Skinny's thread

I liked the whole poem. Much of my enjoyment comes from seeing what the composer chooses for emphasis.

 

Thank you Sylvan.

 

What I admire about your work is that way it draws attention to, and breathes life into, the little everyday things such as looking in a mirror, having coffee, etc. - and turns them into tools for telling your story. It is something that I also work hard at, but nobody does it quite like you.

 

:& Cheers m'dear.... too kind!!

 

got a squeeter on your peeter?

knock it off!!
(knock it off)

got a squeeter on your peeter?
knock it off
(knock it off)

got another on my mother and another on my brother

got a squeeter on your peeter ?
knock it off!!!!

 

A silly poem indeed. You should post it on the main board....no-one'll read it in here.....:H

 

I turned and saw
the greyhounds had stopped running.
They have Mercury's heels and are horizon's dust.
I trek across the plains to you,
hug the coast to the oarsman's beat,
and loathe the fates.

Bones rolled in the dust,
the night sky and a firelit charade,
brought me to this door,

ivybound to your grand hallway.
Drew my fingers over bronze armour,
and into the embrace of that great shield.

I have it with me, and will carry you home to your mother.

 

Your sacrifices make my bloated sails
acres of gas encased in linen.

Esteemed is the spare thread
hanging from buttons and hems,
the eye and tip of a needle,
the head of a pin.
I desire twine to bind, and wax,
picked from tabletops, to be piled inches high,
a thimble to hold our petty assets, and
shiny paper to rival the stars.

 

lol redsmurfettehead, your poem made me giggle hehe. it's very quirky.


'I turned and saw
the greyhounds had stopped running.
They have Mercury's heels and are horizon's dust.
I trek across the plains to you,
hug the coast to the oarsman's beat,
and loathe the fates.

Bones rolled in the dust,
the night sky and a firelit charade,
brought me to this door,

ivybound to your grand hallway.
Drew my fingers over bronze armour,
and into the embrace of that great shield.

I have it with me, and will carry you home to your mother.'

.......as I am reading this piece of awesome writing littleskinny, I am picturing a person looking back at their pursuers and edging along clifffaces and trekking across deserts, but then the scene changes and suddenly the person is trailing their fingers along a dusty dim hallway that seems like the mdidle of a castle, with its suits of armour and torches in brackets on stone walls. also the last stanza bit I reread it a 2nd time with a loving embrace of the hands trying to get through the armour into the muscle of the human underneath....a mysterioyus and dreamlike poem that i really enjoyed picturing in my head, whether it be wrong or no.

 

such a wonderful verse there, skinny, i liked this one alot

 

Very nice, I liked "Well, what would you do" best, a good
story, well written, almost a feeling that I we're part of
the crowd. Pass the cider ")
Thanks, enjoyed much!
Devon Knight / Icurus

 

Thanks for stopping by Icurus, and glad you enjoyed that one...I'm fond of it.

Also thanks to Lozi for such a great response, thank you for letting me know your reactions as you read it, it's important to me.

 

I miss the overbearing daylight and the uniformed sky,
green velvet slippers on the feet of hills.

No shared sweat and moments.
I miss schooling and correction.

I am halved.
Pips fall when sheets rub,and are lost for now.
Rusty, chewing on old habits, can't swallow.

Early morning wedding of fruit and sugar. Dull here.
No ostentatious crockery, drinking straws, backdrop.
No meeting over newsprint, no waitress to abduct.

Alternative therapy.
A saline dip on the balcony, lightbox and bikinis,
empty egg-timers all over my toes,
would help me close my eyes.

 

This restaurant was here before the war
entertained GIs when the air was mustard and the women sturdy.

Men, returned to caves, wearing the new, modern furs
and offered ladies bones for round their necks.

Minerals glinted from bitten fingers in secret winks,
floral cotton wrapped around the caveman's thighs

and all danced, all night, while outside fires raged a mile away.

 

"well, John, when we got back to the hotel last night, boy, were we exhausted....

.....we had spent the whole day - the whole day, John - trailing round this city looking for

the one guy
who hadn't heard of
democracy...

but we did find him, yes we did....I asked him,

"do you know what democracy is?"

and he said

"no"

....so you can see, John, the US government's policy is a failure in every respect."

 

"our man in baghdad" was fantastic, I love the conversational tone in it, and the contrast of the long lines and then the dainty, poetic ones. Also, "do you know what democracy is" and the response was thought inducing... I just watched a program last night detailing some deeper revelations behind that thought... great stuff! I love little coincidences like that... thanks for your sharing your witty perspective!

 

Agree with Fulmah.....

I seriously love the presentation/structure of that one.
Also agree with Fulmah about the question and the response. Powerfull stuff!

 

Green velvet slippers on the feet of hills... such a beautiful image. Wonderful poem, full of nuances and side avenues. I've lingered on the images of fruit and sugar early mornings; saline dips on the balcony, to mention two more. Alternative healing via. beauty & fresh air.

 

Breathtaking work. thank you.

 

Feeling the intense flow of each of these lines and the vague enigma of the first. Modern military war imagery, meets the feminine, blending to the equality of a self reliant simplicity with a dash of pagan howling.

Absolutely loved the third stanza.