Scanty snippets on/of poetry |
A poet has to manifest herself in a safe environment. This is such a place for my early baby steps. The wonders of the world and my inner thoughts mingle. They become one. It’s a journey of the soul, a spark of the mind, and a bit of spit. For more "Poet @ Work 2" [18+], "In honest simple verse" [E] On the other hand: it might be a brooding place for challenges and poetry contests, some of which required ONE STAR RATING. (In case somebody wonders about the gracing this blog) A large group of writers participated in this challenge that required to rate as low as possible. So, it doesn't mean this blog is a bad blog or that they reviewed mean, it was required and this is the consequence. Alas!
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April 9—ghost, ghostly Loop poetry on an apparition It was an evening like this This one of the early days in spring Spring weather and daffodils Daffodils looming in the sun Sun bright, brisk feel Feel the afternoon into the night Night’s dark, opaque, when When suddenly Suddenly there he stood Stood erect and in the dim light Light’s trick of the eye? Eye’s clear and voice Voiced my dead dad “Daddy’s girl, let’s look at you You grown last time I saw Saw some wrinkles, gray hair’s streak” Streak of light? Light’s out Out came my cry Cried in my sleep Sleepy’s wishful thinking.
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April 8—something illegal Something illegal “President Trump’s order barring immigration from seven Muslim-majority countries is illegal”, says an expert in a newspaper. Sound of silence… The 1965’s Act of Immigration and Nationality strives all discrimination against immigrants on the basis of national origin forbidden. Sound of cheering… Besides the fact that I find it morally wrong to ban people at random, the ones affected have nothing to do with terrorists committing crimes. Sound of static...
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April 7—poem based on a tiny object One grain of rice One grain of rice painted as a miniature picture small, smaller, smallest letters, a bird, a face? Suffice to state: Micro art at its finest A labor of love and a steady hand a keen eye and the stamina of a monk dot, dot, dot Six and a half millimeter of beauty —Oops! There goes.
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April 6—poem based on a dream Flying Flying without wings. Just diving off a cliff into the abyss. No fear, no fright in flight. Knowing I could flitt and flutter and float because I can do anything in a dream. Flying equals freedom! Or release of sexual energy Freud would say.
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April 5. Poem 5. April 5—something unfinished [Sometimes] Sometimes I act as if my life is over. For example: I only see old people in the streets these days. The younger ones (they’re outnumbered) I examine carefully with a smile on my face and an instant memory of me being that age. I am invisible, of a certain era. No longer a looker with a swift walk. I study faces, people to remind me of times gone bye and on top of that I watch daytime television! URGH — the news, but still: that’s something really, really old people do with lots of time on their hands and numbered days —or poets looking for clues.
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April 4. Poem 4. April 4—any aspect or object of technology Word (program) Sitting in front of a screen: click, click, click Cursor on hold. Letters, syllables, words. click, click, click One mouse, one finger. Start, write, erase save copy and paste Minutes into hours into days. Compute: My life’s on hold. (Time is relative & writing the essence) Pages: 1 of 1 Words: 65 Aim: a poem! Claim these lines and move on. The moment is gone!
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April 3: Poem April 3—documentation Documentation on Google About 328 million results (in 0.58 seconds) So SEARCH… search search!
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April 2. Poem 2 April 2—carp or any kind of fish, fishing [cod] cod herring salmon sharpnose shark saury silverside A random list of fish I like on my plate ~except for the shark I never ate shark! First: kill the shark! Then: heat oil in a large skillet over medium-high heat. Arrange fillets and drizzle with orange juice and lemon juice. Sprinkle pepper Cook for seven minutes, or until fish is easily flaked with a fork.
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April 1. Poem 1. April 1—rust, or the color rust Rusty ~ An Acrostic poem Rusty: Under pressure Style and form variable This needs exploration … Yell: "I want to write a poem!" Yay: I need to express myself! T’being months without writing lyrics So I better get on that word wagon Unify a poem a day for 30 days Ravish, if I can pull this off.
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Honey, funny bunny takes a turn. He twiddles and waddles and shatters and, rats, he’s running a mile! Take over & kill the furry creature! 139 characters
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Around the Christmas tree. Christmas tree, Christmas tree Christmas’ only tool Oh, what joy it is to fill The stockings: presents full. Pull, Christmas tree, Christmas tree Christmas' only tool Oh, what joy it is to fill The stockings: presents full. We dining with our friends And family’s on their way We give each other heart And glee is here to stay. We kiss each other’s cheeks And bless the winter time We sit around the tree With candle light and lime. Lo, Christmas tree, Christmas tree Christmas' only tool Oh, what joy it is to fill The stockings: presents full. Pull, Christmas tree, Christmas tree Christmas' only tool Oh, what joy it is to fill The stockings: presents full.
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SPAMVILLE, Mysterious South Pacific Island George Hormel Sr. disappeared What happened to his flesh? They put in cans thru out the world Eating SPAM - don’t get a rash! A trip followed up by us, SPAMmets taken it’s toll, with ghosts and all The world spammed out with keys to solve a mystery: we had a ball! So when you eat your pick of meat Think of Hormel and of SPAM Think of the wraiths we saw this week who greeted us with a BANG Tis Halloween today, so don’t forget the different cities and ghosts we met!
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Pelabuhan Ratu, Indonesia GUNA-GUNA with a touch of SPAM In the Far East, a girl was seen ~ she loved the color green ~ Her beauty turned ugly now by GUNA-GUNA somehow. Jumping the cliff, (not the spike) towards her end, she thought Instead turning Goddess-like: a ghostly package she bought. In Room 308 of the special Inn she roams the night and shores Nyai Loro Kidul haunts next of kin, scares tourists in the moors. This poet is of Indonesian pull ~SPAMming with others to might ~ Her favorite is Nyai Loro Kidul and her ghostly greenish light.
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Notes on SPAM on Stage: The Princess Theatre, Australia Frederick Baker sang Mephistopheles on stage: ” The best thing here’s to make a single choice, Then simply swear by your master’s voice On the whole, to words stick fast! Through the safest gate, you’ll pass To the Temple of Certainty.” When hell opened up Frederici died. Sing, sang, song Song, hissing, hush Hush his voice Voice of death Death and ghost Ghost appeared. Oh, Mamma Mia!
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Having a hot spam lunch at The Sai Ying Pun Community Complex. Chinese food with spam consists of pork shoulder meat, with ham meat added, salt, water, modified potato starch as a binder, sugar, and sodium nitrite as a preservative. The delivery guy sets himself on fire wearing a traditional Chinese costume: “Lo! Back in the days, this place was for the Japanese chopping off some heads. You’ll find their meat in the spam. That’ll be ten twenty, thank you, ma'am!”
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The Bhanghar Fort, India A letter to Princess Ratnavati of Bhangarh in teachings of tantra: Dear Princess, The making of love medicine: ghee, honey, sugar and licorice in equal quantities, the juice of the fennel plant, and milk mixed together. This nectar-like composition is said to be holy, and provocative of sexual vigor, a preservative of life, and sweet to the taste. The drinking of a paste composed of the asparagus racemosus, the shvadaushtra plant, the guduchi plant, the long pepper, and liquorice, boiled in milk, honey, and ghee, in the spring, is of the same effect as the above. Boiling the asparagus racemosus, and the shvadaushtra plant, along with the pounded fruits of the premna spinosa in water, and drinking it, is said to act in the same way. Please accept this lesson with the gift of wonderful oil for your beautiful skin. Sincerely yours, Singhia, the Wizard.
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Beelzebub’s cat at Hell Fire Club on Montpelier Hill, Ireland I killed my cat I killed my cat while under I killed my cat while under the influence I killed my cat while under the influence of Satan Twas 1725 Twas 1725 and the mass Twas 1725 and the mass took place Twas 1725 and the mass took place right here So I roam So I roam the nights So I roam the nights dressed up So I roam the nights dressed up in white With Kitty under my arm! Purr.
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THE WABASHA STREET CAVES, St. Paul, MN In the caves underneath the street is a saloon, yeah you heard it right Wabasha rules – (SPAM is No meat! No sirry, no sirry, but it might) Dillinger or Baker, which troublemaker? shot them down: all three hooligans. Buried the corpses and with a shaker celebrated Prohibition shenanigans. In our days the ugly ghosts still roam ~there have been sightings so they say: Three stooges and Ho Nina’s peristome; mist and apparitions? 50 bucks you pay. Yeah, 50 bucks you pay.
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When you follow unwritten laws it seems meaningful, meaningful to fill up the backpack with little flags and the inevitable ice scraper. Next of kin are this way enabled to point out the different spots, to repeat the event afterwards. Please take the stairs to the highest floor and spare the elevator. Sincerely, Management. |