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Poetics and Poetry Discussion

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  • Augustus Egg (12/19/2013 10:20:00 PM) Post reply | Read 2 replies

    I’m not taking the goat.....but

    As a reply: THE FAUN, by Ezra Pound

    Replies for this message:
    • Tony Miller (12/19/2013 11:03:00 PM) Post reply

      lol love it

    • Augustus Egg (12/19/2013 10:22:00 PM) Post reply

      THE FAUN Ha! Sir, I have seen you sniffing and snoozling About among my many flowers. Horticulture, you capriped? ‘Come, Auster, come Apeliota, And see the faun in our garden. But if you mo ... more

  • Lamont Palmer (12/19/2013 6:52:00 PM) Post reply | Read 4 replies


    In the same way that the mindless diamond keeps
    one spark of the planet's early fires
    trapped forever in its net of ice,
    it's not love's later heat that poetry holds,
    but the atom of the love that drew it forth
    from the silence: so if the bright coal of his love
    begins to smoulder, the poet hears his voice
    suddenly forced, like a bar-room singer's - boastful
    with his own huge feeling, or drowned by violins;
    but if it yields a steadier light, he knows
    the pure verse, when it finally comes, will sound
    like a mountain spring, anonymous and serene.

    Beneath the blue oblivious sky, the water
    sings of nothing, not your name, not mine.

    Don Paterson

    Replies for this message:
    • Lamont Palmer (12/19/2013 10:06:00 PM) Post reply | Read 5 replies

      Of course, when I like someone, I don't necessarily mean to imply that I think they're better than ME, I just mean I have an affinity for their style. Paterson's work reminds me of my own - some eleme ... more

    • Lamont Palmer (12/19/2013 9:13:00 PM) Post reply

      First of all, what this 'Mr. Palmer' stuff?Secondly, you're right to a degree, but (and this may sound contradictive) the clichés are used in a fresher way, almost a Frostian way. There's a philosoph ... more

    • Sherrie Kolb Cassel (12/19/2013 8:10:00 PM) Post reply

      With all due respect, Mr. Palmer, I think this poem is full of cliches that are not the least bit novel or unique. I've read other poems by Paterson, some good and some as bland as the one you've post ... more

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  • Katherine Patrick (12/19/2013 11:26:00 AM) Post reply

    Hey i just post two of my poems on here. I would be really happy if someone would read them. One called Kill You by Katherine Patrick please tell me what you think thanks

  • Jefferson Carter (12/19/2013 10:30:00 AM) Post reply

    Now THIS is what a poet of integrity does when she's asked to join the ghetto:

    " No More Masks: An Anthology of Twentieth-Century American Women Poets" (edited by Florence Howe) Elizabeth Bishop famously declined being in this anthology as she didn't want to be in a " segregated" collection when it was published in 1973.

  • Augustus Egg (12/19/2013 6:22:00 AM) Post reply | Read 1 reply his poem, Pedestrian Need, Tailor Bell writes of his need for -among other things- “birds with wings”. An incurious predilection you might think, given the scarcity of the wingless type, except that that would be to misread Tailor Bell’s knack for the comically obtuse as mere ribaldry....

    As a reply, something vaguely connected: Les Murray’s.. The Vol Sprung from Heraldry

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    • Augustus Egg (12/19/2013 6:24:00 AM) Post reply

      The Vol Sprung from Heraldry Left wing, right wing: two wings torment our lives, two wings without a body, joined, turkey wing and vulture wing like the badge of an airborne army. Each ha ... more

  • Mbma Group (12/18/2013 4:20:00 PM) Post reply

    I almost lost track
    Of the wonders of this world
    I got misplaced in the chaos
    And disheveled by adulthood

    But today I decided
    To stop, stare, and breathe
    And I sighed in awe
    And exhaled in disbelief

    I'd begun to ignore
    The early morning symphony
    Like the sounds of the birds
    That whistled from the trees

    I'd become annoyed with chill
    That christened the morning air
    But it is with that chill I explore my senses
    Lest that feeling did disappear

    I'd become numb to the light
    That speckled the night sky
    In my hustle and bustle
    To get home and unwind

    As a child I use to gaze endlessly at the stars
    The reflection in that moment of time reveal who we are

    I almost lost track of the wonders of this world

    On behalf of MBMA GROUP LLC

  • Sherrie Kolb Cassel (12/18/2013 8:07:00 AM) Post reply | Read 3 replies

    The First Line is the Deepest

    By Kim Addonizio b.1954

    I have been one acquainted with the spatula,
    the slotted, scuffed, Teflon-coated spatula

    that lifts a solitary hamburger from pan to plate,
    acquainted with the vibrator known as the Pocket Rocket

    and the dildo that goes by Tex,
    and I have gone out, a drunken bitch,

    in order to ruin
    what love I was given,

    and also I have measured out
    my life in little pills—Zoloft,

    Restoril, Celexa,

    I have. For I am a poet. And it is my job, my duty
    to know wherein lies the beauty

    of this degraded body,
    or maybe

    it's the degradation in the beautiful body,
    the ugly me

    groping back to my desk to piss
    on perfection, to lay my kiss

    of mortal confusion
    upon the mouth of infinite wisdom.

    My kiss says razors and pain, my kiss says
    America is charged with the madness

    of God. Sundays, too,
    the soldiers get up early, and put on their fatigues in the blue-

    black day. Black milk. Black gold. Texas tea.
    Into the valley of Halliburton rides the infantry—

    Why does one month have to be the cruelest,
    can't they all be equally cruel?I have seen the best

    gamers of your generation, joysticking their M1 tanks through
    the sewage-filled streets. Whose

    world this is I think I know.

    Replies for this message:
    • Melissa Robinson (12/18/2013 12:01:00 PM) Post reply

      This is very meaningful..

    • Jefferson Carter (12/18/2013 10:16:00 AM) Post reply | Read 2 replies

      This poem exemplifies what's wrong when a poet's persona becomes more important to her than her poem. Who gives a shit if K (or her bad girl mask) is a POET? If she is self-destructive? If she is ac ... more

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  • Frank James Ryan Jr...fjr (12/18/2013 12:19:00 AM) Post reply

    Poetic Truism...

    So long as you live, and as good, bad or mediocre your literary proficiency may be, there will always be pro and con discussion about whatever you elected to set before the eyes of the public critics...However, after this process has concluded, so long as you live, it is only your own knowing that really counts as to whether or not you have given the public the very best of your maximized skills....Now, if the critics are still opining on your work after you're dead and sodded down....that's when you'd know that your artistry must have been pretty damn good....if only you were here to appreciate it.....Merry Christmas(If i'm allowed to express this without fear of deletion) Happy Holidays, Seasons Greetings and all my best to all of you and yours in looking forward to another banner year of the Four C's...Chaos, Comedy, Contraversy, & Critique... ~FjR~

  • Steven Ralph (12/17/2013 8:51:00 PM) Post reply

    Hey, anyone seen Jimmy?Jimmy Hawg?I heard he was looking for me. Just got in from Pittsburgh. Out of town for a couple days. Any good poetry posted today?Hello?

  • Augustus Egg (12/17/2013 8:20:00 PM) Post reply

    From Peter Porter’s final book: Better Than God...

    To John Ashbery

    In the end, aren’t you pissed
    at living in the world’s most powerful country?

    Wouldn’t you rather, like The Late Roman Poets,
    coruscate in the margins of a worn out Empire?

    Or is it better to watch the selvedge fray
    of a homeland with a retail future?

    It’s the close-ups which matter, I’m sure you’d agree.
    So sickening, so beautiful, such filigree.

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