards of my old poems)

How past

How past the past may potentially recede!
A bastard string of new beginnings, boastfully begun
and by that token truncated, just half there
in a wasteland with definite width
inscribed across flesh to fantasy, wounds inspiring flight
as would a trail of imagined slights, silent stigma
of being for others, bending, so as not to break
How distant old heartache, homes, even dreams
in Manhattan's midday crowds and heat I marvel
at the subtlety of auspicious beginnings, so secret
as though unnoticed, until all is underway.
The ground that shifts is a vessel, that rumbling the rail.
Some take, some give or stand their ground, some simply do.
New digs, new take. New town, God I love you!

Regarding Time

What exists exists
for the benefit of a lit torch,
young lives hungering
through all of that space
between us

I made a list of all the things
in the world I missed
and it was a perfect white
page, or rather the page was
yellow- and I am only off-white,
on my better days-
but the days would continue mysteriously
to get better, or at least lighter, until finally
they would cease to exist.

Then we'd release the evening
like a band of mist
all around us

Liking this year

The MacGuire Building, to Be Demolished

Here, at the entrance, we will place a small silver cameo
skin shitting bricks into the immediate atmosphere
wrapped in Tyvek and tiers of scaffolding
sheet rounded hospital blue

Then a room, an unknown man's recorded voice
dark walls haze like curtain smoke
soft walls flex to silent rhythm
thoughts half traced, the unframed sky

The angle of the camera (imaginary) is low
placed to suggest the looming divine
woven into his speech, a constant sigh of aspiration
"Now," he says, "the great wheel of heaven."

Wood blinds crack to falling light, reclined across the couch
but take note of the carpet
a blue so rich it seems black
in this light anyway, at the end of the day

As a brick flies, the sidewalk surface, membrane streets
the television is ancient, monstrous, looming like a shitty condominium,
a gathering of debilitated objects in a semicircle
flies above the sink

i like all of these a great deal, but i would like to note that Gatemouth's poem, particularly, is very moving/haunting.

a very old one (all my poems are now v. old)

As a counterpoint to my entered poem above, this is an example of what I was writing in 1978:

For Sally

Knock me on the head, you’re pretty!
Call me Joe or Pete or Dan,
and I’ll nod and not stir
from fiddling with your hand,
preparatory to kissing the same.

Behold! I am sane – just a dash –
and bashful, too. Test me.
Close your eyes, unguard your lips,
and you’ll see just how shy I am
beyond the far edge of a doubt.

My chick! My chin-mate! Pretty one!
Knock me on the noggin with a brick,
I’m numb at the sight of you.
Delighted, too, if ever a man was.
Strong tonic for healthy,
that’s you, Sally,
poured into a right fine bottle.

nb: I don't intend that to be a second entry or a substitute for my earlier poem. I just thought reading them side by side was an interesting exercise.

these are/were good poems BTW I come back to read em

like it might be time again I'm sayin

IT HAS BEGUN

2014 ILX Poetry Contest: The Captain Lorax Prize (Submissions Thread)