April is, indeed, the cruelest month . . .

And:

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Toil and succour

Anything (within reason) goes...

Moderators: Gary, riverwriter, Poetry Moderators

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Jabberwhacky
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Re: Toil and succour

Postby Jabberwhacky » Mon Jul 05, 2010 3:44 pm

Dragon friend, or dragon foe?
This the pyress must know;
fire-soaked blood in breath,
in vein, susurrations of death,
as some with disdain forego
crooked lanes of Nazareth.
Like tortured eternity rejects
a fable-scaled beast's aspects.


Q- Stirred emotion in a pot-pourri,
Is that all that love can be?

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olson29
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Re: Toil and succour

Postby olson29 » Tue Jul 06, 2010 4:15 pm

She still remembers her greatest orgasm.
She looks out the window and giggles. A little
moisture dews her surfaces and non-surfaces. The
things around her exist without existing. She wonders,

how could he do what he did; now is the time,
she left the wall world to find him, the emperor of orgasm.
He was the emperor of heart, detail, and knew exactly
how to love her, she faced the truth and confronted her fears.

She found him figuring out the differences
between strands of sand on the shore. "Our magnet
has brought us back together." "I want you to discover every
speck of my water." He stared into her eyes and communication
surrendered. He held her on the shore, as the waves soaked them,
the sands changed and moved. Rain sang. She cried into him, he confessed
the love he had been too afraid to tell her before. Wet strands on shore.

----
unsmeared, who are you without your fears?
you are poetry

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Re: Toil and succour

Postby Cat Sith » Fri Jul 09, 2010 11:14 pm

unsmeared, who are you without your fears


Reckless

Unbound, unfettered,
unleashed, full-leathered,
wild and wired,
the nightbird escapes.

Full darkness - the eve,
a plan she conceives,
frenzy and chaos
her only desire.

She feeds on the needy,
the hungry and greedy,
pathetic and putrid,
she treats them the same.

The nightbird she loves them,
she strangles and hangs them,
exposes and clothes them,
it's all just a game.

Q. Why do birds sing at night?

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Re: Toil and succour

Postby Jabberwhacky » Sun Jul 11, 2010 2:24 pm

Q: Why do birds sing at night?


Faceless Philemon chants a strain,
plaintive tantivy out of sight;
shy expression of fear, of pain -
a warble like some lost refrain
singes the bosom of the night.

Gulchein* lays a trap again,
he knows that in this fading light
she will not dare - she will abstain,
launch her crepuscular campaign,
seer his bosom only at night.

*- hunter.

10th letter of the Queen's alphabet,
her name from much before we met;
she arms herself with quill and ink:
'And what is your story do you think?'

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Re: Toil and succour

Postby Cat Sith » Tue Jul 20, 2010 10:05 am

little j

The bluest jay I'd ever seen
flew through abandoned
warehouse beams,
darted up and in between
the rafters and began
to sing.

The story was both long
and true, of how the
little jay turned blue,
the pigment
saturated through:
the breast, the eye,
the wing.

Her song went on for
near an hour,
she told the stones,
the weeds, the flowers,
her little voice
increased in power
all for one
pure hue.

Enchanted by the Witch
of Where (she’d flown
into her secret lair),
“t’was her”, she chirped,
“yes She declared,
that I should be
most blue”.



Q: What of the ocean?

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Re: Toil and succour

Postby Jabberwhacky » Tue Jul 20, 2010 1:25 pm

What of the Ocean?

Restless commotion
what of the ocean?
Surf and saline, a
plenitude of brine;
shameless self-promotion!
Nothing else is the ocean

Narcissistic devotion
that is the ocean;
shore, sea-shell and sand
an endless tussle with Land.
Quite the Devil’s potion!
That is all is the ocean.


Q: More of a rhetoric than a retort,
Is the sea really boiling hot?

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Re: Toil and succour

Postby Cat Sith » Sat Jul 24, 2010 2:05 pm

Devil's Fall

Blood gushes downward
staining once-white bones,
the bones of those judged,
sorted, and cast by the minotaur
into this horrid pit.
Long lost.
Long forgotten.

Endless, the falls --
macabre sanctitude
perpetuates the sin of murderers.
Powered by the boiling river,
ever thunderous, ever suffocating,
the stench roils faithfully,
cools and slushes,
towards the frozen
heart of Dis.


Q. Poached fish anyone?

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Re: Toil and succour

Postby Agnes » Sat Jul 24, 2010 2:33 pm

I don't eat fish,
though I might steal them.
Iridescent
scales, I must feel them,
then toss them back
into the water.
I saw a mermaid,
but haven't caught her.

Q: What would I do if I did?

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Re: Toil and succour

Postby Jabberwhacky » Sat Jul 24, 2010 3:59 pm

I saw a mermaid,
but haven't caught her.


Q: What would I do if I did?


Verily,
mermaids, l'il or tall,
are of no use to us;
when you need a crystal-ball,
catch an octopus!


Q:
In her status is a mystery best unravelled;
would you ever take the road less travelled?

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Re: Toil and succour

Postby olson29 » Sat Jul 24, 2010 7:41 pm

I take "the road less traveled," everyday.
There are roads, without earth and the conformists
cannot find them. Ah hah, I massage my feet
and walk around laughing instead of talking. I have
at least 37 different laughs, that's enough ways to
communicate. I made love to a mermaid, I drank her,
it's true. Able, all I want to do is be the best, that's all.
I need you, because I'm not the best without you.
I drink wine with Emily Dickinson, she shows me more than her poems.
I come inside Princess Tajima, balancing the interiors.
I want to be crazy, I can still get away with it. Enjoy it.
I'll show H.D. what Ezra never could. Marina Tsvetaeva and I
escape to New Zealand, her body feeds the clouds, we make love
wherever we want to, she's a bad girl, down for anything, and Jill Scott
tells me, "What you do is krazy, babe, not like you belong in an asylum--
krazy." I can't help it, I want to taste your implosions,
I want the most prude to get too rude, stripping down taboos, until
the asexual come inside themselves. Virginia understands.
Anaïs Nin and I trade untellable stories in the French fog.
I give Sylvia Plath something to live for, naked, we edit poetry.
Janet Jackson asks me, "If I would mind." I Tell her that song does
not end, I'm that good; I last as long as I want to, because it won't
always be this way and I want to stay inside, because I'm already inside.

Buh, buh, buh, dew, dew...
How crazy are you?
you are poetry

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Re: Toil and succour

Postby Cat Sith » Sun Jul 25, 2010 11:42 am

How crazy are you?


Okie Dokie Artichokie

One fish, two fish,
crazy fish, sue me.
I'd follow rules
if they applied
to anything I held inside,
this head of mine,
it's fully crammed
with pancakes
and red current jam.
I cannot tell you when to pounce
or if I even care an ounce.
I only know that I must flaunt
and twirl and spin and flounce.
I tried to tie my shoes today
but both my laces ran away
they wriggled off, to where -
who knows - but thankfully
it weren't my clothes.
I look at you and see a spy
some sort of wiley private eye
I kick and scream and ask you why
but you just stare.




Q: Your dream house -- Location? What materials would you use? What kind of house would it be?

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Re: Toil and succour

Postby Agnes » Sun Jul 25, 2010 12:33 pm

Kimmy, Kimmy, tell you true
No one rhymes as good as you
Marry me. Come be my spouse
We'll run away and build a house
Up in a tree, up in the sky
To get up there, we'll have to fly
Like butterflies, or bumble bees
Or maybe we can jump like fleas
Up Up Up Up! Oh, happy day
Just you and I, we'll rhyme and play


Q:What's your game, little girl?

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Re: Toil and succour

Postby olson29 » Sun Aug 29, 2010 5:54 pm

Her tears puddle in her hand,
she is the only one still alive, with her
sadness she tries to starve, yet, drinks
her tears. The birds whisper in sympathy,
her trembles in tune with the life of her heart.

She remembers turning the magazine pages,
seeing American girls, safe and beautiful.
She remembers listening to Sade, her fathers
safe smile. She remembers escaping with her family,
the slow bullet could not withstand their hope.

She remembers her mothers eyes and drinks
another puddle from her child palm. When
escape was impossible, the bad men raped
her father, raped her brother, then raped
her, they raped her mother, they all watched.
She is the only one alive, too weak
to move, she breathes again.



Hear we are, where you are, reading, somewhere,
how will you help the people that need your help?
How will you help the people you can help?
you are poetry

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Re: Toil and succour

Postby Cat Sith » Sat Dec 04, 2010 11:53 am

Agnes wrote:Q:What's your game, little girl?


I like hopscotch.
I like chess.
I like rhyming
words the best.

Chinese checkers
if you please.
I like anything
with cheese.

I like skip rope.
I like LOST.
I like little
cakes you frost.

Fairy tales can
rock my socks.
I like teeny
tiny clocks.

I like banjos.
I like smiles.
I can play this game
for miles.

Chimney sweeps
can wish me luck.
I like lots of
rubber ducks.

I like magic.
I like words.
In the spring I like
small birds.

Mystery novels
by my bed.
I like Agnes
in my head.

hehehehehhe

Q. Which fairytale are you?

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Re: Toil and succour

Postby Agnes » Sun Dec 05, 2010 11:48 am

Fairy Tale

I'm Kari, Kari
quite contrary,
an ever-moving line.
I'm Kari, Kari
quite contrary.
Don't cross me,
and we'll be fine.


The question is: Are you lost?


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