heh im not beating that or your other one so as a motivator its unideal
― deems of internment (darraghmac), Friday, 1 November 2019 19:19 (four years ago) link
I'll try to post something mediocre, so deems can get motivated.
― A is for (Aimless), Friday, 1 November 2019 19:21 (four years ago) link
OK. It's time for all you freeloaders to get serious about pulling your weight. If you can't come up with something original, plagiarize yourself from back when you still had interesting thoughts.
― A is for (Aimless), Saturday, 9 November 2019 17:31 (four years ago) link
sorry the muse sang to me of puke and shite this month and shes off again
― deems of internment (darraghmac), Saturday, 9 November 2019 18:13 (four years ago) link
A bit short, but I like it!
― Frederik B, Saturday, 9 November 2019 19:21 (four years ago) link
I need to get drunk and power something out in twenty minutes like usual
― imago, Tuesday, 12 November 2019 11:12 (four years ago) link
ok stud
― deems of internment (darraghmac), Tuesday, 12 November 2019 11:13 (four years ago) link
I'll post something by the end of this week, even if I am forced to use Trump tweets as 'found poetry'.
― A is for (Aimless), Tuesday, 12 November 2019 20:02 (four years ago) link
Flarf is ripe for a comeback anyway.
― pomenitul, Tuesday, 12 November 2019 20:03 (four years ago) link
Seurat Upon the Asteroid
Seurat upon the asteroidfound the lack of atmosphereoppressive. Nothing softened, rounded,everything displayed unwanted harshness.
Seurat upon the asteroidcomplained most of the monochromeand felt embittered by its ill-adaptednessto the pallette he was fond of.
He found the jagged edges of light too sharpbeyond what his tender eyes could accept.He gripped his brush in impotent rageagainst the bleakness and barbarity there.
Seurat upon the asteroid sat, and sighed, and soothed his loss in dreaming,attempting to fill his empty surroundingsby lingering in the intangible.
"Must I invent it all again" he thought,"the muslins, bustles, upswept hair?"The trees that secretly are clouds?"Here such inventions seem beyond impossibility."
Obstinate, without intention, the asteroidimposed itself upon the artist, untilSeurat upon the asteroid reconciled himselfto the angularity of the shattered light - and painted.
― A is for (Aimless), Thursday, 14 November 2019 19:38 (four years ago) link
Intriguing. I can picture him drawing inspiration from the clusters of stars.
― pomenitul, Thursday, 14 November 2019 19:42 (four years ago) link
My wife has often asked me why I never write poems about our daughter. Today, sitting under a tree in the dunes near the ocean, I was reading Rexroth's translations of Tu Fu and they showed me a possible way to accomplish this, for me, difficult feat. So, this will be my second entry:
My Daughter's Misfortunes
My daughter's misfortunes seem never to end.They accumulate beyond counting, beyond tears.For three decades I have shared her struggles.Her body is as near to useless as a body can be.She cannot move herself, she waits to be moved.She cannot speak, her mind is fathomless to me,Yet sometimes her face can be read like a book.She never laughs, a smile is the limit of her delight.She never cries, for tears could bring her no relief.
In autumn a surgeon cut off part of her femur.In winter she nearly joined the legion of ghosts.In spring a permanent slit was put in her bladderSo that a tube might empty the urine from it to a bag.For her, my wife, and I, these few bald linesDescribe nothing other than a daily truth,The texture of her entire life and half of ours.
It is hard to tell others how it is we live.Around strangers I dread their conventional questions,Our mutual awkwardness as my poor answers are revealed.But there is nothing here that is unspeakable.On Sundays we all visit together without exception.We lie down all three adjacent, close, familiar.I place my head against her head, lightly touching,And she relaxes hers to mine, accepting the contact.For an hour or two there is space for contentment.This one thing, more than any other, is how we live.
― A is for (Aimless), Friday, 15 November 2019 01:55 (four years ago) link
:) ;_; !
i have actually read those rexroth translations so i know exactly what you mean by them offering a path
― imago, Friday, 15 November 2019 02:11 (four years ago) link
While I'm here:
the deadline for submissions is some time vaguely around mid-November, 2019. This may change, depending on the weather, the number of submissions, and my judgment.
I'd say we need to extend this vague deadline for about another week or so, to gather in some of the strays who have been out galivanting instead of giving their muse the honor she deserves. But in fairness to those who submitted early, my indulgence for procrastination will not last forever, so all you poets, get to poetizing!
― A is for (Aimless), Friday, 15 November 2019 02:31 (four years ago) link
that is really moving, aimless, thank you
― Peaceful Warrior I Poser (Karl Malone), Friday, 15 November 2019 02:46 (four years ago) link
Okay, so I'll post a few from this project I've been working on.
6.
The people of Des Moines, Iowa, are no strangersto economic upheaval.It never goes out of style.He cleared the pipe and passed it. We all close like water, and once this floodplain hitched to the coast, blubbering over the scape.
My observations inform mehis real ambition was to start a bandplaying music in the vein of Jimmy Buffett— he liked the relaxed lifestyles, baby let's cruiseaway from here:
"how to wreck a hard drive,""water damage to a notebook computer." Just browsing, treading, it's not illegalto not want to be found. It's been explainedrepeatedly. The tourists are covered in crude,the schoolchildren started to vomitscanning for shore. Nothing on the camerasperchance to dream how the film depictedin light's painful rigor a thirstunplugged, a handwritten note leftin the unremarkable roomwhere we burned our papers and set off the alarm.A crowd gatherson a strip of grass.
― blue light or electric light (the table is the table), Friday, 15 November 2019 02:51 (four years ago) link
3. No wonder the dinosaursthrew in the towel,would for a softer ending, a coo at last light'sintense waveforms, but no, instead it's the first time we've been forced to thinkabout how we fight war.
Is that the raclette or the diaperof history bestirring my schnoz?
The aged loosen and it's a fright. I palpate but the air is filled with zither music andhaggling in Vietnamese,my intentions likely misplacedas I tongue congee off a cleaver.
Snort all you want. Let's pretend we're viruses.
I call nipah and supply the mansionswith palm toddy, chucking thoat swabsin the dustbin. Some were violent, and screaming;they were pacified with injections.I wanted to craft fictions.It's a skull thumpon concrete.
― blue light or electric light (the table is the table), Friday, 15 November 2019 02:52 (four years ago) link
finally, one from today:
7.
― blue light or electric light (the table is the table), Friday, 15 November 2019 03:00 (four years ago) link
oops....
A particularly telling symbol is an absence.My shame is right on, then, the spreading thorn strapped and surfing copperunease crisp a celebrationof life padding parking lots and structures'demanded lineation, looking behind me lustily.
It was all dell, surrender surrenderin fluxed splendor the jumbo word finda recursive embrace of hurt's spillage,pump up the contrast the ordersa view dimmed to gruel.
― blue light or electric light (the table is the table), Friday, 15 November 2019 03:04 (four years ago) link
ty, ttitt
― A is for (Aimless), Friday, 15 November 2019 03:59 (four years ago) link
I'm gonna bump this at least once a day for a few days.
― A is for (Aimless), Friday, 15 November 2019 18:38 (four years ago) link
Daily bump.
― A is for (Aimless), Saturday, 16 November 2019 16:02 (four years ago) link
^
― A is for (Aimless), Sunday, 17 November 2019 17:29 (four years ago) link
I think it's time to set the deadline for entries: midnight (GMT) Saturday, November 23. I'll cobble together the poll sometime soon after that.
― A is for (Aimless), Monday, 18 November 2019 16:24 (four years ago) link
On a Rooftop in Manhattan
The planes performed their dance above LaGuardia,banking lightly into a slow descent.
Margaret regarded the procession with envy. When she was younger she thought the whole world movedlike gears inside a clock, churning indifferently around the mounting catastrophe of her life.
Someone told her that this fantasy was called libertarianism, evoking images of gun shows and New Hampshire that quickly dissipated into a mosaic haze.
Margaret had no judgments and no idealsat this moment in time, and she caught herself saying that fatigue was a kind of nihilism when she meant to ask for another drink.
― treeship., Wednesday, 20 November 2019 03:49 (four years ago) link
thanks, treesh. Last time there were 17 poems. yours makes 9 so far this time around. I'm hoping we can harvest a few more before Saturday.
― A is for (Aimless), Wednesday, 20 November 2019 05:36 (four years ago) link
one last bump before this thread shuts down over the weekend
― A is for (Aimless), Thursday, 21 November 2019 18:35 (four years ago) link
poets! submit!
― blue light or electric light (the table is the table), Saturday, 23 November 2019 18:16 (four years ago) link
― imago
― A is for (Aimless), Saturday, 23 November 2019 18:51 (four years ago) link
poets! start drinking!
― A is for (Aimless), Saturday, 23 November 2019 18:56 (four years ago) link
I've already made an ass of myself. It's everyone else's turn now!
― pomenitul, Saturday, 23 November 2019 18:58 (four years ago) link
One last reminder:
If you can't come up with something original, plagiarize yourself from back when you still had interesting thoughts.
― A is for (Aimless), Saturday, 23 November 2019 19:07 (four years ago) link
Just 'thoughts' will do at this point.
― pomenitul, Saturday, 23 November 2019 19:09 (four years ago) link
I dug up an Onegin stanza I left unfinished, but I just can't get it to work.
― Frederik B, Saturday, 23 November 2019 19:13 (four years ago) link
I left it unfinished ten years ago, I should say
― Frederik B, Saturday, 23 November 2019 19:14 (four years ago) link
That's OK. You're already a blood donor.
― A is for (Aimless), Saturday, 23 November 2019 19:16 (four years ago) link
Slap '(A Fragment)' on it and call it a day.
― pomenitul, Saturday, 23 November 2019 19:16 (four years ago) link
But it's the middle part that doesn't work...
― Frederik B, Saturday, 23 November 2019 19:17 (four years ago) link
Replace it with '(…)'. Voilà.
― pomenitul, Saturday, 23 November 2019 19:18 (four years ago) link
i have pernod, i have blackcurrant
― imago, Saturday, 23 November 2019 21:05 (four years ago) link
as if under three hours to deadline wasn't always the plan
Oh had I but a cup of coffeeor perhaps a mug of teamy heart, which as of now is awfullysad, would would fill with joy and glee.My dim and incoherent thinkingwould, with just a bit of drinking,become beautiful and brightand tell my fingers what to write.I know now that the drought is ending,as now is done my daily toil,and on my stove water doth boil.but woe... I shan't go on pretending...One thing would be even more dear:Oh had I but a glass of beer!
― Frederik B, Saturday, 23 November 2019 21:26 (four years ago) link
Ten years, guys. Or, twenty minutes back then, twenty minutes now.
new church Kidbrooke
I rode a new bus today, the 335 to Kidbrookethey only introduced it a few weeks agoand the announcements were broken -instead of '335 to Kidbrooke' it said'new. church! Kidbrooke'so really it was like I was joining a cult androute 335 was the culthere's what happened next
but first about route 422, there's a 20-metre stretch of road in the middleof the route where both the inbound and outbound buses use thesame lane of the same roadin the same direction, that's the 422 loreand now you know it too andthere's no way to not know it
so yeah this happenedthe 380 goes past my house andit seems to be more often much more oftenthan you'd expect from the law of averagesthat the inbound and outbound buses meet at the crossroads i live onand one of them has to stop to let the other past
by now i was ecstatic to tell you about the 763which doesn't exist yet but when it doesit will have a point on its route where it has to do a three-point turnin the middle of the trafficwhile the driver singshis favourite hymns and drums the wheel
so now i'm on the 8004and we're flying into ~the hexagon~which is where this route terminatesit is a beautiful place I hearengines are runningyou can queue for the next bus there is ample shelter
― imago, Saturday, 23 November 2019 22:05 (four years ago) link
music selection was The Chap and is now The Beta Band. I will write a second
― imago, Saturday, 23 November 2019 22:07 (four years ago) link
you've all done fine poems btw but aimless' second is probably the best thing anyone's done for one of these? i'm drunk idk. aimless deserves this one, for everything tbh
― imago, Saturday, 23 November 2019 22:08 (four years ago) link
Lots of excellent things in this thread. I wrote this back when I was alive. Formally, it's a bit fucked but well.
Ranging in twilight’s palsied silver, at the summit of autumn’s blaze.Acorn litter, balled under arches –Demosthenean props, rolled around the woods’ bronzed gape.Beyond this, nothing is said.Instead, we go undeceived, suspended in the updrafts of the old silence.
Rooks roil westward, lint in the eye of the sun’s liquid falling.We crouch at a field edge, thick with dewy foreshadows;you gather chestnut husks, the needles lancing your palms.Then: a studied tilt, a new pressure behind your eyes, and therenot ten feet away, belly-deep, scrape-hidden, a deer. A deer.
Before, I’d carry you out, out to sleep off the afternoon’s bright daydreams,and the deer would always come. They were your anxious, peering avatars,come to see this strange two-fronted stalker abroad in their crucible of beech-caught light.Once, walking through a pixellated summer night, a deer watched us home,A distant, timid chaperon of dusk’s rough palisades.
Now, as the woods shrink, as time shrinks, acre by sodden acre, they come less frequently.But I feel them, a soft presence at the edge of things,a modest, unspoken rapture.We gather each other, and for the briefest moment I wonder if you’re going to stay.Not yet, I think; not just yet.
― Life is a meaningless nightmare of suffering...save string (Chinaski), Saturday, 23 November 2019 22:36 (four years ago) link
Your River, My River
You wanted a riverclassically organisedexplicable in every tongue andnot burdened or bridled withoil and tarA lovely great groundswell of that old terror beautyA beauty to be fit over the face as a veilof golden, shimmering reverence
I flew apart everywherecasting sackfuls of sawdust into unspeakable crevices Acupuncture horizongot its god-fearing back brokenright down the seamI held the splitatwixt a crumbling endpiece and shouted into itfor your river
Waiting, I listenedStatic flashing on and off like the primeval beginningof cinematic entombmentAeons buttered my feet and then one day I heard itA focal shiftingand the lightmoved likethiswith big balmy pulsesA diagonal triangulation on what we had takento be river
Here it was thenFor youbut really for meRippled gunshots in all directionsA crinkled uglytoo horrible to bearand overdosing on sunNo lifeNo WordsworthBut enough liquid matterto floodall the droughts in the world
― tangenttangent, Saturday, 23 November 2019 23:56 (four years ago) link
TOE HELL WITH REALITY
Blab blab BLAND sockarooI ingest WE INGEST seventeen CRICKET INFESTED PONCHOSmartyrFUCKERhere's the real poemtoday at the football just after they equaliseda wagtail flew over the standand I was like ah ok a pied wagtailbut it could have been a grey wagtailand in the end i didn't know but it was enough that it was a wagtailthis isn't the poem either is it
new tack: i'm listening to total eclipse of the heartwhile watching a light aircraft approach landingon a stream of the cricket, it is a doughty planenow lady by styx on imperial command
versablutionscommodore inefficaciesthe song is good hail howitzerexactamundo, by gordonslightly now i am writing a poem and it cannot end nownu-gold dream drainage drippingi beef you in writheswe contangle a biscuit gauntlet
burrettgondlinghaxmetcorbuckysuch are the names of elspeth and swotyou've become useless and unfiltered!many rock stars have been or become sociopaths, NOT JUST REO SPEEDWAGONthe informations got worseI tried to type got not forPRODIGAL SONi don't know
KEEP ON LOVING YOU but wait here's a GUMBUTTON
drunken
here's the real poem
the reeal one:
__we will or won't fast-forward through dipmunks of
no that wasn't it either
the only truth i can communicate right nowis that if I truly understood and drank in the musicof the late 1970s and early 1980si would transcend myself and achieve everythingthat i want to achieveand you would too
and that the only truth of the next decadeis the truth of whoever makes ELO but of the 2020s
that is no longer my truth
okay here is the scenariothere are three wizardsone of them is Tolesmordone Barthsyone Gonfrak
Tolesmord says: "Ho my spell" and zorks a banister from his gunkBarthsy yodels in four languages before producing a parcel of penisesGonfrak is invisible to dogs.
All are competing!
A judger of wizard looms before them, cape a-ghastThey utter some words: "You are all so special,But I order that the winner is GONFRAK"
And this is so unusual and out of order because they all thought they were going to win equallythat the three wizards organise the following array:
Judger, BANISTER PROTRUDING FROM GUNKis not only invisible to dogs but is being LICKED and MATED WITH (rude!)even though the dogs do not know why they are matingand actually they are yodelling
think on that as your world disintegrates like minethink on that as you are consumed in languagethink on that and of that and in that and through that and while thatis the thing you think ofas i say that youare the martyr
― imago, Saturday, 23 November 2019 23:57 (four years ago) link
By the powers vested in me by me, I declare the 2019 ILX Poetry contest closed to new entries. But of course this thread isn't locked and no one can be stopped from slipping some further poems over the transom. Special pleading, accompanied by breast-beating, sitting in ashes, or bribery may be employed by poets seeking inclusion in the final balloting -- and might possibly heeded. I'm a soft touch.
― A is for (Aimless), Sunday, 24 November 2019 00:47 (four years ago) link
ack too late to submit - alas. next year i'll do better.
― Mordy, Monday, 25 November 2019 17:12 (four years ago) link
Have to work tomorrowBut will be back here again believe meOnce the barmaid options are exhaustedBack here to fucking decompose
― calstars, Friday, 20 December 2019 02:25 (four years ago) link
(Aimless opens thread, expecting to find a decomposing calstars. Does not and is relieved.)
― A is for (Aimless), Sunday, 22 December 2019 04:15 (four years ago) link
I forgot to say thank you to my voter!
And, by the by, via some weird cold clockwork of the stars, Christopher Fairbank ended up reading and recording my poem: https://soundcloud.com/mattpoacher/deer
― Ngolo Cantwell (Chinaski), Saturday, 29 February 2020 21:25 (four years ago) link
it was me fwiw
― strangely hookworm but they manage ream shoegaze poetry (imago), Saturday, 29 February 2020 21:56 (four years ago) link
pfft
― BSC Joan Baez (darraghmac), Saturday, 29 February 2020 22:17 (four years ago) link
Thanks imago.
― Ngolo Cantwell (Chinaski), Saturday, 29 February 2020 22:20 (four years ago) link