Poetics and Poetry Discussion


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  • Michael Hylton (4/7/2014 6:03:00 AM) Post reply | Read 1 reply

    It's funny! But I've been searching through the forums on this site, everywhere I look all I find is people posting their own poems. Is not the purpose of these forums to discuss ways and techniques in writing poems?Is not the purpose to create ideas on how to write?If so, then where are the discussions, where are the techniques and ideas. I have not found any advice, techniques or ideas on writing. Maybe it’s just me.

    Replies for this message:
    • Gulsher John (4/7/2014 11:40:00 AM) Post reply

      Don't worry dude, here you will taste all sort of Art: from Baroque to surrealist but hold on here........

  • Mike Acker (4/7/2014 12:03:00 AM) Post reply | Read 6 replies

    Change
    (revised)

    When the lofty creatures would descend, in all
    their splendor, I used to load up my needs
    and thoughts, then stack, and shift around
    what should never be taken along.

    Now, I just grab what I can of these indigo feathers,
    and hold on for dear life. I simply soar on the backs
    of these magnificent birds and let the rest of what
    must be made, be made.

    Mike Acker

    Replies for this message:
    • Alexander Rizzo (4/7/2014 2:14:00 PM) Post reply

      I keep hearing Crawfords name bandied about so naturally i was curious. OK, I did something I don't normally do - I read all 88 of his poems. I have to be honest, i was very disappointed and puzzled. ... more

    • Mike Acker (4/7/2014 11:53:00 AM) Post reply

      The polite way to do it is to ask first, if I would like your assistance. If you were Jim Crawford, based solely on my opinion of his poetry, as I don't know him, I would have been flattered. But Sher ... more

    • Mike Acker (4/7/2014 10:49:00 AM) Post reply

      Whenever the day comes, that I hear that either one of has flown a foot off the ground with those " nubs" of yours, I might take seriously what you have to say. Till then I must agree with ... more

    • Sherrie Kolb Cassel (4/7/2014 10:07:00 AM) Post reply | Read 1 reply

      Mike: It's almost like you choose to ign ... more

    • Frank Ovid (4/7/2014 9:52:00 AM) Post reply

      It's not very rhythmic. Yeah, better tak ... more

    • Lamont Palmer (4/7/2014 6:45:00 AM) Post reply

      'Hold on for dear life'. A HUGE cliche a ... more

  • Sherrie Kolb Cassel (4/6/2014 9:52:00 PM) Post reply | Read 2 replies

    Might be fun....

    Replies for this message:
    • Sherrie Kolb Cassel (4/6/2014 11:58:00 PM) Post reply

      Fed two birds with one seed...I combined the chaos poem with the pantoum poem....it's on my page and it's called " The Seduction of Chaos" . My first attempt and it was very difficult to sta ... more

    • Sherrie Kolb Cassel (4/6/2014 9:53:00 PM) Post reply

      Poetic Form: Pantoum The pantoum originated in Malaysia in the fifteenth-century as a short folk poem, typically made up of two rhyming couplets that were recited or sung. However, as the pan ... more

  • Atheanga Tiomaint (4/6/2014 9:49:00 PM) Post reply

    You just cannot resist can you, Mr. Lamont (the snake) Palmer. Based on our analysis of your personality and your insecurities, it is clear that you cannot hold yourself back from making a total @$$ of yourself. As Ovid or Palmer you must respond.

  • Atheanga Tiomaint (4/6/2014 9:01:00 PM) Post reply | Read 4 replies

    In case any one has overlooked this post.

    Palmer's poem below does a great disservice to a a great artist. His writings, J.D. Salinger was anything but overly sentimental or flat. That is unfortunately all I see in what has been posted below me.
    " I can be a twin and not" ! ??Oh please Mr. Palmer, do not soil Salinger's great art with your drivel and doggerel. What you have done is force fat through a fancy gadget to write this nonsensical tribute.

    Over the years it has been known that your abilities have been no more than average and when one adds in the forty four painful years of producing garbage it makes it pathetic. It appropriate to post another's member's poem at this point, to save myself more typing than necessary. It is Mike Acker's poem named L.P. and his Mediocrities. Here it is. A poem is worth a thousand words...


    Pathetic, pathetic, pathetic.
    The recurring theme of the 'plasti' poets.
    Thousands sitting in ill-fitting poetry sites,
    and vacuum-laden forums making
    hydrogenated-fatty comments broadcast
    through a dispassionate, torpid ether,
    or stuffed into serpentine fiber-optic cables
    emitting lard laden signals that slow down
    and clog ever-bored photons grudgingly carrying
    this vacuous data to burned out screens just
    to display sent, read, unread, dead messages.

    Nothing really works, but the virile springs
    of keyboard letters, livelier than the words
    they form so well, morphing into flat,
    fat final locutions that reek of nothing, nothing, nothing.
    Empty shells of language used as currency
    to buy and sell the wasted moments of mediocrities.
    Self-congratulatory writing, good/bad writes,
    don't give up; the silent scream of
    the failed poets who, like the wingless birds
    flutter aimlessly on the ground unable
    to fathom what has happened.

    Jump, jump is all they can do now,
    the closest thing to ascension,
    but that is OK, no one really cares.
    With the droppings from soaring giants
    on their heads, some feel empowered
    to keep going, the stink of guano
    is their accolade from these gods,
    high above. How could they see,
    how can they know, in this mass of chaos,
    confusion and conformity. Who gives a damn,
    a letter here, a word there; one massive
    self-obsessed mind talking to itself, incessantly.
    Pathetic, pathetic, pathetic.
    Mike Acker

    Replies for this message:
    • Atheanga Tiomaint (4/6/2014 9:47:00 PM) Post reply

      You predicted everything perfectly. I owe you a dinner and that is that. You are so smart, Herman. I am curious now about your other three predictions about Lamont Palmer and Angie Gunnell. I hope ... more

    • Herman Hermanlungen (4/6/2014 9:40:00 PM) Post reply

      Vat did I tell you Atheanga? The psychiatric profiles never lie. His insecurities would not allow him to restrain himself. The poor man. His paranoia of someone possibly reading ze truse about him ... more

    • Atheanga Tiomaint (4/6/2014 9:27:00 PM) Post reply

      It looks like we have our " jacka$$" back Herman. You win the bet as usual. Herman bet me an Indian dinner that you would respond, and do so in a most venomous way by today. It looks like ... more

    • Lamont Palmer (4/6/2014 9:18:00 PM) Post reply

      No one's overlooked your post. Its just ... more

  • Sherrie Kolb Cassel (4/6/2014 6:18:00 PM) Post reply | Read 3 replies

    Wonderful to see a few hits to my blog. Thanks!

    United States 42

    France 14

    Canada 8

    Germany 1

    Replies for this message:
    • Atheanga Tiomaint (4/6/2014 9:08:00 PM) Post reply

      You just cannot resist can you, Mr. Lamont (the snake) Palmer. Based on our analysis of your personality and your insecurities, it is clear that you cannot hold yourself back from making a total @$$ ... more

    • Frank Ovid (4/6/2014 9:00:00 PM) Post reply

      I'll bet you the German visiter was that Herman dude.

    • Herman Hermanlungen (4/6/2014 8:29:00 PM) Post reply

      Ah, ze German visit vas I am sure from our German investigations team. It assists you zen zat is good. Good for everyvone. It doesn't help diminish ze extremely serious psychiatric issues Atheanga ... more

  • Herman Hermanlungen (4/6/2014 5:16:00 PM) Post reply

    Yes, I can see some people using zat description, slithering snake, Atheanga. Of course we have scientific terms to explain his personality disorder, but I must say it gave me a chuckle to hear some people say it as it is. Slithering snake, I just can't stop chuckling over zis.

    On a bit more serious side, I must say that zis man has many grosse nerves to assume he is any good let alone average. I am too tired tonight to get into a lot of detail but I vill bring up one immediate observation of his tribute to van of ze greatest writer's of our time. His poem is doing a great disservice to a great artist.

    What struck me right avay vere zees two lines:

    " And hookers who hook you on anything but
    joy; their fishnets, a web, almost eternal."

    I vent from chuckling to outright laughing. It is not that it is only silly but a man in his fifties, writing and reading since he vas eleven or twelve writing this level of drivel is unforgivable.

    I am tired and vill get into zis more tomorrrow. Have you announced the good news that ve now have the correspondence between this Lamont Palmer and his one time " lover" , Angie. It vill emphasize the snake analogy but will also shed a very bad light on the innocent little Blue Bird. Ven will you be posting sections, Atheanga?

  • Atheanga Tiomaint (4/6/2014 5:02:00 PM) Post reply

    Ah, finally the person they refer to as the snake of PH forum, Lamont Palmer, has slithered out, as they say.

    Palmer's poem below does a great disservice to a a great artist. His writings, J.D. Salinger was anything but overly sentimental or flat. That is unfortunately all I see in what has been posted below me.
    " I can be a twin and not" ! ??Oh please Mr. Palmer, do not soil Salinger's great art with your drivel and doggerel. What you have done is force fat through a fancy gadget to write this nonsensical tribute.

    Over the years it has been known that your abilities have been no more than average and when one adds in the forty four painful years of producing garbage it makes it pathetic. It appropriate to post another's member's poem at this point, to save myself more typing than necessary. It is Mike Acker's poem named L.P. and his Mediocrities. Here it is. A poem is worth a thousand words...


    Pathetic, pathetic, pathetic.
    The recurring theme of the 'plasti' poets.
    Thousands sitting in ill-fitting poetry sites,
    and vacuum-laden forums making
    hydrogenated-fatty comments broadcast
    through a dispassionate, torpid ether,
    or stuffed into serpentine fiber-optic cables
    emitting lard laden signals that slow down
    and clog ever-bored photons grudgingly carrying
    this vacuous data to burned out screens just
    to display sent, read, unread, dead messages.

    Nothing really works, but the virile springs
    of keyboard letters, livelier than the words
    they form so well, morphing into flat,
    fat final locutions that reek of nothing, nothing, nothing.
    Empty shells of language used as currency
    to buy and sell the wasted moments of mediocrities.
    Self-congratulatory writing, good/bad writes,
    don't give up; the silent scream of
    the failed poets who, like the wingless birds
    flutter aimlessly on the ground unable
    to fathom what has happened.

    Jump, jump is all they can do now,
    the closest thing to ascension,
    but that is OK, no one really cares.
    With the droppings from soaring giants
    on their heads, some feel empowered
    to keep going, the stink of guano
    is their accolade from these gods,
    high above. How could they see,
    how can they know, in this mass of chaos,
    confusion and conformity. Who gives a damn,
    a letter here, a word there; one massive
    self-obsessed mind talking to itself, incessantly.
    Pathetic, pathetic, pathetic.
    Mike Acker

  • Lamont Palmer (4/6/2014 4:35:00 PM) Post reply | Read 6 replies

    While the jackasses are posting foolish garbage, (amazing how stupid people can be) I thought I'd put up my EK poem. The form can be based on any work of art: a painting, a novel, sculpture, etc. Mine is on one of my favorite novels that still amuses and fascinates me: Catcher in the Rye. I wrote a poem in tribute to Salinger's birthday a few years ago before he died, which would've fit the bill for our exercise, but I thought I'd scribble a new one. -LP


    Two Catchers in the Rye



    1.
    We have double vision, and double hurt,
    A penchant to only laugh on the inside,

    To know absurdity is moments from your
    Life; to accept the loneliness of taverns you enter,

    And hookers who hook you on anything but
    joy; their fishnets, a web, almost eternal.

    There are hills to run to, and to run from, in the
    Town of your cosmopolitan dreams; highballs

    At night, and old New York being new again,
    When Broadway didn’t know commercial despair.

    That context itself is a novel; a tempting
    Wish to give outsiders a place to exist,

    To give our individual Phoebes a chance
    To blather on beautifully, while we sulk.

    I met you first at sixteen; did not know you till
    Adulthood; the wittiest facade to understand.



    2.
    I can be a twin and not
    Come from the same womb
    As you,

    From the sounds of subways
    And dinner clubs
    And boorish classmates

    Devoured by libido.
    I can be that twin in the necktie
    On the train to delusion,

    Yet with a mind, cerebral
    And touchable. Unaware
    Of each other

    We can be joined
    At the cynical waists,
    Pronouncing the world, overbought,

    Or fending off advances
    Of people who love too much;
    That is the fiction, the secret self;

    Man and protagonist
    Merging unwittingly, yet
    calm on Freudian furniture.

    Replies for this message:
  • Herman Hermanlungen (4/6/2014 12:31:00 PM) Post reply

    It is interesting in life how some people will speak in a vay and project an image which often is contrary to vhat zhe facts show, once determined.

    These two cases of Lamont Palmer und Sherry Kolbenhousenbunzenburnerkrachen are ze best examples of such borderline deceivers. All it took vas just a few days of digging und fact checking.

    I am tired now und so vill go to take my after noon nap.

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