04-07-2016, 05:19 AM
This was the first prompt I've been tempted to skip. Really damned hard for me.
It could be worse
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NaPM April 06 2016
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04-07-2016, 05:19 AM
This was the first prompt I've been tempted to skip. Really damned hard for me.
It could be worse
04-07-2016, 05:26 AM
I found it hard also. I think it was the euphoric part for me. Many of my firsts were not as euphoric as my seconds, and twenty sevenths.
The secret of poetry is cruelty.--Jon Anderson
04-07-2016, 05:31 AM
(04-07-2016, 05:19 AM)Leanne Wrote: This was the first prompt I've been tempted to skip. Really damned hard for me. This is why I wanted to see it as a prompt. Something I've tried so hard to do but just can't lol. Still debating whether I wanna try.
Crit away
04-07-2016, 05:31 AM
(04-07-2016, 05:19 AM)Leanne Wrote: This was the first prompt I've been tempted to skip. Really damned hard for me. (04-07-2016, 05:26 AM)Todd Wrote: I found it hard also. I think it was the euphoric part for me. Many of my firsts were not as euphoric as my seconds, and twenty sevenths. Sshhh, I haven't done mine yet, don't support my inability to focus on this, nothing seems euphoric enough.
billy wrote:welcome to the site. make it your own, wear it like a well loved slipper and wear it out. ella pleads:please click forum titles for posting guidelines, important threads. New poet? Try Poetic DevicesandWard's Tips
04-07-2016, 05:38 AM
Sometimes it is nice to hit a curve ball.
04-07-2016, 05:40 AM
"The first time I didn't fuck it up too badly" just doesn't have a euphoric ring to it
It could be worse
04-07-2016, 06:19 AM
Ha - agreed, at least you got through it. I am still thinking.
04-07-2016, 06:36 AM
Forgive Me, Luke Skywalker Poetry Mod
A poem is not a baited hook __but a fish circling, ____nibbling the swaying weeds ______and shimmering its way upstream. On the finest of days one will nuzzle __in the shallow pool ____at my feet, let me stroke its slippery scales ______and kiss it goodbye.
billy wrote:welcome to the site. make it your own, wear it like a well loved slipper and wear it out. ella pleads:please click forum titles for posting guidelines, important threads. New poet? Try Poetic DevicesandWard's Tips
04-07-2016, 06:58 AM
(04-07-2016, 05:40 AM)Leanne Wrote: "The first time I didn't fuck it up too badly" just doesn't have a euphoric ring to itIf my first times were even that good I'd be euphoric.
The secret of poetry is cruelty.--Jon Anderson
04-07-2016, 07:24 AM
Too badly ?? jesus Leanne that is superb and oh yes Todds is pretty damn fine as well. Keep em coming guys really great reads.
If your undies fer you've been smoking through em, don't peg em out
04-07-2016, 09:59 AM
The first time that I died
was like a dreamless sleep with a black quiet that blanketed everything in peace. But they brought me back to the sharp white lights and the always noise and the reminding pangs of a body that is never quite at comfort. So I cut – slice the fat of my inner thigh and watch the skin peel back like a plastic sausage wrapper and the life leak out of me in drips building anticipation until the next time.
04-07-2016, 10:52 AM
Todd, quite superb again. No need to thank. Just clutters up the thread.
Milo - the wolf and dog will be a hard act to follow - that was magical. But this one's good too. Super pomes all around.
~ I think I just quoted myself - Achebe
04-07-2016, 11:27 AM
(04-07-2016, 10:32 AM)Leanne Wrote: milo, that's intense and awesome thanks, leanne, I blame Todd for skipping suicide week this year. I had no outlet for my inner emo. (04-07-2016, 10:52 AM)Achebe Wrote: Todd, quite superb again. No need to thank. Just clutters up the thread. Thanks, I am just happy to get anything down, I am amazed at some of the stuff I am reading in these threads.
04-07-2016, 12:00 PM
Near death and emo goodness. Excellent Milo.
The secret of poetry is cruelty.--Jon Anderson
04-07-2016, 01:05 PM
(This post was last modified: 04-07-2016, 01:31 PM by RiverNotch.)
UNDER THE HIJAB
The first time leaves no subtleties of truth, only desire -- fear -- then a trace of vital memory. I saw that morning in the heart of a summer wood what glows behind the veil, brighter than the golden stars and leaves traced upon the purple -- not sex, which the Prophet says would have struck me blind, but a substitute more vital -- and I found myself lost in the passage of the woodbird and the mosquito. How many songs have I written? How many hearts have I broken? only to recapture that same moment, that same stolen sight of golden hair and ivory tower neck, then leave still starving -- there is no second time. Also, damn, milo -- just damn! and i ended up clapping in delight on reading bedeep's poem -- reminded me of how i (should have) learned how to ride. Todd, the beginning of your poem -- gradually, it turned for me into something else, something more gorgeous -- reminded me of this Dickinson poem. here it is: http://etc.usf.edu/lit2go/115/the-poems-...-preacher/ and massive, massive lol, ella!
04-07-2016, 08:20 PM
I've tried to write about this many times in many ways today and it just didnt work and yeah its pretty literal.
It was God's pen writing that night at the house of congregation we met, flicked a bic and then our souls met. You followed me home in your '93 Civic that seemed more stable than what our minds set to do, that is open bottled ferment and bask in that strong scent of sin. You were my best friends ex, My biggest regret, my best sex I've ever had in my life was that night, I still can't tell which who was to which blame due but I knew the second you asked to come through I was the fool for letting you. I honestly thought I could contain it, but three sips in I started feelin' me failin'. Your jet-black hair and Michoacan cheeks gently rested on me. I couldn't take it. I touched just under your chin, saw your eyes closed and lips pressed then open with a gasp when you noticed me staring blatant. As if you knew my thoughts you placed your palm on my face, took your fingertips and gently pressed toward me. It was that first kiss, I'm not sure what it was but I'll never forget guilt release as I felt a connection I've yet to see again, but it was a one-time event. The next morning we awoke, heads and bodies sore, not sure where now to go. You went back to him, I lost two friends, and that's the closest to love I've ever come to know.
Crit away
04-07-2016, 08:38 PM
Many thanks, Rivernotch, wonderful to connect.
Weeded, you did better than you know. Sure it's not your best and not perfect, but damn it does pack a punch!
04-08-2016, 10:17 AM
On Everton Brow
On Everton Brow a tower stands where once Prince Rupert led his bands; a lock-up first, for drunks and thieves turned symbol sewn on jersey sleeves— my father’s monument, his land. Too young and by his wife’s demands he left his home and washed his hands of every dream that he’d conceived on Everton Brow. And every year he’d make his plans— a fortnight in the motherland— a vain endeavour to retrieve a boyish heart that once believed both Prince and pauper take their stands on Everton Brow. |
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