One Poem A Day

Who ‘s The Culprit?

irritated
by wildlife roaming into the neighbourhood
residents of Greater Victoria
constantly chanting their anti-nature chorus
“cull the rabbits”
those infested rodents destroyed their lawns, gardens
and flower beds

now
all rabbits were gone away
totally out of
sight
they shoot at the new target
“kill the deer”
for eating their nice roses and munching their crops
they shout
out loud
while punching their fists
straight into the air
as if
they were desperately fighting for
their survival

what’s next on the list
oh dear!
let’s hope
they would stop their killing chorus
before wildlife’s completely terminated
on their own peaceful habitats
invaded
by the quickly grown
and worst virus infested nature
the so-called
man

Thao Chuong
2012-09-05

Note: The Capital Regional District of Greater Victoria has formed a "Deer Committee" to deal with the increasing problems of deer roaming and destroying crops, etc. as the result from the rapid development for housings, mega shopping malls, roads, and other infrastructures. The city has taken over many wildlife habitats at an alarming rate.

Transapien Song

Specks of possibility float
in a paradigm of dusty minds,
as mist-droplet insights slowly
condense on thought's inner
sanctum.

Turbulence errupts
beneath culture's mainstream,
giving life-blood energy to
robot replacements who
become new-age gods,
embracing human passion
in cosmic metabolic bliss.

- RGK

Thank you Robert for posting. Your awesome poem has inspired me for my poetic echo


Homo Sapiens

emerged
from nowhere in darkness
into the silhouette of light
the hairy homo sapiens wandered
in ancient forests
naked
for millions of years
before fully evolved
into the well-groomed modern man
civilized but still savage
in his own nature

imaginative
and highly articulate
man climbs up
on the top of food chain
by recklessly exploiting nature and destroying his own living habitat
he discards
from his mind
what’s simple, true, and meaningful
and fills up his heart
with what’s deceitful and useless

man murders his almighty God
and takes the creative power into his own hands
but know not what to do
he’s dragging his own fate
back
deep into the shadow of darkness
from where
he was organically
emerged

Thao Chuong
2012-09-05

Good to see your poetry thread back Viet!!!

And since I feel at home :-) I would like to share one of my early attempts at video, mixing, poetry, text, music and still photography. Sound is not great and is in Spanish :-( Translation follows though, although as you know, specially in poetry, much is "Lost in Translation" !!!



The solitude of silence

I would like to tell you what I see,
To describe all that I feel,
To love you with no desire,
To listen in complete silence.

To be alone with you,
With no dreams nor desires,
Alone.

To talk with my stillness,
To listen with my feeling,
To feel you with my loving.

I would like to be alone with you,
To share the walk,
Loving the living, with no fear of dying.

I would like to be alone with you,
In the solitude of silence,
Alone, with you.

Xoanxo. It’s nice to hear that you feel at home on this thread. I do hope that other artists/poets could feel the same as you do.

I didn’t look at the video because I did not want to be distracted by the image. I closed my eyes and let my feeling flow with the rhythm of your poem. It was calm as I could feel the peace in your voice. I really enjoyed the Spanish version, even though I don’t understand the language.

I agree with your observation about translating poems into another language. The message can be transferred but for sure the beauty of the poem and cultural aspects of one language will be lost in the translating process.

My echo from your poem, Xoanxo.


In Absolute Silence

impossible to describe
in words
the mystical moment
I was holding you
trembled
in my arm
looking into your eyes but I saw nothing
kissing on your lips
I didn’t feel anything
only numbness on my tongue
my mind frozen
my heart melted into liquid
I’m totally lost
sunken
deep down
somewhere at bottomless love
in a world of wonders
absolutely silent


Thao Chuong
2012-09-05

I am an occasional “contributor”, a mere 2 months old in these threads, who is still adrift in different currents and as such.. the tide often turns and the currents can be powerful in their direction…

I can now see why having different flowing streams of poetry are such delight….. …

Like streams flowing into a river of thought....
They flow their own ways.....
They flow with their own personalities ......
With turbulences.....
With rocky outcrops......
They have their own rapids.....
Pools of still waters and ....

..Noisy water fallsss.....
===============|s
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx|s
+++++++++++++++|s
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx|s
+++++++++++++++ |s

===============|s
+++++++++++++++| s s..
===============| ~ sss s~ s ~~~ ~~ ~ ~~s~~ ~ ~~ ~ ~s~ ~ ~~~~~~ ~~~ s~ ~~~~ ~
..............................~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~river , oh wonderous river of beauty… I see you speak… I hear you … ~~~~ ~~ ~~~


Until they flow together in to the deepest river, like the Nile, the Amazon, The Blue Danube, the Mississippi..... ...... ........ .... ... ... .... .. .
……Such great rivers of verse and thought……
.. ... .....where solitude is now a..... ... .... dream…..


I will probably just pop in from time to time, dip my toe in and see how the water is... so good luck... I may, however, have moved to .. Mars........... lol
(hope u liked the "waterfall" LOL)
:-)


ps, i really loved the verses on solitude and silence... solitude and silence has had moments in my days and my life... mixed with much else, it is very colourful....

pps Transapien song - how unique!! very provoking!! intriguing...

pps Homo Sapiens - very powerful, strong message and enjoyed reading it :-)

Thanks Jason. I love your verse that relates the trail of thoughts to water flow.

I have read your poems on other threads. I think that you tend to be a "vers libre" poet as your rhythms of poetry are close to Stress Verse. Yet, this poem has reached the realm of Concrete Poetry (in which words of a poem are arranged in a typographical design. It provides a visual impact on a reader's eyes and also it reflects upon the meaning of the design in the mind of the reader).

I’d like to share with you the steps of how I often write and make my poems rhymed. I often: 1/ put my thought down in words, 2/ arrange my words into sentences, 3/ write into a plot, 4/ arrange the writing into poetic rhythms.

Let’s say I am going to write a poem that describes the unexpected encounter of a toddler and his family cat. I put down some basic facts/characters of the cat and those of the toddler's.

Step #1 Write down basic information for the potential poem:
About the cat: whiskers, family pet, scratch
About toddler: innocent, happy, giggle, play, cry,

Step #2: Arrange them into sentences:
About cat: It is a family pet, loves to scratch, likes to lies on human’s lap, and often scratches.
About kid: A toddler is innocent, likes to play, loves to explore new things, often jiggles, laughs, easily cries.

Step # 3: Turn the writing in to an interesting plot:
The toddler was jiggled and joyfully played with the family pet that lazily lied in his mom’s lap. He was unknowingly pulling its whiskers. The cat became mad and scratched on his face. The baby hysterically cried

Step#4: Arrange the writing into poetic rhythm


The Toddler and the Cat

the toddler jiggled
joyfully
played with the family pet
lazily lying in his mom’s lap
he was unknowingly
pull’in hard
its soft
whisk…ers
the cat gone mad
scratched on his face
the baby
hysterically
cried

Thao Chuong
2012-09-06

From Thought to Nought


In the morning sun they crashed through the flood gates
of my mind,overflowing,
spilling and spraying,
Rushing and gushing!
Soon a whole poem emerged
like the grey arched body of a whale
above the ocean's surge.

In the late lazy afternoon, in the dying sun
I wandered, dreamily, work-weary,
recalling suddenly with a start
a thread of a thought
of some wild morning something
that had gripped my heart

But deserting me now
like an anxious lighthouse signal,
on off, on off...
leaving me grasping for those long lofty shadows
of a moments musing
that had me forget everything
in the morning sun
in the emerging growth of a shimmering single
seed of an ode!

Now, there's none
and all strength seeps out of me,
only some weak stream remains.
I'm wading in a still, dark lake,
searching for some life
to break through the
unswelled sea
and free me!


Maria Disley7/9/2010



.

Nice flow from your beautiful thought. I enjoyed reading it. Thank and have a good day, Maria.




Just For Today

Time
tirelessly flying away as a galloping horse
a second just passed
a minute is dropping by
another day approaches
then quickly
leaves

the fragile Present
ever
exists
even its instant
moment
can not stand still
in the sea of marathon
running out of
time

the infinite Past has endlessly swallowed
seconds, minutes, hours...
days, weeks, months...
years....
into
its bottomless shadow
of darkness

the unknown Future
never be unfolded
whenever Tomorrow turns up
as always
it becomes

Today.

Thao Chuong
2012-09-7

Language

Rational minds writhe
in two-dimensional lines
forcing n-dimensional truths
into two-dimensional lies.

Skinny verbal flows
progressing left-to-right
compress fluidity to
stupidity, and we
call this "great insight".

-- RGK

(double post..so i might used to have the free space anyway)


PORTRAIT BY THE WINDOW
Photo by Jojie Alacantara


My brave child, nature is kind
As torrential rain flushes like Noah's  tale
and the whole metro stood still,
soak and crying
Nature is kind.

Gusty wind, no deafening  lighting
Brethren and children can brace the night
on collective prayers
while keeping dry.
Nature is kind

My brave child, nature will be kind
This chosen land  under weathers' wrath
southwest monsoon over pouring
my brave child
nature is kind

Video footage of victims,and heroes
neighbors houses floats in the river flow
pets howling, shivering on remaining trees
guilty Men and women cramped to highlands
as their sea of garbage,
kept destruction  unimagined

Our nation survived wars,
even not this kind as we rape the land
In the shadow of your chilling hands
My brave child
Nature is kind


© Saigon
9/7/2012

A Poem a day


Between this universe and my soul can travel
between flat lines and signs of life
for pain and sheer delight
of love and that of
unexpected joy.
For my heroes,
sex or woes
nature,
godly,
or
just
reasons
to appreciate.
To what there is now
and what there was to you
and me where I want to be now
and how i felt, from the depth of my longing
wishful thinking, ode, dissent or meditative state

Ahhh...
A poem a day
keep demons away.

© Saigon
9/8/2012

What is reality?

With open hands I touch my mirror
A moment of darkness becomes much clearer
As my body transcends into its realm
I am entranced and totally overwhelmed

Darkness subsides and a dream-like effect
Takes over my being, in every aspect.
So light, so free and yet so confused
As to where I am although slightly enthused

Have I fallen, am I dreaming,
What is this space where I am standing
Am I standing or maybe lying
Nothing around to get my bearing

A sudden rush of warmth surrounds me
A gentle heart-beat resonates within me
My need for breath becomes reality
My mind is pure and free from memory

A push, a shove, breaks up my world
As things around begin to swirl
A painful slap to make me cry
Re-birthed to give it another try


©Elisabeth Dubois Dec – 2011

Great stuff everyone!!!

Interesting process Viet, very different to mine :-)

@Viet, Its a shame my "Soledad del silencio" is in Spanish, and that you decided not open to your eyes to watch it, but I guess being a poet, you focused in one aspect of the work. Although is an early experiment (and of poor technical quality) with text, imagery and music. As part of the experiment I was playing with the attention of the viewer, creating a divided focus. I noticed long ago that even If I watch film in a language that I fully understand with subtitles, the subtitles somehow still attract my attention, so I loose awareness of the visuals. Here I start with music, text, and my own reading, I think (judging from my own experience) that the viewer would read the text, even at the same speed that I narrate. I am aiming with the music, the text, my voice, the content of what I read to divide the viewer senses, confuse him/her a bit, and when it gets to the silenced moment, zooming in to the water to the point where the image shows a photograph with 3 dimensions on view, the reflections of the sky and leaves, a stick floating in the water and the bed of the lake (through the transparency) my experience is that 20 seconds of silence feel, not eternal, but certainly sufficiently uncomfortable to feel relief, when I begin to zoom out and the music is restored.

I wonder if anyone had this experience or is it just me!!!

Here is a newer experiment as an echo to Elisabeth's what is reality:

To those of you who care to watch (not very long video), I aim to play with standard reading processes and assumptions of expectations...If you do find yourself reading upwards I would be very interested to know how it felt and what point of the process you put content into the reading...well here its, another experiment of mine titled "Realities Unreal":-) (BTW the music here is not mine)

SO many beautiful poems with deep thoughts on this thread!! I can see it is really evolving!!

Viet thansk for sharing your thoughts!! This could be a very useful tool! Mine is far more eratic, confused, messup, weired lol but that is the way i am...
...Suddenly a word spoken or comment or a radio news report… suddednly triggers a few other words or thoughts, then an avalanche.. it can be a real overload that then suddenly vanishes and is gone.. I have to jot down asap… then after the 1st few sentences.. others might flow… then suddenly a few more… then a few deletions … lol then rearranging here there.. perhaps over a few hrs or a few days… its binned... one huge poem took half a day followed by days of amendments.. it really messed my head up for weeks….

... I cant say I don’t follow rules… rules are there for a purpose.. to be constructive and prevent chaos... but I think I do follow a free style in most things… otherwise I feel so claustrophobic.. I cant think….… i get literally stuck in the rules... im not sure on classifications but it suits my odd erratic probing anxious personality…. Ive had a go at rhyming but I find it too restrictive to thoughts…. And one I wrote on hurricane Issac has become so entangled because of it, I wish I left it as it was as in free verse I think it said more in free verse… anyway…. I might put it up when I feel its okay but im not sure… it might get buried...

If using rhymes? do all paragrpahs have to follow the same rhyming patterns? can they alternate between no rhymes, some rhymes...different rhymes? lol.. what a daft question.. well im asking it... :-)

Xo... how multi-dimensional!! i cant find the words yet but awesome is definitely one... i need to analyse what im feeling.... at the moment i cant.... okay amazing is a good one too but perhaps slightly meaningless in this context... i didnt read the reversing screen far the 1st time as i can get dizziness but just focussed on odd words... the 2nd time i read each apragraph as it appeared as a whole.. so i learned to wait... yep its profound... a tool for psychologists i think u know!! self analysis through deep motivation stimulated by a deep sensuoal involvement with questions about ourselves.... lol maybe??? ;-)

:-) Thanks Jason, for viewing and commenting!!! dizziness and creating an out of focus visual experience is indeed also part of the intention :-))

Here is a poem I wrote in first grade. I dedicate it to Neil Armstrong.

Planets are blue.
Planets are red.
Men went to the moon, they said.

@ Viet. Wonderful poem about slippery time, always frustratingly one step ahead of us it seems.
@Robert your poem intrigued me, remember all poets here are open and welcome criticism if it is about learning, I for one would love to know more about your poem and who or what inspired you. The feelings feel strong to me, if that's the case, its great that you can write from strong emotions, concerns etc.
@Saigon, i could not stop re reading your poem. Question, was the first line intentionally meant to unsettle the reader by its awkwardness...can imagined. If it was just faulty grammar then fix it, otherwise the unsettling feeling works, i read that line over and over to try and understand why it worked and didn't work. i loved the shape of the poem, the arc, everything about it was reaching within to show the reader something truly and momentarily felt, found, lost, endured, and appreciated. :)
@hello Elisabeth, really enjoyed your poem. So real, waking from a dream, slapped back into reality/change/next challenge, that's life! :))
@Jason, in your personal comments i felt that i was reading about myself LOL!
@David, a very young cynic/poet :)
@Xoanxo, I still haven't learned how to spell your name, have to check every time:) I am saving the video for when I can give it my full concentration. I am avoiding reading what you want, i would rather just watch it and then reply.
@Viet, great thread!
Oh! by the way! Received my book yesterday, just decided to read a poem a day from it! :))

Welcome and thank you - Robert, Saigon, Elisabeth, Jason, Xoanxo, David, and especially Maria - for your poems and your thought about poetry. I often read a poem a couple of times, especially the poem that inspired me. Different reading often gives me different feeling and thought about the related poet's verse and his way of poetic expression. I have learned a lot from reading poetry of other poets.

I think that Jason's comment has reflected the fact that those poets whose mother tongue is English could easily express their poetic thought/emotion in English words. It could relate my comment to Jason's or Robert's natural flow in the three poems of them posted on this thread. It had taken me many years before I was able to write my first poem in English that could reach the level of David's poem written at his first grade. I am still learning the English Literature by reading poetry and novels written in English.

I think anyone - whose English is the first language - could poetically express himself in verbal or written English (regardless his English level).

Go ahead. Wake up the sleeping poet in your hearts

"...Suddenly a word spoken or comment or a radio news report… suddednly triggers a few other words or thoughts, then an avalanche.. it can be a real overload that then suddenly vanishes and is gone.. I have to jot down asap… then after the 1st few sentences.. others might flow… then suddenly a few more… then a few deletions … lol then rearranging here there.. ". Jason Christopher.

Jason, I really envy you at your poetic process. It's joyful and pleasure to wait until something hits the heart or triggers the mind for an poetic inspiration. As a frequent writer, I don't have the luxury to wait for my inspiration. I have to hunt for it. If I cannot find any fish, I must drink the murky water directly from the lake (LOL). I meant that I have to push myself to write down everyday. It becomes a habit. I am able to write down in words from my instant feeling or from any thought whenever I have the spare time or having access to piece of paper or a keyboard.

its a warm feeling when a poem written is clearly understood, absorbed and recycled for more understanding . :))) ' If I cannot find any fish, I must drink the murky water directly from the lake' (LOL

Something strange just happened, without any effort or thought my poem beginnings materialised as an image, odd words and even a sound in my head..........how does that happen? It is as though my mind has been working 9-5 at finding the lost file, and suddenly found it and pressed enter!


The Retrieve.

In the darkness of a still lake
I fumbled with my fingers
On the lake’s bed
And discovered
My lost, morning sunned ode
My lake; my black setee
The lake’s bed; my memory
My discovery; some sunken words, freed,

‘if I covered his thoughts
In a cloth and ran,
They would rattle and clink
Each one unique
Like a chain of of keys
In the wrong hands’

The dark lake bed shimmered
Beneath my smile
And shaky heart
In wonder, how I had retrieved my start!

Maria Disley 8/9/20102

The Division

Neither
the natural way of how I look
red, yellow, blue, white, or black,
Nor
the original place where I come from
Europe, Africa, Asia, Australia, America…
Not
the individual choice of what I am
a republican, a democrat, a communist, a capitalist, …
a Christian, a Muslim, a Buddhist, a Satanist, an atheist…

No
these above facts
absolutely
do not segregate me
from the rest of
the world

It’s my own possessive concepts
of You and I
Mines and Yours,
We and They
Ours and Theirs
She and He,
Hers and His
that imprison my mind in a tiny cell of prejudice
and plague my heart with loves and hates

Could it be possible for the dualistic concept
of You and I
submerged
into
oneness

Thao Chuong
2012-09-08

Everything that is, matters my friend!!!
be it an action...or a verse!!!

On Hope....

Oops sorry for break-in late...the book teaser is a wowowowwwwonderful!!!!

Now we got a good ads...brace for booksigning invitations in 4continents!!!

Great job comrade Xoanxo.

Thanks Maria. Perception is a tricky issue very slipper and hard to grab. So just flow with the stream for awhile then get out of it before one is drifted to the sea (LOL)

Thanks Xoanso.

Senryu Matter or Not (to Xoanxo)

it matters or not
depending much on the mind
hope is just a word

coming from a mouth
it really doesn`t mean much
hope must come from heart

Thao Chuong
2012-09-15


Ah, my sweet friend Vivian. In politic, friends and foes are a very temporary relationship serving the immediate needs of those parties involved. So an enemy today could be an ally tomorrow. Natural friendship without any attachment of benefit often lasts long. I re-post one of your work and my poem past year just for some thought about what we often believe strongly as right or wrong.

Have a good day or night to all




Right or Wrong
(inspired by Vivian's artwork Joe' Left-handed Cup-2011)

he had been
thinking
he was always right
and often mocked at his left-handed elder brother
for doing many things wrong
from the odd thinking process
to the incorrect ways of writing, working
even touching his girl friend
by the left hand
not right

'til one day
he failed to negotiate
with a left curve of a winding rural road
found himself wet and muddy
in a deep ditch
he started recognizing
not
everything in this world
is always
right.

Thao Chuong
@2011-10-16

Is it you, brother Saigon? You looked as if you have just got an overhaul from a beauty salon for your coming Wed. (LOL)

Hahaha...you made my morning and gave me reason to skip my breakfast!! Oops i need to go to meet a client, am thinking to crowd raise my wedding expenses... Hahahaha.

(darn another double post). Hahaha...you made my morning and gave me reason to skip my breakfast!! Oops i need to go to meet a client, am thinking to crowd raise my wedding expenses... Hahahaha.



*Will post something later...this j.co donuts need to be recieved by my very special client.

Lovely 'right or wrong', Viet...thank you, and for the image being the inspiration......I am honoured.

@ Saigon. Rent a hall, a local band, and do catering, brother. You can have more guests and more fun at less cost than in a restaurant.
@ Vivian. You're very welcome, my friend.
@ Xoanxo. I have view both videos three times. I myself prefer the first version. Maria has very sharp eyes as she noticed that you missed Chaline's profile page with her photo. I second Maria's comments of how articulate and creative you are. I need to learn from you how to do those videos, if you don't mind to teach and if it's possible to do it by emails. Thanks again for taking the initiative. I'm really impressed.

Saigon, did it work?

Thank you Maria, Saigon, Viet!!! You are too kind!!!

Viet, no problem with the tutorial, if you have skype it could work!!! I use a program called Corel, but to begin Windows Movie Maker should be ok and it's standard with Windows.

On the video:
I have modified version 1, included Chaline's profile page (was there but her photo and name weren't showing) and changed Saigon's, Ed's, Jacob's and Kevin's profile page. Version 2 will stay too for a while because its getting a few views (and I like it too:-), There is plenty of space in YouTube anyway :-).

I have also included the following description:

"On the wings O' Butterflies" 9 Poet-Artists from across the globe in one book with a global perspective.

As Poet, Artist and editor of this book, Thao Chuong (Viet Tran) says, "This poetry collection is distinctive as it reflects different perspectives of nine poets from a wide range of political, social, religious and racial backgrounds in America, Asia, Australia and Europe",

"On the wings O'Butterflies" is an emotional roller-coaster that takes you, from the nostalgic, to the surreal, from the twisters of humour, to the up-hills of joy and the down spirals of sorrow and horror. Critical, sincere, open, a gem of human artistic truthful expression...Nine artists, nine styles, nine worlds that in 148 pages come together "in Poetry as One".

An here is version 1 updated!!!

Nice work Xo! U should be in art advertising.... Oh u r now? Ok that's cool. Interesting bios too, lol, a key to understanding no doubt.... :-)

LOL Jason!!! and Thank you too!!! :-) Some may call it advertising...but that's not what I do!!! What I do, you may call...."Raising Awareness"!!! :-))

My latest post in my blog...

http://xoanxocespon.wordpress.com/2012/09/17/hopes-and-dreams-on-the-wings-o-butterflies/

Here's an extract:

At a time when social communications may be limited to 140 characters, Poetry may be commercially dead, but then again, Poetry was never about commerce. And yes, it is possible that in 2012 some continue to use the Arts of the Ancient to point to places where Hopes and Dreams reside. And why would that be ?…Could it be because an ageless soul, from time to time needs reminding of where it comes from?
Poetry…indeed, may be commercially dead…but as the Great Spanish Poet “Gustavo Adolfo Becker” once said:

What is poetry? you say while you fix

in my pupil your blue pupil;

What is poetry! And you ask me?

Poetry…is you.

(Gustavo Adolfo Becker, Rhime 21)

So…I’d say…Poetry is well and truly alive as long as there is a You!!!

“On the Wings O’Butterflies”, Nine Poet-Artists “in Poetry as One”, I hope you enjoy it!!!

Hi Xoanxo. Thank you very much for your willingness and generosity to teach me some basic techniques about making a video. I'll email you.



His Reflection

for him
it’s a good day
he feels really confident to allow the wind
to blow on its own rhythms
magically
without his intervention
everything’s back on track
and somehow under its natural flow
as expected

each time
he’s in his easy mood
he could see the world
becoming rosier
and blissful
it seems
everyone has a friendly face
and becomes trouble-free

whenever
he smiles at strangers
jogging in the park
he always
gets many warm smiles back
in return

yet
it’s still tricky
for him to comprehend
why
each time
he tries to put his world in orders
it’s likely
everything becomes more chaotic
and people often act brutally
against
him

Thao Chuong
2012-09-16

Good Day to you brother ..yes ithis post able to went through..

-saigon

Xoanxo, I've read your blog. You're very poetic in your writings. You're a really good promoter and marketer. Except poetry, everything else (including fine art and musics) has been commercialized. The terms "starving artists" have been mentioned endless time on different art sites. It's strange that I don't often hear the demeaning terms "starving poets".

Saigon! Glad to know that it was just a technical hiccup. I hope you didn't lose your good taste of Sans Miguel.

Viet i believe poets are the poorest of the poor! Its impossible to make a living as a poet full stop. But never say never. surely all nights give rise to dawn.. but of course a renaissance is soon to be here...

In the mean time...

in tribute to you bunch of lunatics.. a humerous take.. on roses
(let combine the dual personalities in one poem, why spread it out eh? lol)


The Mad Poet’s - Beauty and Ugliness of the Rose

Here lies the crimson rose
Its vile stench pollutes our parks
Its beauty to behold
Like the flesh of murdered animals
Its lifts our moods in highest joy
To make me feel like stinking vomit
The beauty of the rose
That most ugly flower
I call thee angel of Summer
You revolting stem of darkness
I take you to my precious vase
I cut you down to burn you
Glow in my abode
Just rot in my bin
For I love thee, most precious rose
I hate thy disgusting monster of plants
Live and flourish for one more week
Die in my stinking refuse
Good morning sweetest rose
Good night, dead rose.

Oh petals of a rose..... how sweet is the nectar and sweeter the scent of subtle fragrances.... as i sit dreaming,,, with a rose firmly ... between my teeth.... grr

a humourous take... on the poet... and the rose...

(c) Jason Christopher
17th Spetember 2012

Nice poem, Jason.



Poet Li Po

he threw
his empty jar of wine
into fast running water
the poet
somewhat intoxicated
cocked his eyes at the moon embedded in blue starry sky
then slowly turned
his head
down
to the other moon
drowned
at the bottom of the river

he sighed
then jumped into the golden stream of moving moonlight
to catch his last poetic
verse

Thao Chuong
2012-09-17

Please do not swear

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True Viet. I think one should not pass a massage unless that person themselves believes in the massage, not to be confused with passing heard information for the purpose of discussing, but a message sent from a party to another party, one assumes the messenger is not neutral and is pro the party it is coming from. I hope this is not a too political an observation.

Good evening, Mario. Good to see you here, my friend I must clarify that everything which has been posted or will be posted by myself on the thread only reflects my subjective thought of the day. It may or may not reflect the reality.

BTW I think that you ave very logic in your thinking and have been very clear in your communication so far. You're one of great thinkers and thought-provokers for whom I have my respect. I have become aware that all of your artworks in your FAA gallery have been removed, except only one left. Your only work sends a message that is much stronger than those useless words of my poetry. Have a great day.

Xoanxo, thanks for what you are doing with and for O' Butterflies...


As The Cock Crows
a tall story


as the cock crowed
my bastard son and his bitch dog
rolled over on the shag

she was an old and cranky bitch
whose teats hung to the floor
from too many pups
sucking the life from her

she yawned and gave
a startled bark
which scared the hell out of my ass
whose head was halfway through the window
and gnawing on the pillow fringe

the donkey jumped back
and stepped on the pussy sleeping
with her head on my fuzzy balls
the ones i play tennis with

well that tabby leapt
straight into the air
clawing at anything within her reach
and found the scrotum of the braying ass
kicking wildly
clearing everyone from the scene
but me
still in my warm bed
laughing and thinking
hot dam
my clock radio never woke me
so entertainingly

Ed Meredith
17 September 2012

What's a touchy story about a cranky bitch! She sounds terrible, but what else to expect from such a poor dog! You're always good at catching the instant moment in your interactive poetry. Have a good night.

Jason, great rose poem love the juxtapositioning...sort of describes people's moods.
Ed, that was so funny!! Was that the swearing that Beth was talking about as I couldn't see anything else that looked like swearing?
Nice moon poem Viet, I remember you sharing the original Li Po story. :)

My Poem for today.



His alarm went off at Five o'clock
Sugar!!
It was the first time in ages
I had managed to sleep through the night!
I rolled out of the hay, thinking it must be later
But, in the kitchen, bleary eyed saw it really was Five o'clock!
Sugar!!
I looked outside for further confirmation
Confronted..Amazed! At the beautiful pre dawn. Wow!
The mountains slouched lazily under deep depths of dark forested fern trees
exhaling a grey sombred fog which seemed to yearn in its mysteriousness
in its pre dawn prehistoric existence....
The mist seeming risen from some exhumed historic tomb
right outside my room!
there was almost no colour, at all!
Just tones of black and blue/grey,
seeping into each other like the sullied water from a painters jar,
I could not move but stare in awe at the smoky scene
Except to steal into the slow stir with my camera
where i became caught up within the the curls of soft air
and became aware suddenly of the birds there
waking in the nearby trees
their million screams of nature rousing
was music echoing through the floating fog
I was agog...
and so pleased
that his alarm had gone off at five o'clock!
Sugar!!!
I hope it does the same t'morra.

Maria Disley 18/9/012

Viet

As you did not remove it, I did for you.

Please read the forum rules and follow them from now on.

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Ed that was hilarious!! Loved it
Thanks Marie, the Mad poets rose poem was intended to be a humorous take on swinging moods, and actually of a “split personality” view on how minds can crumble to what is most beautiful (a rose) - a constantly shifting perspective of complete admiration and complete envy with hatred… the mad poet/artist… but having read it through a few times I guess it could be provokingly negative in its perception for some if one dwelt one half the “dialogue” and felt paranoid and on that basis it could have been inflammatory.. though I still struggle with ideas of the bloody termination of a “messenger” that quickly followed…

When poetic verse in a thread takes on the dimension of a pseudo-dialogue.. one might also ask how and where what and when is reality?? Great scope for mis-interpretation…. And artistic interplay.. and mental catastrophes no doubt… just how many car crashes will there be? Who knows …


The car that never crashed

The car never crashed
There is no wreckage to crawl out of
For the car never crashed
The passengers were never injured
For they are now immortal
The driver did not swerve
He never felt the bumps, the broken road, the gun shots, the grenades the men threw
The car is buried in the rubble
Overturned
Twisted metal and burnt are the bloodied bodies
Engulfed in flames and tarnished to its rusting remains
Pillaged are the remnants
But the car never crashed
The driver drives again
And the passengers are immortal!

To all with a car – drive most carefully!! For cars are not immortal!

© Jason Christopher
18th September 2012

Marie Thank you for your beautiful morning !! Early mournings are a different world… mists of the night shroud us from the noise of commotion… you have set the road ahead… it is clear and it is beautiful…

Good day to all!!!

Here's Ed's Forgotten Bones...and 3 to go :-)