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Toil and succour

Anything (within reason) goes...

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Agnes
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Re: Toil and succour

Postby Agnes » Sat Nov 02, 2013 4:40 pm

I'd like to growl. I'd like to spit.
I'd like to throw a hissy fit.
I'd like to scream, and then perchance
I'll twist myself into a dance.


The question: Is that all?
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m9SrXRNPRCA

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Re: Toil and succour

Postby Cat Sith » Sat Nov 02, 2013 11:32 pm

All is such a tiny word
A little weird
A tad absurd
For stuff as big
As everything
impossible to bring

Q: How many pins can you fit on the head of an angel?

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Re: Toil and succour

Postby olson29 » Mon Nov 04, 2013 11:22 am

Her Eyes


It was goodbye forever until
I seeked all the soul in her eyes.
A paradox between now and forever
found a way to become one water.

Slow kiss, and thankfulness, we
opened our hearts. Holding hands
and making (fearless) music, she found
courage in the power of our love.
And I lead the way, protecting all that
we are, forever, we are one water.
We - will always be.


What happens to a poet that cannot create poetry?
you are poetry

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Re: Toil and succour

Postby Agnes » Mon Nov 04, 2013 1:30 pm

The Last Rain

In his barrel, the poet had collected every drop.
He spent his days, and too many long nights,
moving the water from vessel to vessel,
from bucket to pots, from pans to kettle,
from ladle to glass, to mugs, urns, and jars.
Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth,
he moved water, and the water grew less
(as water is wont to do) and dried up in good time.
At that point the poet was forced to play with fire.


The question: Can you feel the burn?

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Re: Toil and succour

Postby Cat Sith » Mon Nov 04, 2013 5:30 pm

Peppered

The words I ate burned my tongue
so badly that I had to seek medical
attention. It was an awkward conversation
with my dentist, explaining I had eaten
words like habanero and capsaicin
right off the Scoville chart I'd found in a Latin Cooking magazine
and as if that wasn't bad enough, I'd chased
it all with the words not your abuela's jalapeño soup
from page seventy-two. They didn't sound dangerous
like the sweets he'd warned me about,
words ending in -ose, he'd told me,
stay as far away from those as possible,
said they'd rot my teeth. Sugar is your enemy,
he'd said. I thought his teeth might fall out right
then and there, since he's said those
but his teeth were perfect.

Q: Do you know the way to San Jose?

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Re: Toil and succour

Postby olson29 » Mon Nov 04, 2013 8:05 pm

California, Costa Rica, Other Planets



I found San Serenite, in her kiss
the music of forests and volcanoes in bliss,
(underground music and baby eagle's born
in mist) her rivers & rain, her sunshine, moon,
soil, a tree and it's weather story from a seed.
We're able to fly and swim and dream
about anything, when we're together.
In body and memory, soul, the unity.

We close our eyes and reinvent our
whole life story. We share the air
in our lungs for minutes, forever,
our memories exist into eternity,
uncomprehendable beauty and
immortal fountains of comedy.

We kiss again, the way it feels
when we believe with all our ability to receive.
Connecting in your eyes, discovering the
vulnerability that transcends living, dying.
We travel closer, closer, until we become - one - life.



What happens when we find what we've always been looking, but it's too late?
you are poetry

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Re: Toil and succour

Postby Cat Sith » Tue Nov 05, 2013 6:22 pm

I am a butterfly
Banging against the sides
Of my cardboard prison
If I make enough noise
Maybe someone
Will release me

Q: What are you famous for?

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Re: Toil and succour

Postby olson29 » Thu Nov 07, 2013 4:24 pm

I'm famous for being krazy.
Mmmmmm, feels so good;)
we can always close our eyes
& enjoy invisible ineffable
Boundless beauty. That Smooth
glory, we all savor. Alive, in
A new moment, we are pure.
Let us enjoy here, now, in the deluge
Of bliss agape kraziness, if only
With hope. Flowing in a refuge
For life, safe in boundless glory.
Mmmmmm, feels so good, , to be.



What hurts you the most today?
you are poetry

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Re: Toil and succour

Postby Agnes » Fri Nov 08, 2013 10:58 am

Today's pain lies in the digging,
the dirt hard-packed like rock.
There's a poem in there somewhere.


Question: What color is it?

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Re: Toil and succour

Postby Cat Sith » Sun Nov 10, 2013 5:10 pm

I know that pain is bluish,
mottled up with green,
some yellow burnished
edges, and purples
in between. I know it likes
to hide beneath
the innocence of things:
a pretty scarf or hat brim,
a long-sleeved cardigan.

Q: Where do you hide things?

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Agnes
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Re: Toil and succour

Postby Agnes » Mon Nov 11, 2013 9:51 am

We camouflage boiled eggs
and hide them in the yard.
Buy borrowed sentiments
hidden in novelty cards.
We hide our dried out bread
inside a big, dead bird.
Holiday traditions
are more than just absurd.


The question: What's holy now?

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Cat Sith
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Re: Toil and succour

Postby Cat Sith » Mon Nov 11, 2013 2:25 pm

Holy Guacamole! Hallalujah
to the fare of mighty
avocados, those perfect
dangling pairs. The skin
can be quite bumpy,
even ugly some will say,
but when you split
them open, it will make you want
to pray-- Holy Gorgeous Fruit Flesh!
No other can compare.
The silken taste of heaven
is what you will discover
there. Now scoop it out and mash
it into a little bowl, add lime
and jalapeno, and chopped up
cilantro. Add some fresh grown
scallions, and a sprinkle of sea
salt. Excuse me while I worship.
There are avocados to exalt.

Q: Got chips?

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Re: Toil and succour

Postby Agnes » Thu Nov 14, 2013 7:50 am

I have no chips. I have no cracks.
I have no front. I have no back.
I have no ears. I have no eyes.
This form you see is my disguise.
I'm the center of much dispute.
I can't tell you, because I'm mute.

Shall we gather?

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Re: Toil and succour

Postby Cat Sith » Sun Nov 17, 2013 4:35 pm

Gather me in your arms
and fly me near the sun.
I'm cold. And the night--
it threatens.

I've restrung
my harp with enchantment.
And each lyric, I've carefully sung.
When your wings

safely fold around me, our story
will begin.

Q: Wax on, wax off?

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Re: Toil and succour

Postby Cat Sith » Thu Dec 26, 2013 2:33 pm

Waxy ears. Snotty nose.
Fingers: ten. Eleven toes.
Messed up hair and funky clothes.
I wonder if he even knows.

Q: What is your favorite playground?


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