ok! been away moving house, but now i'm back. temped to go with a rap attack, but, i'll go with this weird little thing.
BORN AGAIN
i choose to keep writing and walking not because it's easy but because it's hard in this city, always on my guard hanging in places that are sleazy just keep the psycho talking
everything in my life is gone but never give up.........never the road to be saved is very long
sirens wail like spoilt children time for the last run maybe a chance for fun? so much adrenaline
" i'm loyal to nothing, except the dream " - captain america.
words fly in smokey rooms like ancient moths and curses in egyptian tombs.
one more. as several of you know, i rarely express myself outside of verse nowadays.which i'm sure can be quite annoying ha ha. this is about moving in to my new house.
ANYWHERE BUT HERE (rubicon )
free!!!!!!!!! free to be me!!!! now i just need a lonely lady to be my baby
she'll be a lady in my bed and a gun to my head just need a woman to love me till i'm dead i'd keep her warm and safe and well fed
too old to have a baby but.......but........but......maybe maybe the samantha panther was carrying my child all along but knowing sammie hamster, i'm sure i'm wrong
now nobody tells me what to do nobody tells me where to go left behind every foe now i am still water...through and through.
never alone. but always alone until i hear the ring tone.
some powerful lines in both poems. and as Tasha said dark but with a light shining through. as if you are seeing some hope after the last three years. both well expressed and well written
Oh my, two poems, both a bit dark but then that's your style. And there are light bits shining through them both. Nice work as usual, Glad you have left behind every foe, now just don't go making new ones, ha ha.
thanks tash. got a few more. gonna post the first of " the pizza shop chronicles " like you asked. oh! , i'll always have some foe in this city. they are just further away now - love and peace - paul.
Poetry is beautiful, fun, sad and so much more For me to express myself in it is really a chore Some of my fellow poets really blow my mind creating masterpieces that are unique in kind
I am humbled by these wordsmiths who wield their pens so freely To bring forth substantial sonnets while mine are weak and mealy Such artfully woven tapestries brought forth with care From the well of deep thinkers who are truly aware
I salute you for your thoughts and your bright ways to purvey The diversity of life and the many things you portray I have greatly benefited learning from your craft While I'm pretty sure by now you've figured out I'm daft
I dedicate this poem to you poets who share your souls Who try to uplift our conscience and lift us from our holes From wallowing in the muck that sometimes sucks us down For giving us things to think about, to wear that thorny crown
Giving anything is a true act of sacrifice Whether it's writing words or just being nice So thank you for caring enough to put down what you feel Through participation in this realm you show that which is real
Man you all live as long as you want and prosper to your own satisfaction I think that for now I'll just sit back and res and watch you guys in action Roses are red, violets are blue, a traditional verse from me to you.
Honest words that resonate and sing to the heart. Love that 4th verse--Daft? no!Your contributions are far better than you make them out to be, and I enjoy them, and you!
those of us with novelty pencils tend to think that roses are blue and violets are red. but that's a different poem - nice one paul eeerrr the other paul.
if we are talking about poetry, i've gotta write a song. poetry and songs are the same thing.
BLUES SONG ( piano and harmonica )
she was a bad town woman with bad news on her mind i know dozens of her kind bad ladies aren't difficult to find
i couldn't bear to have her back 'cos she'd leave me again couldn't take that pain another nervous breakdown and heart attack
( chorus ) but she has so much shoo be do be doo. shoo be do be do crazy lady i still love yoooooooo!
lost in music handcuffed to magic is it all a trick? building life brick by brick
( chorus )
yeah. i'd take her back in a new york minute though there has to be a limit possibly the craziest woman in the world though a goddess when her banner was unfurled
( chorus to fade ) " blue moon. you saw me standing alone ".
Good One! I can hear the harmonica wailing blues. Funny about Blue Moon--that was a song me and first boyfriend used to call ours...sweet!That one also with Blue velvet, do you remember that one?
of course i remember blue velvet tash and the film of the same name. you gotta really wail on the harmonica in the third verse. can you play the train on your harp?
I've started submitting again and my submittable page is looking pretty sad. But sometimes your imagery is almost too much. I don't like thinking about severed necks of old women. LOL
After reading and enjoying the poems posted that fit the prompt, I realized I have a poem that fits it already. It's from "Yo Miss!" and there's a prose entry that goes with it. I rarely post anything long so I figured I'd post both. If you don't care to read the prose part, just skip to the bottom:
Wednesday, 08 February In the Classroom The Class from Hell
The class is out of hand … again. I open my folder with worksheets, intending to give them seat work instead of the games I had planned. The class talked out so bad. They are still talking out.
I see a pile of my poems I had stashed in the folder. I look up and say, “Would you rather hear me read my poetry?” assuming they will laugh or reject that option so much they’d settle down and do what they’d been assigned. A few girls stop talking, look up and say, “Yes.”
I think, Oh god, what am I going to do now. I offered. Should I retract my offer, or actually read them poetry? I’ve been writing these poems all year, but never intended to read them to STUDENTS. What the hell, I pull out the poems. I choose TRUTH, about Armando saying I must not like him.
The class, with the exception of Andrew and Kareem, actually quiet down as I read, waiting to see what I responded. They know the response could apply to them also.
“That was good.” “Do you have any more?” “Is there one about me?” “Who else you write about?” “I write poems too.”
So I read them my Kyrielle, where it mentions Andrew, who is still talking and not listening, walking out of the room. There are a few others on the periphery, talking among themselves, but the vast majority are still listening. I am feeling that referent power. I know it is not math, but if they want to please ME, then maybe knowing I write poems about my students is a good thing.
I flip through the pages. There are many I cannot read because they are not nice poems and they may know names. I need to change names in my poems. I don’t want to because their names are so beautiful. I read to them about how scared I was to have Jed visit for the second time.
“Somebody really throw a chair in your class?” “Which class was that?”
“No, he didn’t really throw the chair, he knocked it over and it knocked over another, but my mentor did SAY he threw a chair, and it was his perception that counts. He KIND of did.”
“What’s perception?” “You write him up?”
“Perception is what he sees, like a judge in a fighting match. And MYOB or I’ll write YOU up!”
“What that mean?” “Mind Yo Own Business nigga.”
“You got more poems?” “I bet I’m in a poem.”
“Now, it’s time to pay just as much attention to math.”
“Math?” “This ain’t math class.” “Why we have to do math?”
* * *
Poem / Portraits TWO GIRLS IN TWO SONNETS
1. I bet I’m in a poem, Paris tells me with a confident and rakish grin, her feet outstretched to show me she rebels. Not yet. That comment on my mind, she wins
a spot within my lines. With forty days of absences, suspended for four more, she made a deep impression. Many ways. But not the one I’m sure she’s hoping for.
I see in her a leader, every ounce of talent wasted being what she wants right now, a bad girl tiger quick to pounce. I wish for her to learn to learn. It haunts
me thinking of two futures, each one hers. It all depends on choices, which occurs.
2. Jamila, much like Paris, sometimes worse– suspended thirteen, absent eighteen days– disrupts the class when she is there, will curse and talk and won’t sit down or work, finds ways
to make life miserable for everyone, except herself, perhaps a friend or two. But if she takes away my time, she’s won Some days she does. Some days, more rare, I do.
I say her drive could run a business. She says that’s for whites. Good point, except that she could prove them wrong, instead of be the girl who fails again. Why she’ll accept
that life has done her wrong and not fight back I do not understand. Stand up! Attack!
This is impressive, not only the sonnets but also the rose. Are all your classes like this? Would they benefit from Martial arts class? As a reward? Just a thought. Especially the two girls in the sonnets. Well done, well done, and thanks!
This is from about a decade ago, a journal I kept that I turned into a book, "Yo Miss! I Need a Pencil." I self-published it last year after giving up on other routes and am going to start entering in contests.
this poem or these poems break my heart. keith saw the same thing at morris. black kids with talent not even trying because they have been told they can't succeed because they are black
Being as this is Feb 2 and sacred to the Fire Goddess Bride or Brigid, who is also the goddess of poetry and midwifery, I thought I'd publish this poem as it was written not for the prompt bu only days ago so is very new. I will still try to bring another one to the site however, when I have time to write it!!!
a poem comes from the heart and soul put together in a thinker's mind poetry spills forth the endless flow of love, desire, defeat, passion and wonder sometimes the words come with tears as years pass by on our short journey ...called life...
ok! been away moving house, but now i'm back. temped to go with a rap attack, but, i'll go with this weird little thing.
ReplyDeleteBORN AGAIN
i choose to keep writing and walking
not because it's easy
but because it's hard
in this city, always on my guard
hanging in places that are sleazy
just keep the psycho talking
everything in my life is gone
but never give up.........never
the road to be saved is very long
sirens wail like spoilt children
time for the last run
maybe a chance for fun?
so much adrenaline
" i'm loyal to nothing, except the dream " - captain america.
words fly in smokey rooms
like ancient moths and curses in egyptian tombs.
You do keep writing. I love "words fly in smoky rooms"
Deleteyes, writing is not easy, it is hard and that is why I choose to do it, also. I like the imagery of "sirens wail like spoilt children"
Deleteone more. as several of you know, i rarely express myself outside of verse nowadays.which i'm sure can be quite annoying ha ha.
ReplyDeletethis is about moving in to my new house.
ANYWHERE BUT HERE (rubicon )
free!!!!!!!!!
free to be me!!!!
now i just need a lonely lady
to be my baby
she'll be a lady in my bed
and a gun to my head
just need a woman to love me till i'm dead
i'd keep her warm and safe and well fed
too old to have a baby
but.......but........but......maybe
maybe the samantha panther was carrying my child all along
but knowing sammie hamster, i'm sure i'm wrong
now nobody tells me what to do
nobody tells me where to go
left behind every foe
now i am still water...through and through.
never alone. but always alone
until i hear the ring tone.
some powerful lines in both poems. and as Tasha said dark but with a light shining through. as if you are seeing some hope after the last three years. both well expressed and well written
Deletethanks bonita. the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel. think i see it glimmering - love and peace - paul.
Deletegreat imagery in this one, Paul. ...never alone. but always alone... I think there are a lot of people who can relate with that feeling
Deletethanks wolfie. you are never as alone as you are in the middle of a crowd.
DeleteOh my, two poems, both a bit dark but then that's your style. And there are light bits shining through them both. Nice work as usual, Glad you have left behind every foe, now just don't go making new ones, ha ha.
ReplyDeletethanks tash. got a few more. gonna post the first of " the pizza shop chronicles " like you asked. oh! , i'll always have some foe in this city. they are just further away now - love and peace - paul.
Deleteone more, 'cos i promised tash.
ReplyDeleteON THE TRAIN 7 ( the pizza shop chronicles part 1 )
" i am the passenger and i ride and i ride " - the passenger - iggy pop.
the united nations is on this train
but without all the blame and the strain
no nukes, or fighting for outdated books
sitting between chinese, polish and nigerian ladies
two of them have babies
we all just want to get to our stop
and the next coffee and pizza shop
love fay with the lisp. i don't mean to be rude
but i love the way she says seafood.
thanks tash. i think you have more of my poems than i do ha ha. i'm sure " the pizza shop chronicles " will run for a while - love and peace - paul.
DeleteI love the internal rhyme...I love the whole poem...good job
Deletethanks wolfie. take a train ride once in a while. it can be fun - love and peace - paul.
Deletestrong images and maybe you should let fay know how you feel or is she married?
DeleteGood one...Started a new page for you with this #1.
ReplyDeletePoets
ReplyDeletePoets' eyes look for an extra dimension
meanings behind the stated definitions.
Poets grasp at sticks and straws
spinning them into songs that sing
to buy relief from worldly pain.
Poems not written sound from poets'eyes,
stretching into the wind and away
becoming a butterfly of words,
to light upon a flower.
I just love the last stanza. It could stand by itself.
DeleteI agree with Tad. Last stanza is beautiful and yes, it could, and maybe should, stand alone.
DeleteInteresting thought, however makes an awfully short poem. Would you continue it in some way? If so, how? Suggestions are very welcome.
DeleteThere are short poems, and they can be beautiful and effective.
DeleteThe last stanza IS totally beautiful, Tasha. Sometimes you amaze me.
DeleteI discovered 4 poems in my current collection so I am posting one of them and hope to write a fresh one to he prompt, later.
ReplyDeleteaaahh tash. ever the gentlest of souls. some of my poems stretch in to the wind, 'cos they got burned - love and peace - paul.
Deletepoems not written sound from poet's eyes... wow! love it!
ReplyDeleteThanks, Bonnie.
DeletePoetry The Gift
ReplyDeletePoetry is beautiful, fun, sad and so much more
For me to express myself in it is really a chore
Some of my fellow poets really blow my mind
creating masterpieces that are unique in kind
I am humbled by these wordsmiths who wield their pens so freely
To bring forth substantial sonnets while mine are weak and mealy
Such artfully woven tapestries brought forth with care
From the well of deep thinkers who are truly aware
I salute you for your thoughts and your bright ways to purvey
The diversity of life and the many things you portray
I have greatly benefited learning from your craft
While I'm pretty sure by now you've figured out I'm daft
I dedicate this poem to you poets who share your souls
Who try to uplift our conscience and lift us from our holes
From wallowing in the muck that sometimes sucks us down
For giving us things to think about, to wear that thorny crown
Giving anything is a true act of sacrifice
Whether it's writing words or just being nice
So thank you for caring enough to put down what you feel
Through participation in this realm you show that which is real
Man you all live as long as you want and prosper to your own satisfaction
I think that for now I'll just sit back and res and watch you guys in action
Roses are red, violets are blue,
a traditional verse from me to you.
Honest words that resonate and sing to the heart. Love that 4th verse--Daft? no!Your contributions are far better than you make them out to be, and I enjoy them, and you!
Deletethose of us with novelty pencils tend to think that roses are blue and violets are red. but that's a different poem - nice one paul eeerrr the other paul.
Deletewonderful rhythm and rhyme. a wonderful dedication to poets everywhere
DeleteOkay, this is a poem about poetry that I like, honoring poets. Nice job.
DeleteThis one is terrific! I loved it!
Deleteif we are talking about poetry, i've gotta write a song. poetry and songs are the same thing.
ReplyDeleteBLUES SONG ( piano and harmonica )
she was a bad town woman
with bad news on her mind
i know dozens of her kind
bad ladies aren't difficult to find
i couldn't bear to have her back
'cos she'd leave me again
couldn't take that pain
another nervous breakdown and heart attack
( chorus )
but she has so much shoo be do be doo. shoo be do be do
crazy lady i still love yoooooooo!
lost in music
handcuffed to magic
is it all a trick?
building life brick by brick
( chorus )
yeah. i'd take her back in a new york minute
though there has to be a limit
possibly the craziest woman in the world
though a goddess when her banner was unfurled
( chorus to fade )
" blue moon. you saw me standing alone ".
Good One! I can hear the harmonica wailing blues. Funny about Blue Moon--that was a song me and first boyfriend used to call ours...sweet!That one also with Blue velvet, do you remember that one?
DeleteI think I could hear the music in the background. Beautiful!
Deleteof course i remember blue velvet tash and the film of the same name. you gotta really wail on the harmonica in the third verse. can you play the train on your harp?
Deletethat was me playing the train, howling wolf !wooooooooo!
DeleteARS POETICA
ReplyDeleteSir, we have read
without compensation
and no more than usual
recourse to your rum
your entire oeuvre.
We have some questions:
Why no tempo?
It’s all one glissando,
as though rubbing sticks together
could generate passion.
We divided on the issue:
What aspect of your work
is the most heartless?
The poisoned floss,
the severed necks
of old women? Others
chose the headlong
celebration of rules
or the brokered hypocrisy
of your critique of sin.
Ouch! Wow, this is quite a poem. Certainly about poetry. Calls to mind rejection slips I once collected for mine. sigh . Brilliant writing.
DeleteI've started submitting again and my submittable page is looking pretty sad. But sometimes your imagery is almost too much. I don't like thinking about severed necks of old women. LOL
Deleteas always your imagery jumps off the page and brings the poem to life
DeleteVic...I like your poem in Verse-Virtual.
DeleteYou have a great way with words. You created a great picture.
DeletePoetry is music in words
ReplyDeletewhich paint pictures in our minds
red velvet rose petals fell
Poetry pulls at emotions
ice cold rain drops mingled
on her cheeks with her tears
Poetry gives us life and death
your hand is cold your spirit gone
my heart breaks to know it must go on
Poetry takes us to new places
snow capped mountains beckoned
my soul answered with an anguished cry
Poetry is escape from reality
my salvation - my sanity
my muse that gives me life
Nice one, like it a lot. True words, too.
DeletePowerful poem. I've been dreading writing this poem. I hate poems about poetry but these have proven me wrong.
Deletea truly beautiful poem. I have been dreading reading these because in my present condition I knew I would cry ... and I did
Deletesome people would say that poetry is a matter of life and death. i would say it's more important than that - love and peace - paul.
DeleteAfter reading and enjoying the poems posted that fit the prompt, I realized I have a poem that fits it already. It's from "Yo Miss!" and there's a prose entry that goes with it. I rarely post anything long so I figured I'd post both. If you don't care to read the prose part, just skip to the bottom:
ReplyDeleteWednesday, 08 February
In the Classroom
The Class from Hell
The class is out of hand … again. I open my folder with worksheets, intending to give them seat work instead of the games I had planned. The class talked out so bad. They are still talking out.
I see a pile of my poems I had stashed in the folder. I look up and say, “Would you rather hear me read my poetry?” assuming they will laugh or reject that option so much they’d settle down and do what they’d been assigned. A few girls stop talking, look up and say, “Yes.”
I think, Oh god, what am I going to do now. I offered. Should I retract my offer, or actually read them poetry? I’ve been writing these poems all year, but never intended to read them to STUDENTS. What the hell, I pull out the poems. I choose TRUTH, about Armando saying I must not like him.
The class, with the exception of Andrew and Kareem, actually quiet down as I read, waiting to see what I responded. They know the response could apply to them also.
“That was good.” “Do you have any more?” “Is there one about me?” “Who else you write about?” “I write poems too.”
So I read them my Kyrielle, where it mentions Andrew, who is still talking and not listening, walking out of the room. There are a few others on the periphery, talking among themselves, but the vast majority are still listening. I am feeling that referent power. I know it is not math, but if they want to please ME, then maybe knowing I write poems about my students is a good thing.
I flip through the pages. There are many I cannot read because they are not nice poems and they may know names. I need to change names in my poems. I don’t want to because their names are so beautiful. I read to them about how scared I was to have Jed visit for the second time.
“Somebody really throw a chair in your class?” “Which class was that?”
“No, he didn’t really throw the chair, he knocked it over and it knocked over another, but my mentor did SAY he threw a chair, and it was his perception that counts. He KIND of did.”
“What’s perception?” “You write him up?”
“Perception is what he sees, like a judge in a fighting match. And MYOB or I’ll write YOU up!”
“What that mean?” “Mind Yo Own Business nigga.”
“You got more poems?” “I bet I’m in a poem.”
“Now, it’s time to pay just as much attention to math.”
“Math?” “This ain’t math class.” “Why we have to do math?”
* * *
Poem / Portraits
TWO GIRLS IN TWO SONNETS
1.
I bet I’m in a poem, Paris tells
me with a confident and rakish grin,
her feet outstretched to show me she rebels.
Not yet. That comment on my mind, she wins
a spot within my lines. With forty days
of absences, suspended for four more,
she made a deep impression. Many ways.
But not the one I’m sure she’s hoping for.
I see in her a leader, every ounce
of talent wasted being what she wants
right now, a bad girl tiger quick to pounce.
I wish for her to learn to learn. It haunts
me thinking of two futures, each one hers.
It all depends on choices, which occurs.
2.
Jamila, much like Paris, sometimes worse–
suspended thirteen, absent eighteen days–
disrupts the class when she is there, will curse
and talk and won’t sit down or work, finds ways
to make life miserable for everyone,
except herself, perhaps a friend or two.
But if she takes away my time, she’s won
Some days she does. Some days, more rare, I do.
I say her drive could run a business. She
says that’s for whites. Good point, except
that she could prove them wrong, instead of be
the girl who fails again. Why she’ll accept
that life has done her wrong and not fight back
I do not understand. Stand up! Attack!
This is impressive, not only the sonnets but also the rose. Are all your classes like this? Would they benefit from Martial arts class? As a reward? Just a thought. Especially the two girls in the sonnets. Well done, well done, and thanks!
DeleteThis is from about a decade ago, a journal I kept that I turned into a book, "Yo Miss! I Need a Pencil." I self-published it last year after giving up on other routes and am going to start entering in contests.
Deletethis poem or these poems break my heart. keith saw the same thing at morris. black kids with talent not even trying because they have been told they can't succeed because they are black
DeleteLife is so unjust... You have portrayed that injustice very well...so well that it choked me up
Deletejust don't read the kids any rude poems by accident karate girl ha ha - love and peace - paul.
DeleteFire in the Forge
ReplyDeleteThe light burning bight
flashes from diamond brilliants
forged in February’s birth.
Poesy rings from beaks of birds
calling to mates to come,
come and be ready to birth,
bring forth the first songs
of spring’s emergence.
Brigid Sun Goddess glowing,
wielding words to midwife spring
and song that sings to fuel
and feed the fires of the forge.
Just what I needed today, a spring poem!! I'm feeling the weight of winter lately.
Deletethe sun goddess doesn't live around here. nice one tash. made me warm, or maybe it's my temperature ha ha - love and peace - paul.
DeleteBeing as this is Feb 2 and sacred to the Fire Goddess Bride or Brigid, who is also the goddess of poetry and midwifery, I thought I'd publish this poem as it was written not for the prompt bu only days ago so is very new. I will still try to bring another one to the site however, when I have time to write it!!!
ReplyDeletea poem comes from the heart and soul
ReplyDeleteput together in a thinker's mind
poetry spills forth the endless flow
of love, desire, defeat, passion and wonder
sometimes the words come with tears
as years pass by on our short journey
...called life...
Lovely flow to this poem. I had to read it a second time before I realized it didn't rhyme. It sounds so musical I would swear it did.
Deletehad to read it all in one breath wolfie.
Delete