The Little Red Book

Discussion in 'Poetry' started by redyelruc, Sep 7, 2007.

  1. Vetty214

    Vetty214 Hip Forums Supporter HipForums Supporter

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    I liked this but was curious about what the exercise was about. On extending it... if you want to make a long poem to describe wedding atmosphere just make sure you add all the senses (smell, taste, sound, touch). Some quick observations on this... "pranced madly" - there might be a better verb that portrays both words vs. using the adverb madly - pranced did seem weak by itself (twisted? careened? - not sure). The pipes didn't "flood" the room, the music did and I understood what you meant but there is a confusion there. Maybe change the word pipes to something else. I like "warm pints of porter" but you can drop the "and water" to just leave whiskey. Post it again when you update it if you keep working on this, would like to see how it grows/transitions. There might be a theme/story in there yet to pop...
     
  2. redyelruc

    redyelruc The Yard Man

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    Hi Vetty, thanks for your thoughts on this one. I agree with you about pranced madly, but the exercise in question was to take the last line of the quatrain posted above you and use it as a first line of your own.

    I'm not sure why, but the limerick-ish lilt to this has me wanting to do a poem about an irish wedding, with each stanza a stand alone limerick. Maybe I'm mad, but it seems like something worth trying, even if it's only to try and write connectable limericks.
     
  3. redyelruc

    redyelruc The Yard Man

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    OK, so it's April. The poems will be coming thick and fast. As always, feel free to comment or criticise. Peace.
    __________________________________________________________

    The Kneippist Cures a Hangover after a Binge in Baden-Baden

    He soaked his knees
    on piss-damp tiles; hurled
    prayers, pleas and carrots; splashed
    his face, soused eyes in hands,
    palms cupped to make a chalice.

    When the walls waved in
    and out of focus, he crashed
    through the doors into dawn, as it bled
    through the gauze of the Schwarzwald sky, sprinkled
    diamonds on the lawn.

    He crushed a trail through the crystals,
    a haphazard pattern of chance. He drowned
    barefoot in the fountain, was found
    with his boots in his hands.
     
  4. redyelruc

    redyelruc The Yard Man

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    My Father, the Scouser.

    Every time I see a pigeon stain
    the Beetles in the showroom
    down the road, I stop and think
    of my father’s cocky strut, his legs
    blistered red from the sun, and the present
    Mum found when he flew the coop.

    ___________________________________________________

    Told you, thick and fast.
     
  5. redyelruc

    redyelruc The Yard Man

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    600 Staffordshire Blues

    After the closure, line up; check
    for a belly or unwanted bulge.

    Throw on the bed. Pick up a brick and toss
    to remove dust. A strong wrist helps
    weigh the mortar. Butter her blue lip
    top to bottom. Lay.

    Twist from the hip and take
    another, a sister perhaps,
    or maybe a brother.
    Toss, weigh, butter, lay.
    Repeat.

    Check your muck. Crack
    your back. Curse at the pole
    or the paddy. Spark up a smoke,
    tell a few jokes. Thank God
    you’re no longer the hoddy.
     
  6. redyelruc

    redyelruc The Yard Man

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    This is a re-draft of an earlier poem entitled 'A Desperate Plea'

    A Burmese Woman Speaks of September 2007

    Our saffron rots in open sewers. Monks
    draw flies and vermin. Fat rats nibble
    their stubbled skulls and feast upon their feet.

    The markets teem with pigeons now,
    perched on plastic stools. Buzzards
    screech down city streets,
    killing without flinching.

    Bald eagle’s eyes seem blind to this,
    for I can see but vultures. They feast
    in dying crocus fields surrounding Mandalay.
     
  7. rambleON

    rambleON Coup

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    dude, i really enjoy your work. especially any poem that mentions Wolfgang Mozart. what are your favorite compositions by this musical genius.

    this struck a cord with me. i believe that Mozart's music can take you places. his emotion shines so pure in his work that it becomes your emotion...thus taking you to the heights of imagination.

    thankfully when i drift, it's not to meet lucifer, rather grandiose pleasures in the infinite imagination.

    two, rounds, two rounds.


    oh, i like your subject matter too. very emotional. i think a wide audience, especially hipformers, can very much so identify with.



    now i want to try and dissect this poem.

    lying here in my envelope of peacefulness,
    Mozart's melodies bathing me in bliss,

    i take it that you listen to Mozart in bed with head phones. and the blanket is the envelope that holds the happiness together, while the music itself brings the joy.


    streams of summer sunset sooth my soul,
    sleep well, they say, sleep well.

    these are the jubilant thoughts provoked by Herr Mozart. simply, Einstein is science and Mozart is music.at this point, sleep is a great option. sleep is essential to health and well being.


    my eyes closed, my mind wonders.
    where tonight i wonder.

    well, even Mozart's music cannot change a persons most troubled thoughts. he can bring you to the green grass on the other side if only for a short while. eventually what comes up must come down. and once grounded your normal self takes over....just where is all up to you.now sleep might not be an option.


    down dark and deary dungeons,
    to hell, they say, to hell.

    thats what you think others feel about you. after the Mozart effect tired, your unsettling disposition claims you. and they obviously don't like you. so you think.


    theres no flames, no fire
    and no fucking lucifer.
    but i did nothing, did noting, i protest.
    exactly, they say, exactly.

    you were then disappointed that you didn't receive the fire and brimstone that you felt you deserved. for being such an outcast upon inner refelection...but exactly they say. well of course, you didn't get what you want.





    beautiful that you can express such a character in these works. all of whom are different. all different moods and personalities....same concept with Mozart's music. i applaud you, sir.
     
  8. redyelruc

    redyelruc The Yard Man

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    Thailand's Flower Children

    At junctions under red lights, children wear chains
    of jasmine: threaded blooms that tickle their throats,
    wrinkle noses and wilt in truckers’ windshields.

    Scarecrows hung with perfumed charms, they bounce
    between the bumpers, dance along the painted lines
    search for lorries and the dead-eye stare.

    Caffeinated customers who pay
    a few pennies to sweeten their cabs, if only until
    the milky petals wither and fall.
     
  9. Vetty214

    Vetty214 Hip Forums Supporter HipForums Supporter

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    very worthwhile stuff. keep at it. knowing you are busy with just writing, will not critique but will say... awesome! it is as if I can see your "poetry" muscle getting sinewy and strong... everything you have posted this month shows your growth. i especially love that in this exhilirating month you are sharing what is close around you... what you have in your line of sight... loved the visuals in this.

     
  10. redyelruc

    redyelruc The Yard Man

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    rambleON, thanks for your extensive comments no The Sin of Apathy, I'm glad you could find something you liked in here.

    Vetty, I've been side-tracked for a couple of days with New Year's celebrations and visitors from overseas but I'm hoping to get the month back on track over the weekend. I'm glad you're enjoying what the pressure is sweating from me.
     

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