Doyen Lingua

Rookie - 321 Points [Doyen Lingua] (1991 - still breathing / Oregon)

Doyen Lingua Poems

161. The Urinal 12/25/2014
162. The Gardens Of Japan, And Versailles 8/8/2014
163. Surrealist Poem 7/2/2014
164. Toothpaste 6/16/2014
165. Avalanche 3/27/2014
166. O, Christmas Tree... 2/6/2014
167. Homeless In Prague 2/4/2014
168. Running For President (Co-Poetry With Andres Escudero) 2/4/2014
169. Ode To A Blanket 2/4/2014
170. Fluorescent 2/5/2014
171. Sister 2/4/2014
172. Zen 2/4/2014
173. Pennies 2/4/2014
174. Drink Another Drink! 2/4/2014
175. Little Monsters 2/4/2014
176. Bad Poetry 7/2/2014
177. On Determinism. 2/4/2014
178. Garbage Can 2/4/2014
179. River Stone 2/20/2014
180. The Inner Game Of Tennis 2/4/2014
181. Gargoyle 2/9/2014
182. An Ode To The Washing Machine 2/4/2014
183. Late One Night 2/4/2014

Comments about Doyen Lingua

  • Daniel Brick Daniel Brick (2/17/2014 1:13:00 AM)

    I really misinterpreted Hello Again, Stranger when I wrote my comments yesterday. Actually it was early Sunday morning and my brain wasn't fully functioning. But tonight both that poem and WALKING ALONG... make perfect
    sense; they're two chapters from an on-going narrative. I don't know why I made the assumption that the couple in the first poem were uncommitted, hesitant, not ready to surrender to each other. Now I see from the opening they are connected: We traveled together... braved the unknown. And their rapport is mysteriously confirmed a few lines later: We went/because we were called/you and I. Is that an inner calling, because I don't see an outside agent. I really like the passage about the note he puts under her pillow, because it is a gesture of love. Your character doesn't have to say I love you, which would be a cliché, because he just proved his love with a gesture. (I'm going to stop and send this, because the problem might be the length of my comments.)

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Best Poem of Doyen Lingua

An Ode To The Washing Machine

From the time I was a child
filled with curiosity and awe
I followed your rotation closely with my eyes.
Your magic must be hidden inside your metal box.
You stomp and shake about
and yell to those without.
Such violence with each slosh and thump, I wonder if you’re drowning.
But soon your tantrum resides
and my clothes are fresh... and damp.
No matter how I dirtied them, you scrubbed them clean.
You stand still, unmoved.
So long have you aided me. You never quit!
But now you’ve died, and I must buy anew.
Noble Washer!

Read the full of An Ode To The Washing Machine

Like Pollock Does Art

slathered paint
and fractals
life sucks
process is vital
c noose ember lexicon tomb mold
a buttons splatter jump splinter train
n run shoe match smile

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