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"That would amount to advertising my limitations. I'd rather be a crap critic!"

Posted: Sun Nov 18, 2018 6:50 pm
by henry quirk
You chickenshit. :wink:

Re: Poetry here.

Posted: Sun Nov 18, 2018 11:38 pm
by Dubious
...

Re: Poetry here.

Posted: Mon Nov 19, 2018 2:22 pm
by Walker
Well, it is cause to wonder by what sense of justice the more deserving have dearly departed.

:D

Posted: Mon Nov 19, 2018 4:38 pm
by henry quirk
That wasn't a bad piece...it didn't connect for me (like, for example, 'In the Desert'), but it's not bad.

Re: Poetry here: The End of I

Posted: Mon Nov 19, 2018 9:48 pm
by -1-
The End of I: One of the most beautiful poems I've ever read. It resonated with beauty, understanding, deep human insights into all eternity, and most of all, it was grandiosely replete with vicissitude's misfortune as if reflected on a satin sheet, draped over an alabaster pedestal.

Re: Poetry here: The End of I

Posted: Mon Nov 19, 2018 10:56 pm
by Walker
-1- wrote:
Mon Nov 19, 2018 9:48 pm
The End of I: One of the most beautiful poems I've ever read. It resonated with beauty, understanding, deep human insights into all eternity, and most of all, it was grandiosely replete with vicissitude's misfortune as if reflected on a satin sheet, draped over an alabaster pedestal.
Such praise would suit a Maxfield Parrish visual.

Re: Poetry here: The End of I

Posted: Tue Nov 20, 2018 4:54 am
by Dubious
-1- wrote:
Mon Nov 19, 2018 9:48 pm
The End of I: One of the most beautiful poems I've ever read. It resonated with beauty, understanding, deep human insights into all eternity, and most of all, it was grandiosely replete with vicissitude's misfortune as if reflected on a satin sheet, draped over an alabaster pedestal.
Thank you for the kind words but it was only meant to be "not bad", nothing more.

When you write...
it was grandiosely replete with vicissitude's misfortune as if reflected on a satin sheet, draped over an alabaster pedestal, this sounds more poetic than what I wrote!

Most of my erstwhile writings are far more philosophical. This End of I poem was an anomaly written more by accident than by intent.

Re:

Posted: Tue Nov 20, 2018 5:25 am
by Dubious
henry quirk wrote:
Mon Nov 19, 2018 4:38 pm
That wasn't a bad piece...it didn't connect for me (like, for example, 'In the Desert'), but it's not bad.
That's not much of a surprise. There wasn't much to connect to! Crane's poem is of a completely different order; so is Pushkin's.

Re: Poetry here.

Posted: Wed Nov 21, 2018 3:25 am
by Walker
People are shy to offer their best, that's a fact.

It's ripe for the writin'.

Re: Poetry here.

Posted: Wed Nov 21, 2018 10:35 am
by -1-
Walker wrote:
Wed Nov 21, 2018 3:25 am
People are shy to offer their best, that's a fact.
Naturally. Nobody likes to show what's under their underwear, so to speak; their inner self. Especially if it has a high probability of being torn to pieces by the onlookers.

Re: Poetry here.

Posted: Wed Nov 21, 2018 11:13 am
by -1-
Poets' Lament

My soul is my sole energy
it gives me life, it's what life gives me
an egg that came before the chicken
the fluid life-force before it'd thicken.

I eat my soul, only me; it is delicious
when it's free. But if you have to pay for it
With currency of life's deceit,
You shyly put it back, away from eyes,
into its place.

You don't want to expose, eh, your
little heart, in an expose
the little heart that beats your chest
from the inside, a hundred times
a minute.

It wants to get out to the open
'casuse it wants you to hear it.
Often it daydreams of being heard
by the large, uncaring herd
of humans.

It wants a voice, and you carry that
inside your mind, you soul-heart vat.
You quiet it, you oppress its voice.
What your mind wants, it still avoids.

What is it that can relieve
my pain, my sores, my suffering?
my many wounds of trauma
my life's infectious spittle-magma?

Ah! If only I could again re-live
My childhood's enchantment
It would help to rid my soul
of worries, vanity, whip and coal,
of salt mines, gold digs, mixing bowl
turned upside down, on the kitchen floor.

London, 2018 11 21

Chew on that, then spit it out, call it tripe, call me lout.

Re: Poetry here.

Posted: Wed Nov 21, 2018 1:25 pm
by Walker
-1- wrote:
Wed Nov 21, 2018 10:35 am
Walker wrote:
Wed Nov 21, 2018 3:25 am
People are shy to offer their best, that's a fact.
Naturally. Nobody likes to show what's under their underwear, so to speak; their inner self. Especially if it has a high probability of being torn to pieces by the onlookers.
Thus the allure of Daniel in the lion's den, Mother Teresa on the streets of Calcutta, and public executions.

Re: Poetry here.

Posted: Wed Nov 21, 2018 3:21 pm
by -1-
Walker wrote:
Wed Nov 21, 2018 1:25 pm
-1- wrote:
Wed Nov 21, 2018 10:35 am
Nobody likes to show what's under their underwear, so to speak; their inner self. Especially if it has a high probability of being torn to pieces by the onlookers.
Thus the allure of Daniel in the lion's den, Mother Teresa on the streets of Calcutta, and public executions.
Well, I wouldn't diss private executions, either. They are pretty cool, too.

But I do miss pogroms, Christians being eaten by lions, heretics burnt at the stakes, KKK festivities, and Mary Kay special promotions.

As for Mother Theresa on the streets... well, put away dat dress tonight... the Internet has got you beat... nobody risks it, even if it's right.

Re: Poetry here.

Posted: Wed Nov 21, 2018 9:19 pm
by Dubious
-1- wrote:
Wed Nov 21, 2018 11:13 am
Poets' Lament
Excellent metaphors describing the perpetual strains between inner & outer. It kind of reminds me of Whitman.

Do you still write poetry? It seems you do! I've given up on it a decade ago and even then I only wrote the stuff rarely. No loss as far as I'm concerned.

Re: Poetry here.

Posted: Wed Nov 21, 2018 11:12 pm
by -1-
Thanks for the nice compliment.

I gave up writing poetry about five years ago. Maybe I am five years younger than you? I only write now when the inspiration comes, as opposed to earlier times, when I wrote only when inspiration struck.

I hated poetry all my life until I read a poem by Richard Tillinghast, "The Table". It changed my attitude about poetry, turned it around 180 degrees. That was oh, I don't know, at around the turn of the century. Maybe.

I decided some time ago, that writing poetry is really easy, and writing good poetry is so hard, it is well neigh impossible. But one perseveres, especially when the inspiration strikes.