Discussion:
Sunday Sampler Official poem list for 12/1/19........thanks everyone for entering. Got some snow on the way, so expediting the Official list. tonight rather than tomorrow.
(too old to reply)
Edward Rochester Esq.
2019-12-03 00:50:01 UTC
Permalink
Topic Fascination/infatuation



Holding Her Hand
by Edward Rochester Esq.

I watched that delicate hand wither,
little surprise, being severed through bone
and vein.

I only wanted to hold it
and walk through that rose filled
garden of infatuation-
entwine my fingers in hers,
perhaps feel the pulse
coursing that pink palm.

Her hand withdrew as if repulsed
or worse, snatched away from the exposed teeth
of a snarling dog.

Now I hold that hand
encased in a frozen pose,
one finger pointing as if chipped away
from the Sistine Chapel.
-------------------------------------------------------------


To a Wood Nymph
by Edward Rochester Esq.


"Just follow my cry",
was the whisper
and I did, to where deception
was as tall as evergreens,
her stare, starting snowstorms,
her kiss, a Vesuvius rumble.

I was lost at first,
succumbing to tender thoughts,
the path taking me
to those warned about dark places
by others returning from love's thicket;
an army of seekers
all wanting to open the heart,
and protect the weakness
of wood nymphs;
but no butterfly this one,
spitting out souls
after lion gulps,
crushing bone as if a Wolverine.

Beware the cry in the woods,
step lightly over that path
to forever bliss;
beware the whisper.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Suzy Q. Here Is A Poem For You
by Zod

Long time ago Suzy Q.
when I was infatuated with you.
Carved your name on the park bench with a sigh
across the street from Grand Island High.
How many years I am hard pressed
to make a second guess....

I sip some wine by this camp fire
so I babble as Mike plays his lyre.
I recite this poem
as is the norm.
Continue on in my fascination
Suzy Q. smiles
I can see for 1,014 miles.

Take a left at Buffalo
on any give Saturday.
Out Second Avenue
then to the Falls for a view.
Then like a hot rod race bound
roaring down I-190 to downtown
to get a last few beers
feeling no fears.

Goodbye never was completed
Suzy Q. was never mistreated
from all those forty years
I could have wept some tears
When your folks moved on down
to the far side of town.

----------------------------------------------------------



George J Dance

To watch the stillness in moving things:
light, rock, water over rock,
how these have emerged from nothing;
to see the motion within the still,
the future already tensed
within a seed, a mind;
to build and, building, rise
creating from such nothing
the building rising from the rock,
power from water bearing light;
to write in poems of carbon
rising from mind, the word –
“Deus, ecce deus”
– the way these all emerge from nothing,
permanence from void, the logos
still within; now and forever
movement and stillness ascend the spiral,
climb that ancient winding stair,
the fixed point always present, always still
within the ascent;
it is of such things
that our myths are made:

---------------------------------------------------------------

Infatuation Duration
a poem by NancyGene

Cut the fat from infatuation,
set the letters in fat chance
I will look your way with
other than a disdainful glance.

In your inuated mind, if I turned,
you would look away--caught,
fascinated by me and my evident
satisfaction with how my life ought

to be, but still you tell me how lovely
I am, write notes that you love me,
stand, follow, watch, wait, and I
wonder how long before I am set free.


-------------------------------------------------------------------

Stop
by ME

I knew what was wanted before the call
and knew Maker's Mark provided the balls
to even ask.

Tonight marks the end and from afterlife
a bloody sheet will cover that plea
that went silent after my plea to stop.

Robert Burrows
Until obliterated by the light
Darkness is infatuated with dawn


She thinks that she loves the night
But when she opens her eyes it's gone
------------------------------------------------------------

Spending Place
by Dental River


Arcadia was an architecture
left unattended
where wolfpacks used to intersect.
Philosopher, why do we still pay rent?

This has been nobody's but our own
subterfuge,
in the cultivation of veins
sent to battle a forest of fascination.

Why should this world turn one more
corner West?
All efforts run it to ground ever faster,
new gravities cannot lift it afresh.

A window open to God knows what
confesses,
Arcadia was saved in its rags
by the One disinterested in reason.
--------------------------------------------------------------
Long Long Time
by Will Dockery

In my upstairs work area
at the old Jordan Mill
looking out the window
overlooking the river.

I heard the siren blow
I saw the black funnel crossing over
with a howling sound
like "Here comes my train."

The storm was blasting
outside of the second floor.
The dust then circled
and settled on the floor.

The ceiling spun
into chopped hunks
busted at my feet.
Whatever was happening
the chaos was complete.
So I left
and took the future with me.

The winds were huffing
sideways wet air all about,
I sat in the smoking booth
on the second floor looking out.

Shipping through the device
bale after bale
passes through.

On a twelve hour shift
I'd stand and watch them roll past
from one hopper
to the other.

I'd been up and down old Broadway
trying to sell my wares,
while the ladies have no time for me
or for any of my cares.
So I left
and took the future with me.

Te orange of the sun
shined down on the Earth
through black clouds
and more of that sideways rain.
"The Devil's beating his wife."

I adjusted the mechanism
when it became too speedy
or I needed a smoke break
or an elevator haul.

Switching empty carts
for full
or vise versa
postponed to the night.

Near the window where the light was
dust particles sparkled
all that history
what was it worth?

On the assembly line
at the old factory
where I worked for nearly a decade.

Before I jumped the fence
before they chained the gates
each day was basically the same.

The belt was moving fast
I registered,
poured a coffee
and punched a code on the buttons
on that heavy green machine.

Waited for the conveyor belt
to roll down
another bale of cotton.

Shipping through the device
bale after bale
passes through.

On a twelve hour shift
I'd stand and watch them
roll past
from one to the other.

Winter of 1984-85
was a cold one.
Just the mention of those digits
take me back
in fascination
on that dark infatuation
of that era.

Visions of boots
stomping in the mud
the belt was moving fast
moving like it should.

I registered
and poured a coffee
punched a code on the buttons
on that heavy green machine.

First minutes of the year 1985
and we saw Tom Snelling
swung in a Judo move
by a Denny's waitress.

The girl indeed knew her moves
Tom on the carpet
we all laughed with kudos
and took a booth
in the Smoking Section.

Later back at the Mill
as the hours passed
slowly on a graveyard shift
to keep the mechanism moving.

Fascination or discovery
everything was ordered.
Then I left
and took the future with me.

-Will Dockery 1977/2019
Edward Rochester Esq.
2019-12-03 00:52:13 UTC
Permalink
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
Topic Fascination/infatuation
Holding Her Hand
by Edward Rochester Esq.
I watched that delicate hand wither,
little surprise, being severed through bone
and vein.
I only wanted to hold it
and walk through that rose filled
garden of infatuation-
entwine my fingers in hers,
perhaps feel the pulse
coursing that pink palm.
Her hand withdrew as if repulsed
or worse, snatched away from the exposed teeth
of a snarling dog.
Now I hold that hand
encased in a frozen pose,
one finger pointing as if chipped away
from the Sistine Chapel.
-------------------------------------------------------------
To a Wood Nymph
by Edward Rochester Esq.
"Just follow my cry",
was the whisper
and I did, to where deception
was as tall as evergreens,
her stare, starting snowstorms,
her kiss, a Vesuvius rumble.
I was lost at first,
succumbing to tender thoughts,
the path taking me
to those warned about dark places
by others returning from love's thicket;
an army of seekers
all wanting to open the heart,
and protect the weakness
of wood nymphs;
but no butterfly this one,
spitting out souls
after lion gulps,
crushing bone as if a Wolverine.
Beware the cry in the woods,
step lightly over that path
to forever bliss;
beware the whisper.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
Suzy Q. Here Is A Poem For You
by Zod
Long time ago Suzy Q.
when I was infatuated with you.
Carved your name on the park bench with a sigh
across the street from Grand Island High.
How many years I am hard pressed
to make a second guess....
I sip some wine by this camp fire
so I babble as Mike plays his lyre.
I recite this poem
as is the norm.
Continue on in my fascination
Suzy Q. smiles
I can see for 1,014 miles.
Take a left at Buffalo
on any give Saturday.
Out Second Avenue
then to the Falls for a view.
Then like a hot rod race bound
roaring down I-190 to downtown
to get a last few beers
feeling no fears.
Goodbye never was completed
Suzy Q. was never mistreated
from all those forty years
I could have wept some tears
When your folks moved on down
to the far side of town.
----------------------------------------------------------
George J Dance
light, rock, water over rock,
how these have emerged from nothing;
to see the motion within the still,
the future already tensed
within a seed, a mind;
to build and, building, rise
creating from such nothing
the building rising from the rock,
power from water bearing light;
to write in poems of carbon
rising from mind, the word –
“Deus, ecce deus”
– the way these all emerge from nothing,
permanence from void, the logos
still within; now and forever
movement and stillness ascend the spiral,
climb that ancient winding stair,
the fixed point always present, always still
within the ascent;
it is of such things
---------------------------------------------------------------
Infatuation Duration
a poem by NancyGene
Cut the fat from infatuation,
set the letters in fat chance
I will look your way with
other than a disdainful glance.
In your inuated mind, if I turned,
you would look away--caught,
fascinated by me and my evident
satisfaction with how my life ought
to be, but still you tell me how lovely
I am, write notes that you love me,
stand, follow, watch, wait, and I
wonder how long before I am set free.
-------------------------------------------------------------------
Stop
by ME
I knew what was wanted before the call
and knew Maker's Mark provided the balls
to even ask.
Tonight marks the end and from afterlife
a bloody sheet will cover that plea
that went silent after my plea to stop.
Robert Burrows
Until obliterated by the light
Darkness is infatuated with dawn
She thinks that she loves the night
But when she opens her eyes it's gone
------------------------------------------------------------
Spending Place
by Dental River
Arcadia was an architecture
left unattended
where wolfpacks used to intersect.
Philosopher, why do we still pay rent?
This has been nobody's but our own
subterfuge,
in the cultivation of veins
sent to battle a forest of fascination.
Why should this world turn one more
corner West?
All efforts run it to ground ever faster,
new gravities cannot lift it afresh.
A window open to God knows what
confesses,
Arcadia was saved in its rags
by the One disinterested in reason.
--------------------------------------------------------------
Long Long Time
by Will Dockery
In my upstairs work area
at the old Jordan Mill
looking out the window
overlooking the river.
I heard the siren blow
I saw the black funnel crossing over
with a howling sound
like "Here comes my train."
The storm was blasting
outside of the second floor.
The dust then circled
and settled on the floor.
The ceiling spun
into chopped hunks
busted at my feet.
Whatever was happening
the chaos was complete.
So I left
and took the future with me.
The winds were huffing
sideways wet air all about,
I sat in the smoking booth
on the second floor looking out.
Shipping through the device
bale after bale
passes through.
On a twelve hour shift
I'd stand and watch them roll past
from one hopper
to the other.
I'd been up and down old Broadway
trying to sell my wares,
while the ladies have no time for me
or for any of my cares.
So I left
and took the future with me.
Te orange of the sun
shined down on the Earth
through black clouds
and more of that sideways rain.
"The Devil's beating his wife."
I adjusted the mechanism
when it became too speedy
or I needed a smoke break
or an elevator haul.
Switching empty carts
for full
or vise versa
postponed to the night.
Near the window where the light was
dust particles sparkled
all that history
what was it worth?
On the assembly line
at the old factory
where I worked for nearly a decade.
Before I jumped the fence
before they chained the gates
each day was basically the same.
The belt was moving fast
I registered,
poured a coffee
and punched a code on the buttons
on that heavy green machine.
Waited for the conveyor belt
to roll down
another bale of cotton.
Shipping through the device
bale after bale
passes through.
On a twelve hour shift
I'd stand and watch them
roll past
from one to the other.
Winter of 1984-85
was a cold one.
Just the mention of those digits
take me back
in fascination
on that dark infatuation
of that era.
Visions of boots
stomping in the mud
the belt was moving fast
moving like it should.
I registered
and poured a coffee
punched a code on the buttons
on that heavy green machine.
First minutes of the year 1985
and we saw Tom Snelling
swung in a Judo move
by a Denny's waitress.
The girl indeed knew her moves
Tom on the carpet
we all laughed with kudos
and took a booth
in the Smoking Section.
Later back at the Mill
as the hours passed
slowly on a graveyard shift
to keep the mechanism moving.
Fascination or discovery
everything was ordered.
Then I left
and took the future with me.
-Will Dockery 1977/2019
Anyone or poem left off this list, please let me know.
Edward Rochester Esq.
2019-12-03 00:56:10 UTC
Permalink
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
Topic Fascination/infatuation
Holding Her Hand
by Edward Rochester Esq.
I watched that delicate hand wither,
little surprise, being severed through bone
and vein.
I only wanted to hold it
and walk through that rose filled
garden of infatuation-
entwine my fingers in hers,
perhaps feel the pulse
coursing that pink palm.
Her hand withdrew as if repulsed
or worse, snatched away from the exposed teeth
of a snarling dog.
Now I hold that hand
encased in a frozen pose,
one finger pointing as if chipped away
from the Sistine Chapel.
-------------------------------------------------------------
To a Wood Nymph
by Edward Rochester Esq.
"Just follow my cry",
was the whisper
and I did, to where deception
was as tall as evergreens,
her stare, starting snowstorms,
her kiss, a Vesuvius rumble.
I was lost at first,
succumbing to tender thoughts,
the path taking me
to those warned about dark places
by others returning from love's thicket;
an army of seekers
all wanting to open the heart,
and protect the weakness
of wood nymphs;
but no butterfly this one,
spitting out souls
after lion gulps,
crushing bone as if a Wolverine.
Beware the cry in the woods,
step lightly over that path
to forever bliss;
beware the whisper.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
Suzy Q. Here Is A Poem For You
by Zod
Long time ago Suzy Q.
when I was infatuated with you.
Carved your name on the park bench with a sigh
across the street from Grand Island High.
How many years I am hard pressed
to make a second guess....
I sip some wine by this camp fire
so I babble as Mike plays his lyre.
I recite this poem
as is the norm.
Continue on in my fascination
Suzy Q. smiles
I can see for 1,014 miles.
Take a left at Buffalo
on any give Saturday.
Out Second Avenue
then to the Falls for a view.
Then like a hot rod race bound
roaring down I-190 to downtown
to get a last few beers
feeling no fears.
Goodbye never was completed
Suzy Q. was never mistreated
from all those forty years
I could have wept some tears
When your folks moved on down
to the far side of town.
----------------------------------------------------------
George J Dance
light, rock, water over rock,
how these have emerged from nothing;
to see the motion within the still,
the future already tensed
within a seed, a mind;
to build and, building, rise
creating from such nothing
the building rising from the rock,
power from water bearing light;
to write in poems of carbon
rising from mind, the word –
“Deus, ecce deus”
– the way these all emerge from nothing,
permanence from void, the logos
still within; now and forever
movement and stillness ascend the spiral,
climb that ancient winding stair,
the fixed point always present, always still
within the ascent;
it is of such things
---------------------------------------------------------------
Infatuation Duration
a poem by NancyGene
Cut the fat from infatuation,
set the letters in fat chance
I will look your way with
other than a disdainful glance.
In your inuated mind, if I turned,
you would look away--caught,
fascinated by me and my evident
satisfaction with how my life ought
to be, but still you tell me how lovely
I am, write notes that you love me,
stand, follow, watch, wait, and I
wonder how long before I am set free.
-------------------------------------------------------------------
Stop
by ME
I knew what was wanted before the call
and knew Maker's Mark provided the balls
to even ask.
Tonight marks the end and from afterlife
a bloody sheet will cover that plea
that went silent after my plea to stop.
Robert Burrows
Until obliterated by the light
Darkness is infatuated with dawn
She thinks that she loves the night
But when she opens her eyes it's gone
------------------------------------------------------------
Spending Place
by Dental River
Arcadia was an architecture
left unattended
where wolfpacks used to intersect.
Philosopher, why do we still pay rent?
This has been nobody's but our own
subterfuge,
in the cultivation of veins
sent to battle a forest of fascination.
Why should this world turn one more
corner West?
All efforts run it to ground ever faster,
new gravities cannot lift it afresh.
A window open to God knows what
confesses,
Arcadia was saved in its rags
by the One disinterested in reason.
--------------------------------------------------------------
Long Long Time
by Will Dockery
In my upstairs work area
at the old Jordan Mill
looking out the window
overlooking the river.
I heard the siren blow
I saw the black funnel crossing over
with a howling sound
like "Here comes my train."
The storm was blasting
outside of the second floor.
The dust then circled
and settled on the floor.
The ceiling spun
into chopped hunks
busted at my feet.
Whatever was happening
the chaos was complete.
So I left
and took the future with me.
The winds were huffing
sideways wet air all about,
I sat in the smoking booth
on the second floor looking out.
Shipping through the device
bale after bale
passes through.
On a twelve hour shift
I'd stand and watch them roll past
from one hopper
to the other.
I'd been up and down old Broadway
trying to sell my wares,
while the ladies have no time for me
or for any of my cares.
So I left
and took the future with me.
Te orange of the sun
shined down on the Earth
through black clouds
and more of that sideways rain.
"The Devil's beating his wife."
I adjusted the mechanism
when it became too speedy
or I needed a smoke break
or an elevator haul.
Switching empty carts
for full
or vise versa
postponed to the night.
Near the window where the light was
dust particles sparkled
all that history
what was it worth?
On the assembly line
at the old factory
where I worked for nearly a decade.
Before I jumped the fence
before they chained the gates
each day was basically the same.
The belt was moving fast
I registered,
poured a coffee
and punched a code on the buttons
on that heavy green machine.
Waited for the conveyor belt
to roll down
another bale of cotton.
Shipping through the device
bale after bale
passes through.
On a twelve hour shift
I'd stand and watch them
roll past
from one to the other.
Winter of 1984-85
was a cold one.
Just the mention of those digits
take me back
in fascination
on that dark infatuation
of that era.
Visions of boots
stomping in the mud
the belt was moving fast
moving like it should.
I registered
and poured a coffee
punched a code on the buttons
on that heavy green machine.
First minutes of the year 1985
and we saw Tom Snelling
swung in a Judo move
by a Denny's waitress.
The girl indeed knew her moves
Tom on the carpet
we all laughed with kudos
and took a booth
in the Smoking Section.
Later back at the Mill
as the hours passed
slowly on a graveyard shift
to keep the mechanism moving.
Fascination or discovery
everything was ordered.
Then I left
and took the future with me.
-Will Dockery 1977/2019
Anyone or poem left off this list, please let me know.
------------------------------------------------------

Sorry Zod...this was left off...

Escape From The Negative Zone
by Zod

In the Negative Zone
Demon in a bottle
a room full of...

Mirrors.

The glass reflects
skull and crossbones
on negative zone...

Oblivion.

Liquid evil
pour a shot
smiling face
blackout in the...

Zone.

I'm dreaming
of...

Escape from the Negative Zone
From a Demon in a bottle
From a room full of...

Mirrors.
Edward Rochester Esq.
2019-12-03 01:18:27 UTC
Permalink
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
Topic Fascination/infatuation
Holding Her Hand
by Edward Rochester Esq.
I watched that delicate hand wither,
little surprise, being severed through bone
and vein.
I only wanted to hold it
and walk through that rose filled
garden of infatuation-
entwine my fingers in hers,
perhaps feel the pulse
coursing that pink palm.
Her hand withdrew as if repulsed
or worse, snatched away from the exposed teeth
of a snarling dog.
Now I hold that hand
encased in a frozen pose,
one finger pointing as if chipped away
from the Sistine Chapel.
-------------------------------------------------------------
To a Wood Nymph
by Edward Rochester Esq.
"Just follow my cry",
was the whisper
and I did, to where deception
was as tall as evergreens,
her stare, starting snowstorms,
her kiss, a Vesuvius rumble.
I was lost at first,
succumbing to tender thoughts,
the path taking me
to those warned about dark places
by others returning from love's thicket;
an army of seekers
all wanting to open the heart,
and protect the weakness
of wood nymphs;
but no butterfly this one,
spitting out souls
after lion gulps,
crushing bone as if a Wolverine.
Beware the cry in the woods,
step lightly over that path
to forever bliss;
beware the whisper.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
Suzy Q. Here Is A Poem For You
by Zod
Long time ago Suzy Q.
when I was infatuated with you.
Carved your name on the park bench with a sigh
across the street from Grand Island High.
How many years I am hard pressed
to make a second guess....
I sip some wine by this camp fire
so I babble as Mike plays his lyre.
I recite this poem
as is the norm.
Continue on in my fascination
Suzy Q. smiles
I can see for 1,014 miles.
Take a left at Buffalo
on any give Saturday.
Out Second Avenue
then to the Falls for a view.
Then like a hot rod race bound
roaring down I-190 to downtown
to get a last few beers
feeling no fears.
Goodbye never was completed
Suzy Q. was never mistreated
from all those forty years
I could have wept some tears
When your folks moved on down
to the far side of town.
----------------------------------------------------------
George J Dance
light, rock, water over rock,
how these have emerged from nothing;
to see the motion within the still,
the future already tensed
within a seed, a mind;
to build and, building, rise
creating from such nothing
the building rising from the rock,
power from water bearing light;
to write in poems of carbon
rising from mind, the word –
“Deus, ecce deus”
– the way these all emerge from nothing,
permanence from void, the logos
still within; now and forever
movement and stillness ascend the spiral,
climb that ancient winding stair,
the fixed point always present, always still
within the ascent;
it is of such things
---------------------------------------------------------------
Infatuation Duration
a poem by NancyGene
Cut the fat from infatuation,
set the letters in fat chance
I will look your way with
other than a disdainful glance.
In your inuated mind, if I turned,
you would look away--caught,
fascinated by me and my evident
satisfaction with how my life ought
to be, but still you tell me how lovely
I am, write notes that you love me,
stand, follow, watch, wait, and I
wonder how long before I am set free.
-------------------------------------------------------------------
Stop
by ME
I knew what was wanted before the call
and knew Maker's Mark provided the balls
to even ask.
Tonight marks the end and from afterlife
a bloody sheet will cover that plea
that went silent after my plea to stop.
Robert Burrows
Until obliterated by the light
Darkness is infatuated with dawn
She thinks that she loves the night
But when she opens her eyes it's gone
------------------------------------------------------------
Spending Place
by Dental River
Arcadia was an architecture
left unattended
where wolfpacks used to intersect.
Philosopher, why do we still pay rent?
This has been nobody's but our own
subterfuge,
in the cultivation of veins
sent to battle a forest of fascination.
Why should this world turn one more
corner West?
All efforts run it to ground ever faster,
new gravities cannot lift it afresh.
A window open to God knows what
confesses,
Arcadia was saved in its rags
by the One disinterested in reason.
--------------------------------------------------------------
Long Long Time
by Will Dockery
In my upstairs work area
at the old Jordan Mill
looking out the window
overlooking the river.
I heard the siren blow
I saw the black funnel crossing over
with a howling sound
like "Here comes my train."
The storm was blasting
outside of the second floor.
The dust then circled
and settled on the floor.
The ceiling spun
into chopped hunks
busted at my feet.
Whatever was happening
the chaos was complete.
So I left
and took the future with me.
The winds were huffing
sideways wet air all about,
I sat in the smoking booth
on the second floor looking out.
Shipping through the device
bale after bale
passes through.
On a twelve hour shift
I'd stand and watch them roll past
from one hopper
to the other.
I'd been up and down old Broadway
trying to sell my wares,
while the ladies have no time for me
or for any of my cares.
So I left
and took the future with me.
Te orange of the sun
shined down on the Earth
through black clouds
and more of that sideways rain.
"The Devil's beating his wife."
I adjusted the mechanism
when it became too speedy
or I needed a smoke break
or an elevator haul.
Switching empty carts
for full
or vise versa
postponed to the night.
Near the window where the light was
dust particles sparkled
all that history
what was it worth?
On the assembly line
at the old factory
where I worked for nearly a decade.
Before I jumped the fence
before they chained the gates
each day was basically the same.
The belt was moving fast
I registered,
poured a coffee
and punched a code on the buttons
on that heavy green machine.
Waited for the conveyor belt
to roll down
another bale of cotton.
Shipping through the device
bale after bale
passes through.
On a twelve hour shift
I'd stand and watch them
roll past
from one to the other.
Winter of 1984-85
was a cold one.
Just the mention of those digits
take me back
in fascination
on that dark infatuation
of that era.
Visions of boots
stomping in the mud
the belt was moving fast
moving like it should.
I registered
and poured a coffee
punched a code on the buttons
on that heavy green machine.
First minutes of the year 1985
and we saw Tom Snelling
swung in a Judo move
by a Denny's waitress.
The girl indeed knew her moves
Tom on the carpet
we all laughed with kudos
and took a booth
in the Smoking Section.
Later back at the Mill
as the hours passed
slowly on a graveyard shift
to keep the mechanism moving.
Fascination or discovery
everything was ordered.
Then I left
and took the future with me.
-Will Dockery 1977/2019
Anyone or poem left off this list, please let me know.
------------------------------------------------------
Sorry Zod...this was left off...
Escape From The Negative Zone
by Zod
In the Negative Zone
Demon in a bottle
a room full of...
Mirrors.
The glass reflects
skull and crossbones
on negative zone...
Oblivion.
Liquid evil
pour a shot
smiling face
blackout in the...
Zone.
I'm dreaming
of...
Escape from the Negative Zone
From a Demon in a bottle
From a room full of...
Mirrors.
...and Robert Burrows poem is buried under 'Stop' by Me

poor spacing..sorry Robert

Robert Burrows
Until obliterated by the light
Darkness is infatuated with dawn


She thinks that she loves the night
But when she opens her eyes it's gone
General Zod
2019-12-03 20:35:34 UTC
Permalink
Good point, Pendragon....!!
Will Dockery
2019-12-04 17:09:28 UTC
Permalink
Post by ME
Post by Will Dockery
https://groups.google.com/d/msg/alt.arts.poetry.comments/eTyW7IJOJlA/rs9iWrJVCQAJ
Transmission
My mechanism receives
vibes like Morse code signals.
To the rhythm of these messages
Juliette taps her tambourine.
Her eyes
are closed now.
She chants a tune
like a radio to my soul.
Hieroglyphics and haiku
carry the unhappy news.
My mobile gizmo
is a haunted mechanism.
I'm posting this Instagram
like a message in a bottle.
Hearing her melody
in chains of this wild war.
-Will Dockery
Will you be using it (reworked, of course) for another SS?
I don't think I will, but you do know the rules, correct?

https://groups.google.com/d/msg/alt.arts.poetry.comments/eTyW7IJOJlA/BNUa4_QoCQAJ

"3.New poems preferred, old accepted."

HTH & HAND.
Will Dockery
2019-12-04 22:37:58 UTC
Permalink
Thanks for all the scrutiny and feedback on my poem, folks.

;)
General Zod
2019-12-06 23:49:01 UTC
Permalink
As we know, there is no requirement for any of us to comment on anothers poetry unless we so desire.....
Edward Rochester Esq.
2019-12-03 01:03:30 UTC
Permalink
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
Topic Fascination/infatuation
Holding Her Hand
by Edward Rochester Esq.
I watched that delicate hand wither,
little surprise, being severed through bone
and vein.
I only wanted to hold it
and walk through that rose filled
garden of infatuation-
entwine my fingers in hers,
perhaps feel the pulse
coursing that pink palm.
Her hand withdrew as if repulsed
or worse, snatched away from the exposed teeth
of a snarling dog.
Now I hold that hand
encased in a frozen pose,
one finger pointing as if chipped away
from the Sistine Chapel.
-------------------------------------------------------------
To a Wood Nymph
by Edward Rochester Esq.
"Just follow my cry",
was the whisper
and I did, to where deception
was as tall as evergreens,
her stare, starting snowstorms,
her kiss, a Vesuvius rumble.
I was lost at first,
succumbing to tender thoughts,
the path taking me
to those warned about dark places
by others returning from love's thicket;
an army of seekers
all wanting to open the heart,
and protect the weakness
of wood nymphs;
but no butterfly this one,
spitting out souls
after lion gulps,
crushing bone as if a Wolverine.
Beware the cry in the woods,
step lightly over that path
to forever bliss;
beware the whisper.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
Suzy Q. Here Is A Poem For You
by Zod
Long time ago Suzy Q.
when I was infatuated with you.
Carved your name on the park bench with a sigh
across the street from Grand Island High.
How many years I am hard pressed
to make a second guess....
I sip some wine by this camp fire
so I babble as Mike plays his lyre.
I recite this poem
as is the norm.
Continue on in my fascination
Suzy Q. smiles
I can see for 1,014 miles.
Take a left at Buffalo
on any give Saturday.
Out Second Avenue
then to the Falls for a view.
Then like a hot rod race bound
roaring down I-190 to downtown
to get a last few beers
feeling no fears.
Goodbye never was completed
Suzy Q. was never mistreated
from all those forty years
I could have wept some tears
When your folks moved on down
to the far side of town.
----------------------------------------------------------
George J Dance
light, rock, water over rock,
how these have emerged from nothing;
to see the motion within the still,
the future already tensed
within a seed, a mind;
to build and, building, rise
creating from such nothing
the building rising from the rock,
power from water bearing light;
to write in poems of carbon
rising from mind, the word –
“Deus, ecce deus”
– the way these all emerge from nothing,
permanence from void, the logos
still within; now and forever
movement and stillness ascend the spiral,
climb that ancient winding stair,
the fixed point always present, always still
within the ascent;
it is of such things
---------------------------------------------------------------
Infatuation Duration
a poem by NancyGene
Cut the fat from infatuation,
set the letters in fat chance
I will look your way with
other than a disdainful glance.
In your inuated mind, if I turned,
you would look away--caught,
fascinated by me and my evident
satisfaction with how my life ought
to be, but still you tell me how lovely
I am, write notes that you love me,
stand, follow, watch, wait, and I
wonder how long before I am set free.
-------------------------------------------------------------------
Stop
by ME
I knew what was wanted before the call
and knew Maker's Mark provided the balls
to even ask.
Tonight marks the end and from afterlife
a bloody sheet will cover that plea
that went silent after my plea to stop.
------------------------------------------------------------
Robert Burrows
Until obliterated by the light
Darkness is infatuated with dawn
She thinks that she loves the night
But when she opens her eyes it's gone
------------------------------------------------------------
Spending Place
by Dental River
Arcadia was an architecture
left unattended
where wolfpacks used to intersect.
Philosopher, why do we still pay rent?
This has been nobody's but our own
subterfuge,
in the cultivation of veins
sent to battle a forest of fascination.
Why should this world turn one more
corner West?
All efforts run it to ground ever faster,
new gravities cannot lift it afresh.
A window open to God knows what
confesses,
Arcadia was saved in its rags
by the One disinterested in reason.
--------------------------------------------------------------
Long Long Time
by Will Dockery
In my upstairs work area
at the old Jordan Mill
looking out the window
overlooking the river.
I heard the siren blow
I saw the black funnel crossing over
with a howling sound
like "Here comes my train."
The storm was blasting
outside of the second floor.
The dust then circled
and settled on the floor.
The ceiling spun
into chopped hunks
busted at my feet.
Whatever was happening
the chaos was complete.
So I left
and took the future with me.
The winds were huffing
sideways wet air all about,
I sat in the smoking booth
on the second floor looking out.
Shipping through the device
bale after bale
passes through.
On a twelve hour shift
I'd stand and watch them roll past
from one hopper
to the other.
I'd been up and down old Broadway
trying to sell my wares,
while the ladies have no time for me
or for any of my cares.
So I left
and took the future with me.
Te orange of the sun
shined down on the Earth
through black clouds
and more of that sideways rain.
"The Devil's beating his wife."
I adjusted the mechanism
when it became too speedy
or I needed a smoke break
or an elevator haul.
Switching empty carts
for full
or vise versa
postponed to the night.
Near the window where the light was
dust particles sparkled
all that history
what was it worth?
On the assembly line
at the old factory
where I worked for nearly a decade.
Before I jumped the fence
before they chained the gates
each day was basically the same.
The belt was moving fast
I registered,
poured a coffee
and punched a code on the buttons
on that heavy green machine.
Waited for the conveyor belt
to roll down
another bale of cotton.
Shipping through the device
bale after bale
passes through.
On a twelve hour shift
I'd stand and watch them
roll past
from one to the other.
Winter of 1984-85
was a cold one.
Just the mention of those digits
take me back
in fascination
on that dark infatuation
of that era.
Visions of boots
stomping in the mud
the belt was moving fast
moving like it should.
I registered
and poured a coffee
punched a code on the buttons
on that heavy green machine.
First minutes of the year 1985
and we saw Tom Snelling
swung in a Judo move
by a Denny's waitress.
The girl indeed knew her moves
Tom on the carpet
we all laughed with kudos
and took a booth
in the Smoking Section.
Later back at the Mill
as the hours passed
slowly on a graveyard shift
to keep the mechanism moving.
Fascination or discovery
everything was ordered.
Then I left
and took the future with me.
-Will Dockery 1977/2019
Zod The Mighty
2019-12-03 02:27:49 UTC
Permalink
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
Topic Fascination/infatuation
Holding Her Hand
by Edward Rochester Esq.
I watched that delicate hand wither,
little surprise, being severed through bone
and vein.
I only wanted to hold it
and walk through that rose filled
garden of infatuation-
entwine my fingers in hers,
perhaps feel the pulse
coursing that pink palm.
Her hand withdrew as if repulsed
or worse, snatched away from the exposed teeth
of a snarling dog.
Now I hold that hand
encased in a frozen pose,
one finger pointing as if chipped away
from the Sistine Chapel.
-------------------------------------------------------------
To a Wood Nymph
by Edward Rochester Esq.
"Just follow my cry",
was the whisper
and I did, to where deception
was as tall as evergreens,
her stare, starting snowstorms,
her kiss, a Vesuvius rumble.
I was lost at first,
succumbing to tender thoughts,
the path taking me
to those warned about dark places
by others returning from love's thicket;
an army of seekers
all wanting to open the heart,
and protect the weakness
of wood nymphs;
but no butterfly this one,
spitting out souls
after lion gulps,
crushing bone as if a Wolverine.
Beware the cry in the woods,
step lightly over that path
to forever bliss;
beware the whisper.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
Suzy Q. Here Is A Poem For You
by Zod
Long time ago Suzy Q.
when I was infatuated with you.
Carved your name on the park bench with a sigh
across the street from Grand Island High.
How many years I am hard pressed
to make a second guess....
I sip some wine by this camp fire
so I babble as Mike plays his lyre.
I recite this poem
as is the norm.
Continue on in my fascination
Suzy Q. smiles
I can see for 1,014 miles.
Take a left at Buffalo
on any give Saturday.
Out Second Avenue
then to the Falls for a view.
Then like a hot rod race bound
roaring down I-190 to downtown
to get a last few beers
feeling no fears.
Goodbye never was completed
Suzy Q. was never mistreated
from all those forty years
I could have wept some tears
When your folks moved on down
to the far side of town.
----------------------------------------------------------
George J Dance
light, rock, water over rock,
how these have emerged from nothing;
to see the motion within the still,
the future already tensed
within a seed, a mind;
to build and, building, rise
creating from such nothing
the building rising from the rock,
power from water bearing light;
to write in poems of carbon
rising from mind, the word –
“Deus, ecce deus”
– the way these all emerge from nothing,
permanence from void, the logos
still within; now and forever
movement and stillness ascend the spiral,
climb that ancient winding stair,
the fixed point always present, always still
within the ascent;
it is of such things
---------------------------------------------------------------
Infatuation Duration
a poem by NancyGene
Cut the fat from infatuation,
set the letters in fat chance
I will look your way with
other than a disdainful glance.
In your inuated mind, if I turned,
you would look away--caught,
fascinated by me and my evident
satisfaction with how my life ought
to be, but still you tell me how lovely
I am, write notes that you love me,
stand, follow, watch, wait, and I
wonder how long before I am set free.
-------------------------------------------------------------------
Stop
by ME
I knew what was wanted before the call
and knew Maker's Mark provided the balls
to even ask.
Tonight marks the end and from afterlife
a bloody sheet will cover that plea
that went silent after my plea to stop.
Robert Burrows
Until obliterated by the light
Darkness is infatuated with dawn
She thinks that she loves the night
But when she opens her eyes it's gone
------------------------------------------------------------
Spending Place
by Dental River
Arcadia was an architecture
left unattended
where wolfpacks used to intersect.
Philosopher, why do we still pay rent?
This has been nobody's but our own
subterfuge,
in the cultivation of veins
sent to battle a forest of fascination.
Why should this world turn one more
corner West?
All efforts run it to ground ever faster,
new gravities cannot lift it afresh.
A window open to God knows what
confesses,
Arcadia was saved in its rags
by the One disinterested in reason.
--------------------------------------------------------------
Long Long Time
by Will Dockery
In my upstairs work area
at the old Jordan Mill
looking out the window
overlooking the river.
I heard the siren blow
I saw the black funnel crossing over
with a howling sound
like "Here comes my train."
The storm was blasting
outside of the second floor.
The dust then circled
and settled on the floor.
The ceiling spun
into chopped hunks
busted at my feet.
Whatever was happening
the chaos was complete.
So I left
and took the future with me.
The winds were huffing
sideways wet air all about,
I sat in the smoking booth
on the second floor looking out.
Shipping through the device
bale after bale
passes through.
On a twelve hour shift
I'd stand and watch them roll past
from one hopper
to the other.
I'd been up and down old Broadway
trying to sell my wares,
while the ladies have no time for me
or for any of my cares.
So I left
and took the future with me.
Te orange of the sun
shined down on the Earth
through black clouds
and more of that sideways rain.
"The Devil's beating his wife."
I adjusted the mechanism
when it became too speedy
or I needed a smoke break
or an elevator haul.
Switching empty carts
for full
or vise versa
postponed to the night.
Near the window where the light was
dust particles sparkled
all that history
what was it worth?
On the assembly line
at the old factory
where I worked for nearly a decade.
Before I jumped the fence
before they chained the gates
each day was basically the same.
The belt was moving fast
I registered,
poured a coffee
and punched a code on the buttons
on that heavy green machine.
Waited for the conveyor belt
to roll down
another bale of cotton.
Shipping through the device
bale after bale
passes through.
On a twelve hour shift
I'd stand and watch them
roll past
from one to the other.
Winter of 1984-85
was a cold one.
Just the mention of those digits
take me back
in fascination
on that dark infatuation
of that era.
Visions of boots
stomping in the mud
the belt was moving fast
moving like it should.
I registered
and poured a coffee
punched a code on the buttons
on that heavy green machine.
First minutes of the year 1985
and we saw Tom Snelling
swung in a Judo move
by a Denny's waitress.
The girl indeed knew her moves
Tom on the carpet
we all laughed with kudos
and took a booth
in the Smoking Section.
Later back at the Mill
as the hours passed
slowly on a graveyard shift
to keep the mechanism moving.
Fascination or discovery
everything was ordered.
Then I left
and took the future with me.
-Will Dockery 1977/2019
Outstanding collection, Rochester....!!
Michael Pendragon
2019-12-03 04:42:09 UTC
Permalink
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
Topic Fascination/infatuation
Holding Her Hand
by Edward Rochester Esq.
I watched that delicate hand wither,
little surprise, being severed through bone
and vein.
I would make this "vein and bone." Why? Because if you've ever attempted to sever someone's limb, you'll see that you have to cut through the skin, veins and muscle tendons before you reach the bone.
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
I only wanted to hold it
and walk through that rose filled
garden of infatuation-
entwine my fingers in hers,
perhaps feel the pulse
coursing that pink palm.
I suppose this is one of those "modern poetical" effects that everyone uses these days, but old school writers, like myself, prefer the inclusion of adverbs.
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
Her hand withdrew as if repulsed
or worse, snatched away from the exposed teeth
of a snarling dog.
Now I hold that hand
encased in a frozen pose,
one finger pointing as if chipped away
from the Sistine Chapel.
An excellent poem, Mr. Rochester. It's dark, twisted, gruesome, and borderline psychotic -- IOW, just my cup o' tea.
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
-------------------------------------------------------------
To a Wood Nymph
by Edward Rochester Esq.
"Just follow my cry",
was the whisper
and I did, to where deception
was as tall as evergreens,
her stare, starting snowstorms,
her kiss, a Vesuvius rumble.
I was lost at first,
succumbing to tender thoughts,
the path taking me
to those warned about dark places
by others returning from love's thicket;
an army of seekers
all wanting to open the heart,
and protect the weakness
of wood nymphs;
but no butterfly this one,
spitting out souls
after lion gulps,
crushing bone as if a Wolverine.
Beware the cry in the woods,
step lightly over that path
to forever bliss;
beware the whisper.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
Suzy Q. Here Is A Poem For You
by Zod
Long time ago Suzy Q.
when I was infatuated with you.
Carved your name on the park bench with a sigh
across the street from Grand Island High.
How many years I am hard pressed
to make a second guess....
I sip some wine by this camp fire
so I babble as Mike plays his lyre.
I recite this poem
as is the norm.
Continue on in my fascination
Suzy Q. smiles
I can see for 1,014 miles.
Take a left at Buffalo
on any give Saturday.
Out Second Avenue
then to the Falls for a view.
Then like a hot rod race bound
roaring down I-190 to downtown
to get a last few beers
feeling no fears.
Goodbye never was completed
Suzy Q. was never mistreated
from all those forty years
I could have wept some tears
When your folks moved on down
to the far side of town.
----------------------------------------------------------
George J Dance
light, rock, water over rock,
how these have emerged from nothing;
to see the motion within the still,
the future already tensed
within a seed, a mind;
to build and, building, rise
creating from such nothing
the building rising from the rock,
power from water bearing light;
to write in poems of carbon
rising from mind, the word –
“Deus, ecce deus”
– the way these all emerge from nothing,
permanence from void, the logos
still within; now and forever
movement and stillness ascend the spiral,
climb that ancient winding stair,
the fixed point always present, always still
within the ascent;
it is of such things
---------------------------------------------------------------
Infatuation Duration
a poem by NancyGene
Cut the fat from infatuation,
set the letters in fat chance
I will look your way with
other than a disdainful glance.
In your inuated mind, if I turned,
you would look away--caught,
fascinated by me and my evident
satisfaction with how my life ought
to be, but still you tell me how lovely
I am, write notes that you love me,
stand, follow, watch, wait, and I
wonder how long before I am set free.
-------------------------------------------------------------------
Stop
by ME
I knew what was wanted before the call
and knew Maker's Mark provided the balls
to even ask.
Tonight marks the end and from afterlife
a bloody sheet will cover that plea
that went silent after my plea to stop.
Robert Burrows
Until obliterated by the light
Darkness is infatuated with dawn
She thinks that she loves the night
But when she opens her eyes it's gone
------------------------------------------------------------
Spending Place
by Dental River
Arcadia was an architecture
left unattended
where wolfpacks used to intersect.
Philosopher, why do we still pay rent?
This has been nobody's but our own
subterfuge,
in the cultivation of veins
sent to battle a forest of fascination.
Why should this world turn one more
corner West?
All efforts run it to ground ever faster,
new gravities cannot lift it afresh.
A window open to God knows what
confesses,
Arcadia was saved in its rags
by the One disinterested in reason.
--------------------------------------------------------------
Long Long Time
by Will Dockery
In my upstairs work area
at the old Jordan Mill
looking out the window
overlooking the river.
I heard the siren blow
I saw the black funnel crossing over
with a howling sound
like "Here comes my train."
The storm was blasting
outside of the second floor.
The dust then circled
and settled on the floor.
The ceiling spun
into chopped hunks
busted at my feet.
Whatever was happening
the chaos was complete.
So I left
and took the future with me.
The winds were huffing
sideways wet air all about,
I sat in the smoking booth
on the second floor looking out.
Shipping through the device
bale after bale
passes through.
On a twelve hour shift
I'd stand and watch them roll past
from one hopper
to the other.
I'd been up and down old Broadway
trying to sell my wares,
while the ladies have no time for me
or for any of my cares.
So I left
and took the future with me.
Te orange of the sun
shined down on the Earth
through black clouds
and more of that sideways rain.
"The Devil's beating his wife."
I adjusted the mechanism
when it became too speedy
or I needed a smoke break
or an elevator haul.
Switching empty carts
for full
or vise versa
postponed to the night.
Near the window where the light was
dust particles sparkled
all that history
what was it worth?
On the assembly line
at the old factory
where I worked for nearly a decade.
Before I jumped the fence
before they chained the gates
each day was basically the same.
The belt was moving fast
I registered,
poured a coffee
and punched a code on the buttons
on that heavy green machine.
Waited for the conveyor belt
to roll down
another bale of cotton.
Shipping through the device
bale after bale
passes through.
On a twelve hour shift
I'd stand and watch them
roll past
from one to the other.
Winter of 1984-85
was a cold one.
Just the mention of those digits
take me back
in fascination
on that dark infatuation
of that era.
Visions of boots
stomping in the mud
the belt was moving fast
moving like it should.
I registered
and poured a coffee
punched a code on the buttons
on that heavy green machine.
First minutes of the year 1985
and we saw Tom Snelling
swung in a Judo move
by a Denny's waitress.
The girl indeed knew her moves
Tom on the carpet
we all laughed with kudos
and took a booth
in the Smoking Section.
Later back at the Mill
as the hours passed
slowly on a graveyard shift
to keep the mechanism moving.
Fascination or discovery
everything was ordered.
Then I left
and took the future with me.
-Will Dockery 1977/2019
Edward Rochester Esq.
2019-12-03 12:54:32 UTC
Permalink
Post by Michael Pendragon
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
Topic Fascination/infatuation
Holding Her Hand
by Edward Rochester Esq.
I watched that delicate hand wither,
little surprise, being severed through bone
and vein.
I would make this "vein and bone." Why? Because if you've ever attempted to sever someone's limb, you'll see that you have to cut through the skin, veins and muscle tendons before you reach the bone.
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
I only wanted to hold it
and walk through that rose filled
garden of infatuation-
entwine my fingers in hers,
perhaps feel the pulse
coursing that pink palm.
I suppose this is one of those "modern poetical" effects that everyone uses these days, but old school writers, like myself, prefer the inclusion of adverbs.
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
Her hand withdrew as if repulsed
or worse, snatched away from the exposed teeth
of a snarling dog.
Now I hold that hand
encased in a frozen pose,
one finger pointing as if chipped away
from the Sistine Chapel.
An excellent poem, Mr. Rochester. It's dark, twisted, gruesome, and borderline psychotic -- IOW, just my cup o' tea.
Thank you, Michael..surgeon, I'm not, but will keep that in mind should I need a bone saw some day....
Post by Michael Pendragon
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
-------------------------------------------------------------
To a Wood Nymph
by Edward Rochester Esq.
"Just follow my cry",
was the whisper
and I did, to where deception
was as tall as evergreens,
her stare, starting snowstorms,
her kiss, a Vesuvius rumble.
I was lost at first,
succumbing to tender thoughts,
the path taking me
to those warned about dark places
by others returning from love's thicket;
an army of seekers
all wanting to open the heart,
and protect the weakness
of wood nymphs;
but no butterfly this one,
spitting out souls
after lion gulps,
crushing bone as if a Wolverine.
Beware the cry in the woods,
step lightly over that path
to forever bliss;
beware the whisper.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
Suzy Q. Here Is A Poem For You
by Zod
Long time ago Suzy Q.
when I was infatuated with you.
Carved your name on the park bench with a sigh
across the street from Grand Island High.
How many years I am hard pressed
to make a second guess....
I sip some wine by this camp fire
so I babble as Mike plays his lyre.
I recite this poem
as is the norm.
Continue on in my fascination
Suzy Q. smiles
I can see for 1,014 miles.
Take a left at Buffalo
on any give Saturday.
Out Second Avenue
then to the Falls for a view.
Then like a hot rod race bound
roaring down I-190 to downtown
to get a last few beers
feeling no fears.
Goodbye never was completed
Suzy Q. was never mistreated
from all those forty years
I could have wept some tears
When your folks moved on down
to the far side of town.
----------------------------------------------------------
George J Dance
light, rock, water over rock,
how these have emerged from nothing;
to see the motion within the still,
the future already tensed
within a seed, a mind;
to build and, building, rise
creating from such nothing
the building rising from the rock,
power from water bearing light;
to write in poems of carbon
rising from mind, the word –
“Deus, ecce deus”
– the way these all emerge from nothing,
permanence from void, the logos
still within; now and forever
movement and stillness ascend the spiral,
climb that ancient winding stair,
the fixed point always present, always still
within the ascent;
it is of such things
---------------------------------------------------------------
Infatuation Duration
a poem by NancyGene
Cut the fat from infatuation,
set the letters in fat chance
I will look your way with
other than a disdainful glance.
In your inuated mind, if I turned,
you would look away--caught,
fascinated by me and my evident
satisfaction with how my life ought
to be, but still you tell me how lovely
I am, write notes that you love me,
stand, follow, watch, wait, and I
wonder how long before I am set free.
-------------------------------------------------------------------
Stop
by ME
I knew what was wanted before the call
and knew Maker's Mark provided the balls
to even ask.
Tonight marks the end and from afterlife
a bloody sheet will cover that plea
that went silent after my plea to stop.
Robert Burrows
Until obliterated by the light
Darkness is infatuated with dawn
She thinks that she loves the night
But when she opens her eyes it's gone
------------------------------------------------------------
Spending Place
by Dental River
Arcadia was an architecture
left unattended
where wolfpacks used to intersect.
Philosopher, why do we still pay rent?
This has been nobody's but our own
subterfuge,
in the cultivation of veins
sent to battle a forest of fascination.
Why should this world turn one more
corner West?
All efforts run it to ground ever faster,
new gravities cannot lift it afresh.
A window open to God knows what
confesses,
Arcadia was saved in its rags
by the One disinterested in reason.
--------------------------------------------------------------
Long Long Time
by Will Dockery
In my upstairs work area
at the old Jordan Mill
looking out the window
overlooking the river.
I heard the siren blow
I saw the black funnel crossing over
with a howling sound
like "Here comes my train."
The storm was blasting
outside of the second floor.
The dust then circled
and settled on the floor.
The ceiling spun
into chopped hunks
busted at my feet.
Whatever was happening
the chaos was complete.
So I left
and took the future with me.
The winds were huffing
sideways wet air all about,
I sat in the smoking booth
on the second floor looking out.
Shipping through the device
bale after bale
passes through.
On a twelve hour shift
I'd stand and watch them roll past
from one hopper
to the other.
I'd been up and down old Broadway
trying to sell my wares,
while the ladies have no time for me
or for any of my cares.
So I left
and took the future with me.
Te orange of the sun
shined down on the Earth
through black clouds
and more of that sideways rain.
"The Devil's beating his wife."
I adjusted the mechanism
when it became too speedy
or I needed a smoke break
or an elevator haul.
Switching empty carts
for full
or vise versa
postponed to the night.
Near the window where the light was
dust particles sparkled
all that history
what was it worth?
On the assembly line
at the old factory
where I worked for nearly a decade.
Before I jumped the fence
before they chained the gates
each day was basically the same.
The belt was moving fast
I registered,
poured a coffee
and punched a code on the buttons
on that heavy green machine.
Waited for the conveyor belt
to roll down
another bale of cotton.
Shipping through the device
bale after bale
passes through.
On a twelve hour shift
I'd stand and watch them
roll past
from one to the other.
Winter of 1984-85
was a cold one.
Just the mention of those digits
take me back
in fascination
on that dark infatuation
of that era.
Visions of boots
stomping in the mud
the belt was moving fast
moving like it should.
I registered
and poured a coffee
punched a code on the buttons
on that heavy green machine.
First minutes of the year 1985
and we saw Tom Snelling
swung in a Judo move
by a Denny's waitress.
The girl indeed knew her moves
Tom on the carpet
we all laughed with kudos
and took a booth
in the Smoking Section.
Later back at the Mill
as the hours passed
slowly on a graveyard shift
to keep the mechanism moving.
Fascination or discovery
everything was ordered.
Then I left
and took the future with me.
-Will Dockery 1977/2019
NancyGene
2019-12-03 13:06:35 UTC
Permalink
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
Post by Michael Pendragon
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
Topic Fascination/infatuation
Holding Her Hand
by Edward Rochester Esq.
I watched that delicate hand wither,
little surprise, being severed through bone
and vein.
I would make this "vein and bone." Why? Because if you've ever attempted to sever someone's limb, you'll see that you have to cut through the skin, veins and muscle tendons before you reach the bone.
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
I only wanted to hold it
and walk through that rose filled
garden of infatuation-
entwine my fingers in hers,
perhaps feel the pulse
coursing that pink palm.
I suppose this is one of those "modern poetical" effects that everyone uses these days, but old school writers, like myself, prefer the inclusion of adverbs.
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
Her hand withdrew as if repulsed
or worse, snatched away from the exposed teeth
of a snarling dog.
Now I hold that hand
encased in a frozen pose,
one finger pointing as if chipped away
from the Sistine Chapel.
An excellent poem, Mr. Rochester. It's dark, twisted, gruesome, and borderline psychotic -- IOW, just my cup o' tea.
Thank you, Michael..surgeon, I'm not, but will keep that in mind should I need a bone saw some day....
Should we discuss which finger was pointing and the significance of that?
Edward Rochester Esq.
2019-12-03 13:08:57 UTC
Permalink
Post by NancyGene
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
Post by Michael Pendragon
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
Topic Fascination/infatuation
Holding Her Hand
by Edward Rochester Esq.
I watched that delicate hand wither,
little surprise, being severed through bone
and vein.
I would make this "vein and bone." Why? Because if you've ever attempted to sever someone's limb, you'll see that you have to cut through the skin, veins and muscle tendons before you reach the bone.
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
I only wanted to hold it
and walk through that rose filled
garden of infatuation-
entwine my fingers in hers,
perhaps feel the pulse
coursing that pink palm.
I suppose this is one of those "modern poetical" effects that everyone uses these days, but old school writers, like myself, prefer the inclusion of adverbs.
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
Her hand withdrew as if repulsed
or worse, snatched away from the exposed teeth
of a snarling dog.
Now I hold that hand
encased in a frozen pose,
one finger pointing as if chipped away
from the Sistine Chapel.
An excellent poem, Mr. Rochester. It's dark, twisted, gruesome, and borderline psychotic -- IOW, just my cup o' tea.
Thank you, Michael..surgeon, I'm not, but will keep that in mind should I need a bone saw some day....
Should we discuss which finger was pointing and the significance of that?
By all means.
NancyGene
2019-12-03 13:54:46 UTC
Permalink
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
Post by NancyGene
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
Post by Michael Pendragon
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
Topic Fascination/infatuation
Holding Her Hand
by Edward Rochester Esq.
I watched that delicate hand wither,
little surprise, being severed through bone
and vein.
I would make this "vein and bone." Why? Because if you've ever attempted to sever someone's limb, you'll see that you have to cut through the skin, veins and muscle tendons before you reach the bone.
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
I only wanted to hold it
and walk through that rose filled
garden of infatuation-
entwine my fingers in hers,
perhaps feel the pulse
coursing that pink palm.
I suppose this is one of those "modern poetical" effects that everyone uses these days, but old school writers, like myself, prefer the inclusion of adverbs.
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
Her hand withdrew as if repulsed
or worse, snatched away from the exposed teeth
of a snarling dog.
Now I hold that hand
encased in a frozen pose,
one finger pointing as if chipped away
from the Sistine Chapel.
An excellent poem, Mr. Rochester. It's dark, twisted, gruesome, and borderline psychotic -- IOW, just my cup o' tea.
Thank you, Michael..surgeon, I'm not, but will keep that in mind should I need a bone saw some day....
Should we discuss which finger was pointing and the significance of that?
By all means.
Loading Image...
Edward Rochester Esq.
2019-12-03 14:06:42 UTC
Permalink
Post by NancyGene
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
Post by NancyGene
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
Post by Michael Pendragon
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
Topic Fascination/infatuation
Holding Her Hand
by Edward Rochester Esq.
I watched that delicate hand wither,
little surprise, being severed through bone
and vein.
I would make this "vein and bone." Why? Because if you've ever attempted to sever someone's limb, you'll see that you have to cut through the skin, veins and muscle tendons before you reach the bone.
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
I only wanted to hold it
and walk through that rose filled
garden of infatuation-
entwine my fingers in hers,
perhaps feel the pulse
coursing that pink palm.
I suppose this is one of those "modern poetical" effects that everyone uses these days, but old school writers, like myself, prefer the inclusion of adverbs.
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
Her hand withdrew as if repulsed
or worse, snatched away from the exposed teeth
of a snarling dog.
Now I hold that hand
encased in a frozen pose,
one finger pointing as if chipped away
from the Sistine Chapel.
An excellent poem, Mr. Rochester. It's dark, twisted, gruesome, and borderline psychotic -- IOW, just my cup o' tea.
Thank you, Michael..surgeon, I'm not, but will keep that in mind should I need a bone saw some day....
Should we discuss which finger was pointing and the significance of that?
By all means.
http://dont-tread-on.me/wp-content/uploads/2011/12/LastGreatActOfDefiance-1.gif
That covers it quite nicely...the mouse that roared (good movie Jordy)
Michael Pendragon
2019-12-03 14:10:00 UTC
Permalink
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
Topic Fascination/infatuation
To a Wood Nymph
by Edward Rochester Esq.
"Just follow my cry",
was the whisper
A "cry" would be more of a shout than a whisper.

But even allowing for the differences in volume, both are vocal utterances and therefore somewhat redundant.

IOW there are plenty of *other* things for the dryad to instruct the speaker to follow than her voice; from the obvious (footsteps) to the romantic (heartbeat) to the sublime (spiderthreads). Let your imagination run wild.
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
and I did, to where deception
was as tall as evergreens,
This is a wonderfully poetic turn of phrase.
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
her stare, starting snowstorms,
her kiss, a Vesuvius rumble.
Technically, Vesuvian -- Vesuvius is one of those not-quite-correct modern affectations that are acceptable, but that I just hear as being wrong.
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
I was lost at first,
succumbing to tender thoughts,
I'm lost as well. Lost before succumbing to tender thoughts? Or lost because of having succumbed to tender thoughts.

The problem here is due to the "at first." This implies that while the speaker started out lost, he later found his way back.

From the remainder of the poem, I think what you mean to say is that he "was lost from the start." This implies that there was no going back for him. He took one look at the wood nymph (uncharacteristically doubling as a siren) and he was a goner.
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
the path taking me
to those warned about dark places
by others returning from love's thicket;
The idea of love as a thicket isn't bad (though I'd prefer a bramble patch), but the line itself feels awkward. I suppose it's because one would assume those issuing such warnings to have some firsthand knowledge of which they speak.

However, this also implies that this "Belle Dame sans Merci" let's her victims off with no more damage than a broken heart. She's less of a siren than a coquette.
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
an army of seekers
all wanting to open the heart,
and protect the weakness
of wood nymphs;
Do nymphs need protection from mortals?
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
but no butterfly this one,
spitting out souls
after lion gulps,
crushing bone as if a Wolverine.
Butterfly, lion and Wolverine (why the cap?)... in the interest of keeping one's metaphors from cross breeding, it's best to decide on a single metaphorical beast and to stick with it.
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
Beware the cry in the woods,
step lightly over that path
to forever bliss;
beware the whisper.
A sadder, but a wiser man, the speaker comes back to tell his warning tale:

"Ask any fool that she ever knew, they's say/Keep away from Runaround Sue."

It's not a bad effort (lines 3 and 4 almost justify it), but siren songs are a dime a dozen; and as femme fatales go, this nymph is pretty tame.
Edward Rochester Esq.
2019-12-03 14:25:39 UTC
Permalink
Post by Michael Pendragon
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
Topic Fascination/infatuation
To a Wood Nymph
by Edward Rochester Esq.
"Just follow my cry",
was the whisper
A "cry" would be more of a shout than a whisper.
But even allowing for the differences in volume, both are vocal utterances and therefore somewhat redundant.
IOW there are plenty of *other* things for the dryad to instruct the speaker to follow than her voice; from the obvious (footsteps) to the romantic (heartbeat) to the sublime (spiderthreads). Let your imagination run wild.
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
and I did, to where deception
was as tall as evergreens,
This is a wonderfully poetic turn of phrase.
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
her stare, starting snowstorms,
her kiss, a Vesuvius rumble.
Technically, Vesuvian -- Vesuvius is one of those not-quite-correct modern affectations that are acceptable, but that I just hear as being wrong.
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
I was lost at first,
succumbing to tender thoughts,
I'm lost as well. Lost before succumbing to tender thoughts? Or lost because of having succumbed to tender thoughts.
The problem here is due to the "at first." This implies that while the speaker started out lost, he later found his way back.
From the remainder of the poem, I think what you mean to say is that he "was lost from the start." This implies that there was no going back for him. He took one look at the wood nymph (uncharacteristically doubling as a siren) and he was a goner.
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
the path taking me
to those warned about dark places
by others returning from love's thicket;
The idea of love as a thicket isn't bad (though I'd prefer a bramble patch), but the line itself feels awkward. I suppose it's because one would assume those issuing such warnings to have some firsthand knowledge of which they speak.
However, this also implies that this "Belle Dame sans Merci" let's her victims off with no more damage than a broken heart. She's less of a siren than a coquette.
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
an army of seekers
all wanting to open the heart,
and protect the weakness
of wood nymphs;
Do nymphs need protection from mortals?
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
but no butterfly this one,
spitting out souls
after lion gulps,
crushing bone as if a Wolverine.
Butterfly, lion and Wolverine (why the cap?)... in the interest of keeping one's metaphors from cross breeding, it's best to decide on a single metaphorical beast and to stick with it.
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
Beware the cry in the woods,
step lightly over that path
to forever bliss;
beware the whisper.
"Ask any fool that she ever knew, they's say/Keep away from Runaround Sue."
It's not a bad effort (lines 3 and 4 almost justify it), but siren songs are a dime a dozen; and as femme fatales go, this nymph is pretty tame.
Did you know, I purposely write bad to test your in depth critiques....:-)

Thanks Michael.
Z***@none.i2p
2019-12-03 16:52:15 UTC
Permalink
Edward Rochester Esq. wrote on Tue, 03 December 2019 14:25
Did you know, I purposely write bad to test your in depth critiques....:)
Thanks Michael.
Ha ha ha....'

Pen does give good crits.........
Michael Pendragon
2019-12-03 15:07:54 UTC
Permalink
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
Topic Fascination/infatuation
Suzy Q. Here Is A Poem For You
by Zod
Long time ago Suzy Q.
when I was infatuated with you.
This is not a sentence.

A sentence needs both a subject and a verb. "I" is the subject. I needs to do something. For example:

"A long time ago, when I was infatuated with you, I carved your name on a bench.

This is a sentence because "I (subject) carved (verb) your name."
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
Carved your name on the park bench with a sigh
across the street from Grand Island High.
How many years I am hard pressed
to make a second guess....
When one has to force "moon-June-spoon" var. rhymes, one would be wise to stick with non-rhymed, unmetered free verse.
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
I sip some wine by this camp fire
so I babble as Mike plays his lyre.
Lyre? Lyres went out of fashion several thousand years ago. And even if they hadn't, who plays a lyre around a campfire?

Of course this could be a symbolic reference to AAPC, with the author babbling while Michael P. pours forth his Orphic lyrics... but, flattering as this might be, I prefer to pick which poems to be associated with.
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
I recite this poem
as is the norm.
Continue on in my fascination
"Poem" and "norm" don't rhyme -- and even allowing for a near-rhyme, whatever became of "fascination"s mate?

Is the recitation separate from the babbling?

And why is babbling/reciting poetry "the norm"?

When one has to force near-rhymes it's a sign that one should stick to non-rhymed, unmetered free verse.
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
Suzy Q. smiles
I can see for 1,014 miles.
Is here mouth a telescope?
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
Take a left at Buffalo
on any give Saturday.
"Buffalo" and "Saturday" don't even make for a near-rhyme.
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
Out Second Avenue
then to the Falls for a view.
This set of directions should be expressed in a single sentence (separated by semicolons), rather than as a pair of sentence fragments.
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
Then like a hot rod race bound
roaring down I-190 to downtown
When one needs to resort to inversion for a "moon-June-spoon" pair of rhymes, it's a clear sign that one should limit his labors to non-rhymed, unmetered free verse.

Roaring down to downtown is redundant.
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
to get a last few beers
feeling no fears.
A few lines ago, the speaker was swigging wine. Don't mix metaphors or wine and beer.

PS -- As written, the speaker is racing downtown to alleviate the fears of the last few bottles in his six-pack.

In fact, at this point the "narrative" makes no sense whatsoever:

The speaker reminds his old high school sweetheart, Suzy Q, that he'd once carved her name on a bench. Too many years to count have past since then, and it is unclear whether the speaker is addressing Suzy Q directly, or merely reminiscing aloud about an old flame.

The speaker, apparently in the present day, spends each of his nights babbling poetry by a campfire while a camper named "Mike" accompanies him on a 3,000-year old greek instrument. When Suzy Q (who may just be a memory at this point) smiles, he can see all the way back to his youth in Buffalo.

And what does he see when Suzy Q's remembered smile whisks his thoughts back to the past? He sees himself racing to the liquor store to buy another six-pack of Bud Light.
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
Goodbye never was completed
Suzy Q. was never mistreated
from all those forty years
I could have wept some tears
When your folks moved on down
to the far side of town.
Apparently, while the speaker was off on a late night beer run, Suzy Q's parents packed her up and stole away like Arabs in the night. And where did they take his beloved Suzy Q to? The dreaded far side of town.

The speaker can fearlessly barrel down I-190 to replenish his beer supply on any given Saturday, but God forbid he drive to the far side of town!

But hey, at least he'd never mistreated the girl. :-)

Since this week's Sunday Sampler topic is "fascination/infatuation," I'm assuming that this poem was intended to represent the speaker's ongoing infatuation with his long-lost high school sweetheart. However, the poem seems to be more about a wine-drunk old man babbling about how he'd make a weekly Saturday night beer run in his younger days.

Some poets (myself included) write our poetry extemporaneously. Other poets plot their narrative out in an Outline format beforehand. I suggest that the author of this poem adopt the latter practice.

In general, the following set of rules might prove helpful in creating an Outline:

1) Figure out what you want to say.
2) Set the scene.
3) Introduce the main characters
4) Plot out the storyline.
5) Write the conclusion.

In this case we have:

1) Infatuation can live on long after its object has been removed from one's life.
2) A sixty-year old hobo in Georgia reminisces about his high school sweetheart in Buffalo, NY.
3) The hobo/young lover and Suzy Q (the girl he loves).
4) Recall highlights of the romance: carving her name on a bench, eating tacos with spotted sauce on 5-for-a-dollar night, making out in the school cafeteria, etc. Finish with Suzy Q's moving away.
5) The present day speaker observes the poem's premise: Infatuation can live on long after its object has been removed from one's life.

With a little (okay, a bucket load) of luck, this might begin to resemble a workable pastiche of campy failed teen romance songs from the early 60s.
Z***@none.i2p
2019-12-03 17:00:30 UTC
Permalink
Michael Pendragon wrote on Tue, 03 December 2019 15:07
Post by Michael Pendragon
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
Topic Fascination/infatuation
Suzy Q. Here Is A Poem For You
by Zod
Long time ago Suzy Q.
when I was infatuated with you.
This is not a sentence.
"A long time ago, when I was infatuated with you, I carved your name on a bench.
This is a sentence because "I (subject) carved (verb) your name."
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
Carved your name on the park bench with a sigh
across the street from Grand Island High.
How many years I am hard pressed
to make a second guess....
When one has to force "moon-June-spoon" var. rhymes, one would be wise to stick with non-rhymed, unmetered free verse.
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
I sip some wine by this camp fire
so I babble as Mike plays his lyre.
Lyre? Lyres went out of fashion several thousand years ago. And even if they hadn't, who plays a lyre around a campfire?
Of course this could be a symbolic reference to AAPC, with the author babbling while Michael P. pours forth his Orphic lyrics... but, flattering as this might be, I prefer to pick which poems to be associated with.
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
I recite this poem
as is the norm.
Continue on in my fascination
"Poem" and "norm" don't rhyme -- and even allowing for a near-rhyme, whatever became of "fascination"s mate?
Is the recitation separate from the babbling?
And why is babbling/reciting poetry "the norm"?
When one has to force near-rhymes it's a sign that one should stick to non-rhymed, unmetered free verse.
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
Suzy Q. smiles
I can see for 1,014 miles.
Is here mouth a telescope?
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
Take a left at Buffalo
on any give Saturday.
"Buffalo" and "Saturday" don't even make for a near-rhyme.
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
Out Second Avenue
then to the Falls for a view.
This set of directions should be expressed in a single sentence (separated by semicolons), rather than as a pair of sentence fragments.
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
Then like a hot rod race bound
roaring down I-190 to downtown
When one needs to resort to inversion for a "moon-June-spoon" pair of rhymes, it's a clear sign that one should limit his labors to non-rhymed, unmetered free verse.
Roaring down to downtown is redundant.
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
to get a last few beers
feeling no fears.
A few lines ago, the speaker was swigging wine. Don't mix metaphors or wine and beer.
PS -- As written, the speaker is racing downtown to alleviate the fears of the last few bottles in his six-pack.
The speaker reminds his old high school sweetheart, Suzy Q, that he'd once carved her name on a bench. Too many years to count have past since then, and it is unclear whether the speaker is addressing Suzy Q directly, or merely reminiscing aloud about an old flame.
The speaker, apparently in the present day, spends each of his nights babbling poetry by a campfire while a camper named "Mike" accompanies him on a 3,000-year old greek instrument. When Suzy Q (who may just be a memory at this point) smiles, he can see all the way back to his youth in Buffalo.
And what does he see when Suzy Q's remembered smile whisks his thoughts back to the past? He sees himself racing to the liquor store to buy another six-pack of Bud Light.
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
Goodbye never was completed
Suzy Q. was never mistreated
from all those forty years
I could have wept some tears
When your folks moved on down
to the far side of town.
Apparently, while the speaker was off on a late night beer run, Suzy Q's parents packed her up and stole away like Arabs in the night. And where did they take his beloved Suzy Q to? The dreaded far side of town.
The speaker can fearlessly barrel down I-190 to replenish his beer supply on any given Saturday, but God forbid he drive to the far side of town!
But hey, at least he'd never mistreated the girl. :)
Since this week's Sunday Sampler topic is "fascination/infatuation," I'm assuming that this poem was intended to represent the speaker's ongoing infatuation with his long-lost high school sweetheart. However, the poem seems to be more about a wine-drunk old man babbling about how he'd make a weekly Saturday night beer run in his younger days.
Some poets (myself included) write our poetry extemporaneously. Other poets plot their narrative out in an Outline format beforehand. I suggest that the author of this poem adopt the latter practice.
1) Figure out what you want to say.
2) Set the scene.
3) Introduce the main characters
4) Plot out the storyline.
5) Write the conclusion.
1) Infatuation can live on long after its object has been removed from one's life.
2) A sixty-year old hobo in Georgia reminisces about his high school sweetheart in Buffalo, NY.
3) The hobo/young lover and Suzy Q (the girl he loves).
4) Recall highlights of the romance: carving her name on a bench, eating tacos with spotted sauce on 5-for-a-dollar night, making out in the school cafeteria, etc. Finish with Suzy Q's moving away.
5) The present day speaker observes the poem's premise: Infatuation can live on long after its object has been removed from one's life.
With a little (okay, a bucket load) of luck, this might begin to resemble a workable pastiche of campy failed teen romance songs from the early 60s.
I thank thee, Pendragon, for thy read and comments....!!
NancyGene
2019-12-05 00:13:29 UTC
Permalink
Post by Michael Pendragon
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
Topic Fascination/infatuation
Suzy Q. Here Is A Poem For You
by Zod
Long time ago Suzy Q.
when I was infatuated with you.
This is not a sentence.
"A long time ago, when I was infatuated with you, I carved your name on a bench.
This is a sentence because "I (subject) carved (verb) your name."
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
Carved your name on the park bench with a sigh
across the street from Grand Island High.
How many years I am hard pressed
to make a second guess....
When one has to force "moon-June-spoon" var. rhymes, one would be wise to stick with non-rhymed, unmetered free verse.
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
I sip some wine by this camp fire
so I babble as Mike plays his lyre.
Lyre? Lyres went out of fashion several thousand years ago. And even if they hadn't, who plays a lyre around a campfire?
Of course this could be a symbolic reference to AAPC, with the author babbling while Michael P. pours forth his Orphic lyrics... but, flattering as this might be, I prefer to pick which poems to be associated with.
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
I recite this poem
as is the norm.
Continue on in my fascination
"Poem" and "norm" don't rhyme -- and even allowing for a near-rhyme, whatever became of "fascination"s mate?
Is the recitation separate from the babbling?
And why is babbling/reciting poetry "the norm"?
When one has to force near-rhymes it's a sign that one should stick to non-rhymed, unmetered free verse.
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
Suzy Q. smiles
I can see for 1,014 miles.
Is here mouth a telescope?
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
Take a left at Buffalo
on any give Saturday.
"Buffalo" and "Saturday" don't even make for a near-rhyme.
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
Out Second Avenue
then to the Falls for a view.
This set of directions should be expressed in a single sentence (separated by semicolons), rather than as a pair of sentence fragments.
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
Then like a hot rod race bound
roaring down I-190 to downtown
When one needs to resort to inversion for a "moon-June-spoon" pair of rhymes, it's a clear sign that one should limit his labors to non-rhymed, unmetered free verse.
Roaring down to downtown is redundant.
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
to get a last few beers
feeling no fears.
A few lines ago, the speaker was swigging wine. Don't mix metaphors or wine and beer.
PS -- As written, the speaker is racing downtown to alleviate the fears of the last few bottles in his six-pack.
The speaker reminds his old high school sweetheart, Suzy Q, that he'd once carved her name on a bench. Too many years to count have past since then, and it is unclear whether the speaker is addressing Suzy Q directly, or merely reminiscing aloud about an old flame.
The speaker, apparently in the present day, spends each of his nights babbling poetry by a campfire while a camper named "Mike" accompanies him on a 3,000-year old greek instrument. When Suzy Q (who may just be a memory at this point) smiles, he can see all the way back to his youth in Buffalo.
And what does he see when Suzy Q's remembered smile whisks his thoughts back to the past? He sees himself racing to the liquor store to buy another six-pack of Bud Light.
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
Goodbye never was completed
Suzy Q. was never mistreated
from all those forty years
I could have wept some tears
When your folks moved on down
to the far side of town.
Apparently, while the speaker was off on a late night beer run, Suzy Q's parents packed her up and stole away like Arabs in the night. And where did they take his beloved Suzy Q to? The dreaded far side of town.
The speaker can fearlessly barrel down I-190 to replenish his beer supply on any given Saturday, but God forbid he drive to the far side of town!
But hey, at least he'd never mistreated the girl. :-)
Since this week's Sunday Sampler topic is "fascination/infatuation," I'm assuming that this poem was intended to represent the speaker's ongoing infatuation with his long-lost high school sweetheart. However, the poem seems to be more about a wine-drunk old man babbling about how he'd make a weekly Saturday night beer run in his younger days.
Some poets (myself included) write our poetry extemporaneously. Other poets plot their narrative out in an Outline format beforehand. I suggest that the author of this poem adopt the latter practice.
1) Figure out what you want to say.
2) Set the scene.
3) Introduce the main characters
4) Plot out the storyline.
5) Write the conclusion.
1) Infatuation can live on long after its object has been removed from one's life.
2) A sixty-year old hobo in Georgia reminisces about his high school sweetheart in Buffalo, NY.
3) The hobo/young lover and Suzy Q (the girl he loves).
4) Recall highlights of the romance: carving her name on a bench, eating tacos with spotted sauce on 5-for-a-dollar night, making out in the school cafeteria, etc. Finish with Suzy Q's moving away.
5) The present day speaker observes the poem's premise: Infatuation can live on long after its object has been removed from one's life.
With a little (okay, a bucket load) of luck, this might begin to resemble a workable pastiche of campy failed teen romance songs from the early 60s.
-----
Post by Michael Pendragon
Suzy Q. Here Is A Poem For You
by Zod
We assumed when we saw the title that the poem would have something to do with the song “Suzie Q” (various editions). We were wrong. Did her last name start with Q or was that a nickname? If so, why?
Post by Michael Pendragon
Long time ago Suzy Q.
when I was infatuated with you.
As Michael pointed out, you have a sentence fragment and are missing the beginning “A.” This is an instance where you should have left out the punctuation if you were not sure of it. At least without the period, it would flow into the other line, which for some reason is missing an “I” – an example of the “Economy of Articles and Pronouns” school of writing.
Post by Michael Pendragon
Carved your name on the park bench with a sigh
If you had inserted “I” at the beginning, it would have rhymed with “sigh.” That still wouldn’t have been a good line, but it would have eliminated the poetry shorthand. How sharp are sighs as carving tools?
Post by Michael Pendragon
across the street from Grand Island High.
I, high and sigh would be okay on a greeting card, but not in a good poem.
Post by Michael Pendragon
How many years I am hard pressed
to make a second guess....
You have two clichés in this one sentence fragment. We can see that you are trying to rhyme pressed with guess, but second guess doesn’t work with this line of thought, since what was your first guess? If you are second guessing your actions of 40 years ago, there is no indication of that in your poem.
Post by Michael Pendragon
I sip some wine by this camp fire
so I babble as Mike plays his lyre.
Why is it “this” camp fire and not “the” campfire or “that” campfire? We also question the use of a lyre, since those are not easy to come by and where does one take lyre lessons?
Post by Michael Pendragon
I recite this poem
as is the norm.
How many times do you recite this same poem? It this the norm for you or the norm for people around the campfire?
Post by Michael Pendragon
Continue on in my fascination
Suzy Q. smiles
I can see for 1,014 miles.
“Smiles” and “miles” – grrr. Between “fascination” and “Suzy Q,” you could have put in “as” or “for the” or even just “with” to have the fragment make better sense.” The use of the exact number of miles between Buffalo and Phenix City is clunky. You should have rounded it to 1000 miles and called it a trip.
Post by Michael Pendragon
Take a left at Buffalo
on any given Saturday.
Out Second Avenue
then to the Falls for a view.
What does this have to do with Suzie Q. or the park bench? Again, you have two sentence fragments.
Post by Michael Pendragon
Then like a hot rod race bound
roaring down I-190 to downtown
to get a last few beers
feeling no fears.
Your rhyme of beers and fears is too simplistic. You could have inserted a "Leader of the Pack" death scene, and Suzie Q. could have emoted.
Post by Michael Pendragon
Goodbye never was completed
Suzy Q. was never mistreated
We actually know nothing about Suzy Q. from your poem. Carvus interruptus?
Post by Michael Pendragon
from all those forty years
You would have been 20 years old and not in high school. Do you have two years missing from your life? The Days of Wine and Suzies? The Lost Weak End?
Post by Michael Pendragon
I could have wept some tears
When your folks moved on down
to the far side of town.
How many tears are “some” tears?
“So welcome back baby
To the poor side of town”

As Michael said, the poem drifts around, never really making a point about anything. If we were Suzie Q., we would say, “What does this poem have to do with me?” You didn’t explain your fascination with her at all, and it was more of a travelogue around Buffalo. We didn’t get the feeling of time standing still from the poem. Even a bad poem would have revisited the bench. Maybe she died on the bench or now lives on the bench?

You should try to write in a different style, if only being sure to have a subject and verb in each line. Try to get away from the 3-4 word lines and expand your thoughts with descriptive words. Michael has given you valuable tips, and if you are reading poetry as much as you say you are, you should see that the best poets do not write poems in the style you are using.
General Zod
2019-12-05 01:20:55 UTC
Permalink
Post by NancyGene
Post by Michael Pendragon
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
Topic Fascination/infatuation
Suzy Q. Here Is A Poem For You
by Zod
Long time ago Suzy Q.
when I was infatuated with you.
This is not a sentence.
"A long time ago, when I was infatuated with you, I carved your name on a bench.
This is a sentence because "I (subject) carved (verb) your name."
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
Carved your name on the park bench with a sigh
across the street from Grand Island High.
How many years I am hard pressed
to make a second guess....
When one has to force "moon-June-spoon" var. rhymes, one would be wise to stick with non-rhymed, unmetered free verse.
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
I sip some wine by this camp fire
so I babble as Mike plays his lyre.
Lyre? Lyres went out of fashion several thousand years ago. And even if they hadn't, who plays a lyre around a campfire?
Of course this could be a symbolic reference to AAPC, with the author babbling while Michael P. pours forth his Orphic lyrics... but, flattering as this might be, I prefer to pick which poems to be associated with.
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
I recite this poem
as is the norm.
Continue on in my fascination
"Poem" and "norm" don't rhyme -- and even allowing for a near-rhyme, whatever became of "fascination"s mate?
Is the recitation separate from the babbling?
And why is babbling/reciting poetry "the norm"?
When one has to force near-rhymes it's a sign that one should stick to non-rhymed, unmetered free verse.
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
Suzy Q. smiles
I can see for 1,014 miles.
Is here mouth a telescope?
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
Take a left at Buffalo
on any give Saturday.
"Buffalo" and "Saturday" don't even make for a near-rhyme.
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
Out Second Avenue
then to the Falls for a view.
This set of directions should be expressed in a single sentence (separated by semicolons), rather than as a pair of sentence fragments.
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
Then like a hot rod race bound
roaring down I-190 to downtown
When one needs to resort to inversion for a "moon-June-spoon" pair of rhymes, it's a clear sign that one should limit his labors to non-rhymed, unmetered free verse.
Roaring down to downtown is redundant.
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
to get a last few beers
feeling no fears.
A few lines ago, the speaker was swigging wine. Don't mix metaphors or wine and beer.
PS -- As written, the speaker is racing downtown to alleviate the fears of the last few bottles in his six-pack.
The speaker reminds his old high school sweetheart, Suzy Q, that he'd once carved her name on a bench. Too many years to count have past since then, and it is unclear whether the speaker is addressing Suzy Q directly, or merely reminiscing aloud about an old flame.
The speaker, apparently in the present day, spends each of his nights babbling poetry by a campfire while a camper named "Mike" accompanies him on a 3,000-year old greek instrument. When Suzy Q (who may just be a memory at this point) smiles, he can see all the way back to his youth in Buffalo.
And what does he see when Suzy Q's remembered smile whisks his thoughts back to the past? He sees himself racing to the liquor store to buy another six-pack of Bud Light.
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
Goodbye never was completed
Suzy Q. was never mistreated
from all those forty years
I could have wept some tears
When your folks moved on down
to the far side of town.
Apparently, while the speaker was off on a late night beer run, Suzy Q's parents packed her up and stole away like Arabs in the night. And where did they take his beloved Suzy Q to? The dreaded far side of town.
The speaker can fearlessly barrel down I-190 to replenish his beer supply on any given Saturday, but God forbid he drive to the far side of town!
But hey, at least he'd never mistreated the girl. :-)
Since this week's Sunday Sampler topic is "fascination/infatuation," I'm assuming that this poem was intended to represent the speaker's ongoing infatuation with his long-lost high school sweetheart. However, the poem seems to be more about a wine-drunk old man babbling about how he'd make a weekly Saturday night beer run in his younger days.
Some poets (myself included) write our poetry extemporaneously. Other poets plot their narrative out in an Outline format beforehand. I suggest that the author of this poem adopt the latter practice.
1) Figure out what you want to say.
2) Set the scene.
3) Introduce the main characters
4) Plot out the storyline.
5) Write the conclusion.
1) Infatuation can live on long after its object has been removed from one's life.
2) A sixty-year old hobo in Georgia reminisces about his high school sweetheart in Buffalo, NY.
3) The hobo/young lover and Suzy Q (the girl he loves).
4) Recall highlights of the romance: carving her name on a bench, eating tacos with spotted sauce on 5-for-a-dollar night, making out in the school cafeteria, etc. Finish with Suzy Q's moving away.
5) The present day speaker observes the poem's premise: Infatuation can live on long after its object has been removed from one's life.
With a little (okay, a bucket load) of luck, this might begin to resemble a workable pastiche of campy failed teen romance songs from the early 60s.
-----
Post by Michael Pendragon
Suzy Q. Here Is A Poem For You
by Zod
We assumed when we saw the title that the poem would have something to do with the song “Suzie Q” (various editions). We were wrong. Did her last name start with Q or was that a nickname? If so, why?
Post by Michael Pendragon
Long time ago Suzy Q.
when I was infatuated with you.
As Michael pointed out, you have a sentence fragment and are missing the beginning “A.” This is an instance where you should have left out the punctuation if you were not sure of it. At least without the period, it would flow into the other line, which for some reason is missing an “I” – an example of the “Economy of Articles and Pronouns” school of writing.
Post by Michael Pendragon
Carved your name on the park bench with a sigh
If you had inserted “I” at the beginning, it would have rhymed with “sigh.” That still wouldn’t have been a good line, but it would have eliminated the poetry shorthand. How sharp are sighs as carving tools?
Post by Michael Pendragon
across the street from Grand Island High.
I, high and sigh would be okay on a greeting card, but not in a good poem.
Post by Michael Pendragon
How many years I am hard pressed
to make a second guess....
You have two clichés in this one sentence fragment. We can see that you are trying to rhyme pressed with guess, but second guess doesn’t work with this line of thought, since what was your first guess? If you are second guessing your actions of 40 years ago, there is no indication of that in your poem.
Post by Michael Pendragon
I sip some wine by this camp fire
so I babble as Mike plays his lyre.
Why is it “this” camp fire and not “the” campfire or “that” campfire? We also question the use of a lyre, since those are not easy to come by and where does one take lyre lessons?
Post by Michael Pendragon
I recite this poem
as is the norm.
How many times do you recite this same poem? It this the norm for you or the norm for people around the campfire?
Post by Michael Pendragon
Continue on in my fascination
Suzy Q. smiles
I can see for 1,014 miles.
“Smiles” and “miles” – grrr. Between “fascination” and “Suzy Q,” you could have put in “as” or “for the” or even just “with” to have the fragment make better sense.” The use of the exact number of miles between Buffalo and Phenix City is clunky. You should have rounded it to 1000 miles and called it a trip.
Post by Michael Pendragon
Take a left at Buffalo
on any given Saturday.
Out Second Avenue
then to the Falls for a view.
What does this have to do with Suzie Q. or the park bench? Again, you have two sentence fragments.
Post by Michael Pendragon
Then like a hot rod race bound
roaring down I-190 to downtown
to get a last few beers
feeling no fears.
Your rhyme of beers and fears is too simplistic. You could have inserted a "Leader of the Pack" death scene, and Suzie Q. could have emoted.
Post by Michael Pendragon
Goodbye never was completed
Suzy Q. was never mistreated
We actually know nothing about Suzy Q. from your poem. Carvus interruptus?
Post by Michael Pendragon
from all those forty years
You would have been 20 years old and not in high school. Do you have two years missing from your life? The Days of Wine and Suzies? The Lost Weak End?
Post by Michael Pendragon
I could have wept some tears
When your folks moved on down
to the far side of town.
How many tears are “some” tears?
“So welcome back baby
To the poor side of town”
As Michael said, the poem drifts around, never really making a point about anything. If we were Suzie Q., we would say, “What does this poem have to do with me?” You didn’t explain your fascination with her at all, and it was more of a travelogue around Buffalo. We didn’t get the feeling of time standing still from the poem. Even a bad poem would have revisited the bench. Maybe she died on the bench or now lives on the bench?
You should try to write in a different style, if only being sure to have a subject and verb in each line. Try to get away from the 3-4 word lines and expand your thoughts with descriptive words. Michael has given you valuable tips, and if you are reading poetry as much as you say you are, you should see that the best poets do not write poems in the style you are using.
I thank thee for reading and for commenting...!!
Michael Pendragon
2019-12-03 16:09:46 UTC
Permalink
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
Topic Fascination/infatuation
George J Dance
light, rock, water over rock,
Okay, sunlight can "move" when clouds pass before it, or one can redirect the beam of a flashlight... but this doesn't quite gel with the opening line that it's supposed to be an example of. The closest I can come to matching the example to the topic would be to consider watching the dust motes moving in a steady beam of light. But then the light wouldn't be a moving thing, but a stationary thing in which something else (the dust particles) are moving.

And then there's the example of the rock!

I do appreciate the example of water flowing steadily over a rock as an example of "the stillness in moving things.

My suggestion is to cut the example of light, cut the example of the rock (and delete all early drafts of this poem from the internet), and stick with the final image of water flowing over a rock.

Hopefully the evocation of "Rock-Paper-Scissors" will also dissipate when less objects are named.
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
how these have emerged from nothing;
What makes you think that they have? The light came from the sun (or the flashlight); the rock was formed over the course of 10s of 1,000s of years from the compression of sediment deep in the earth; and the water is most likely part of a stream or brook.
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
to see the motion within the still,
"...And a Heaven in a Wild Flower..."
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
the future already tensed
within a seed,
A good line with "tensed" doing double-duty as both a tautly wound up adverb and a grammatical reference.
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
a mind;
to build and, building, rise
Another good line (with a nod to Ayn Rand).
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
creating from such nothing
the building rising from the rock,
I'm getting nada on the nuttin'.

The building was created out of steel, concrete, brick, mortar, glass, wood, etc.

I'm guessing you mean to imply that it was created out of thought which has no physical/material substance... but the thought did not create the building -- in envisioned it/designed it.
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
power from water bearing light;
Is this power from water-bearing (adj.) light (n.)? Or from water (n.) bearing light (adv.)?

More importantly, does either interpretation make any contextual sense?
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
to write in poems of carbon
rising from mind,
Taken out of context, this is a very good line. In context, it could mean just about anything. My guess is that the carbon-based building is a "poem" of the mind that envisioned it.

...or, perhaps there is carbon monoxide steaming out of the creator's brain as his visions create another toxin-spewing factory on our already dying planet?

Who knows?
the word –
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
“Deus, ecce deus”
Ayn Rand would probably pat you on the back. Pontius Pilate would sue for copyright infringement.
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
– the way these all emerge from nothing,
permanence from void,
I'm still not digging the "nothingness," approach.

Even as creative works they haven't arisen from nothing. We all, as they say, are standing on the shoulders of the giants who've preceded us.

Even the mighty Howard Roark had a predecessor in Frank Lloyd Wright.
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
the logos
Word? Order? Logic?
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
still within; now and forever
New Age-speak sophistry? I'm unable to carve anything rational out of it.
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
movement and stillness ascend the spiral,
climb that ancient winding stair,
The winding stairway to Heaven? The cerebral cortex? Does thought ascend from one's coccyx?
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
the fixed point always present, always still
within the ascent;
I'm getting the distinct (and not particularly pleasant) impression that Ayn Rand has picked up a profound pot habit and is waxing philosophic over the mandala-like fractals that connect the individual consciousness to the Oneness of eternity (or somesuch tommyrot).
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
it is of such things
Okay, I'll assume that the colon is meant to imply that the poem of life will go on like a Celine Dion song... but I find such "clever" touches to distract from the poem's message.

But just what such things are we talking about here? The upwardly-spiraling thoughts? It just reads like more pseudo-spiritual double-speak.

Can one (Should one?) even attempt to combine Randian Objectivism with spiritual mumbo-jumbo? I would end this poem with "Deus, ecce deus." This is a much more fitting, Rand-approved ending, and one that packs a lot more power to its punch than all the angel-dusted rigmarole that follows.
General Zod
2019-12-03 18:40:00 UTC
Permalink
I gave Dirty Mike a lyre because time stands still down there in the hobo camp....
Michael Pendragon
2019-12-03 18:50:58 UTC
Permalink
Post by General Zod
I gave Dirty Mike a lyre because time stands still down there in the hobo camp....
You didn't even specify that it was a hobo camp.

If you want to write a poem about how time stands still among the homeless, it might actually turn out to be mildly interesting.

Work up an Outline for it, and apply it to a future Sampler project.
General Zod
2019-12-03 18:52:16 UTC
Permalink
This is actually quite a good idea Pen....!!
General Zod
2019-12-03 20:20:23 UTC
Permalink
BTW....

I saw no reason to specify that it was a hobo camp....
Michael Pendragon
2019-12-03 20:29:47 UTC
Permalink
Post by General Zod
BTW....
I saw no reason to specify that it was a hobo camp....
In which case, your explanation (that time stands still in the hobo camp) doesn't apply.
General Zod
2019-12-03 23:17:30 UTC
Permalink
Post by Michael Pendragon
Post by General Zod
BTW....
I saw no reason to specify that it was a hobo camp....
In which case, your explanation (that time stands still in the hobo camp) doesn't apply.
Yes, I call the hobo camp ....

My Fortress of Solitude.....!!
Michael Pendragon
2019-12-03 21:02:59 UTC
Permalink
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
Topic Fascination/infatuation
Infatuation Duration
a poem by NancyGene
Cut the fat from infatuation,
set the letters in fat chance
For purposes of clarity, I would set "infatuation" and "fat chance" in quotation marks (or, if you have something against quotation marks, in italics).

It's a great opening set of lines, btw.
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
I will look your way with
other than a disdainful glance.
Why? It seems like the speaker is looking on the addressee with disdain ("fat chance").

Okay. On the third read-through I got it: "Fat chance that I will look your way with anything other than a disdainful glance."

Apart from putting in the clarifying articles (see above), I would set the entire passage from "Fat chance" to "glance" in quotation marks.
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
In your inuated mind, if I turned,
Taking the "fat" from "infatuated" leaves "inuated," which I needed to look up as I'm unfamiliar with this word.

It turns out this is a slang term:

inuated
(IN-yoo-ate-ed) deformed, mutilated.
Also used to describe a person who is sick or sore.
Often used with the modifier "all".

[per Urban Dictionary]

Whether the slang meaning is intentional, it works.
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
you would look away--caught,
I hate when that happens.
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
fascinated by me and my evident
satisfaction with how my life ought
to be,
I'm not sure what is meant here.
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
but still you tell me how lovely
I am, write notes that you love me,
stand, follow, watch, wait, and I
wonder how long before I am set free.
On a superficial level, the object of desire is wondering how long with the titular condition last. Which is okay... but I have a nagging feeling there's some deeper meaning here that I've overlooked.
NancyGene
2019-12-03 21:48:23 UTC
Permalink
Post by Michael Pendragon
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
Infatuation Duration
a poem by NancyGene
Cut the fat from infatuation,
set the letters in fat chance
For purposes of clarity, I would set "infatuation" and "fat chance" in quotation marks (or, if you have something against quotation marks, in italics).
Italics don't work with the browser we use. Good suggestion, but the speaker is talking (or ruminating in a depressed reverie) throughout the poem, so we didn't think it necessary to put anything into quotation marks.
Post by Michael Pendragon
It's a great opening set of lines, btw.
Thanks. Infatuation really does emphasize the fat syllable and challenges the writer to do prepare the dish in a new way.
Post by Michael Pendragon
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
I will look your way with
other than a disdainful glance.
Why? It seems like the speaker is looking on the addressee with disdain ("fat chance").
Okay. On the third read-through I got it: "Fat chance that I will look your way with anything other than a disdainful glance."
Great. We thought it would be clear the way we had it placed, but maybe not. We actually did use punctuation!
Post by Michael Pendragon
Apart from putting in the clarifying articles (see above), I would set the entire passage from "Fat chance" to "glance" in quotation marks.
Hmm, we don't know about that, since the whole poem is the speaker talking/thinking. We could put the poem into quotes, but the speaker is thinking and that might be confusing to the reader.
Post by Michael Pendragon
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
In your inuated mind, if I turned,
Taking the "fat" from "infatuated" leaves "inuated," which I needed to look up as I'm unfamiliar with this word.
inuated
(IN-yoo-ate-ed) deformed, mutilated.
Also used to describe a person who is sick or sore.
Often used with the modifier "all".
[per Urban Dictionary]
Whether the slang meaning is intentional, it works.
Yes, intentional. We wondered what would be left of the word if we took out "fat" and came up with "inuation." We looked that up and found that inuated was a word in the Urban Dictionary, as you found, and that it suited the poem's theme.
Post by Michael Pendragon
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
you would look away--caught,
I hate when that happens.
Peoplewatching.
Post by Michael Pendragon
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
fascinated by me and my evident
satisfaction with how my life ought
to be,
I'm not sure what is meant here.
The speaker is thinking about how her life was "before," as he was watching her, and is not now.
Post by Michael Pendragon
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
but still you tell me how lovely
I am, write notes that you love me,
stand, follow, watch, wait, and I
wonder how long before I am set free.
On a superficial level, the object of desire is wondering how long with the titular condition last. Which is okay... but I have a nagging feeling there's some deeper meaning here that I've overlooked.
We were remembering the John Fowles novel "The Collector," which was also made into a movie directed by William Wyler. The lady tries a number of methods of escaping from her stalker/collector but is ultimately unsuccessful.

Thanks, Michael, for taking the time to write these helpful comments. We will be sure to remember your points in writing future poems.
Michael Pendragon
2019-12-03 21:57:33 UTC
Permalink
Post by NancyGene
Post by Michael Pendragon
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
Infatuation Duration
a poem by NancyGene
Cut the fat from infatuation,
set the letters in fat chance
For purposes of clarity, I would set "infatuation" and "fat chance" in quotation marks (or, if you have something against quotation marks, in italics).
Italics don't work with the browser we use. Good suggestion, but the speaker is talking (or ruminating in a depressed reverie) throughout the poem, so we didn't think it necessary to put anything into quotation marks.
Post by Michael Pendragon
It's a great opening set of lines, btw.
Thanks. Infatuation really does emphasize the fat syllable and challenges the writer to do prepare the dish in a new way.
Post by Michael Pendragon
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
I will look your way with
other than a disdainful glance.
Why? It seems like the speaker is looking on the addressee with disdain ("fat chance").
Okay. On the third read-through I got it: "Fat chance that I will look your way with anything other than a disdainful glance."
Great. We thought it would be clear the way we had it placed, but maybe not. We actually did use punctuation!
Post by Michael Pendragon
Apart from putting in the clarifying articles (see above), I would set the entire passage from "Fat chance" to "glance" in quotation marks.
Hmm, we don't know about that, since the whole poem is the speaker talking/thinking. We could put the poem into quotes, but the speaker is thinking and that might be confusing to the reader.
Post by Michael Pendragon
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
In your inuated mind, if I turned,
Taking the "fat" from "infatuated" leaves "inuated," which I needed to look up as I'm unfamiliar with this word.
inuated
(IN-yoo-ate-ed) deformed, mutilated.
Also used to describe a person who is sick or sore.
Often used with the modifier "all".
[per Urban Dictionary]
Whether the slang meaning is intentional, it works.
Yes, intentional. We wondered what would be left of the word if we took out "fat" and came up with "inuation." We looked that up and found that inuated was a word in the Urban Dictionary, as you found, and that it suited the poem's theme.
Post by Michael Pendragon
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
you would look away--caught,
I hate when that happens.
Peoplewatching.
Post by Michael Pendragon
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
fascinated by me and my evident
satisfaction with how my life ought
to be,
I'm not sure what is meant here.
The speaker is thinking about how her life was "before," as he was watching her, and is not now.
Post by Michael Pendragon
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
but still you tell me how lovely
I am, write notes that you love me,
stand, follow, watch, wait, and I
wonder how long before I am set free.
On a superficial level, the object of desire is wondering how long with the titular condition last. Which is okay... but I have a nagging feeling there's some deeper meaning here that I've overlooked.
We were remembering the John Fowles novel "The Collector," which was also made into a movie directed by William Wyler. The lady tries a number of methods of escaping from her stalker/collector but is ultimately unsuccessful.
I haven't read the novel, but I'm a big fan of the film.


NancyGene
2019-12-03 22:21:42 UTC
Permalink
Post by Michael Pendragon
Post by NancyGene
We were remembering the John Fowles novel "The Collector," which was also made into a movie directed by William Wyler. The lady tries a number of methods of escaping from her stalker/collector but is ultimately unsuccessful.
I haven't read the novel, but I'm a big fan of the film.
http://youtu.be/AOgiqn34pKQ
The book is a fine read. We were wondering if your link was in the film, so we watched the end credits on YouTube and see only Maurice Jarre listed--no E.B.! :-)

Terence Stamp was 27 when he was in the movie, which is advertised as "almost a love story."
Michael Pendragon
2019-12-03 21:21:41 UTC
Permalink
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
Topic Fascination/infatuation
Stop
by ME
I knew what was wanted before the call
and knew Maker's Mark provided the balls
to even ask.
Tonight marks the end and from afterlife
a bloody sheet will cover that plea
that went silent after my plea to stop.
Add a "the" before "afterlife" and it's perfect!
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
Robert Burrows
Until obliterated by the light
Darkness is infatuated with dawn
She thinks that she loves the night
But when she opens her eyes it's gone
------------------------------------------------------------
Spending Place
by Dental River
Arcadia was an architecture
left unattended
where wolfpacks used to intersect.
Philosopher, why do we still pay rent?
This has been nobody's but our own
subterfuge,
in the cultivation of veins
sent to battle a forest of fascination.
Why should this world turn one more
corner West?
All efforts run it to ground ever faster,
new gravities cannot lift it afresh.
A window open to God knows what
confesses,
Arcadia was saved in its rags
by the One disinterested in reason.
--------------------------------------------------------------
Long Long Time
by Will Dockery
In my upstairs work area
at the old Jordan Mill
looking out the window
overlooking the river.
I heard the siren blow
I saw the black funnel crossing over
with a howling sound
like "Here comes my train."
The storm was blasting
outside of the second floor.
The dust then circled
and settled on the floor.
The ceiling spun
into chopped hunks
busted at my feet.
Whatever was happening
the chaos was complete.
So I left
and took the future with me.
The winds were huffing
sideways wet air all about,
I sat in the smoking booth
on the second floor looking out.
Shipping through the device
bale after bale
passes through.
On a twelve hour shift
I'd stand and watch them roll past
from one hopper
to the other.
I'd been up and down old Broadway
trying to sell my wares,
while the ladies have no time for me
or for any of my cares.
So I left
and took the future with me.
Te orange of the sun
shined down on the Earth
through black clouds
and more of that sideways rain.
"The Devil's beating his wife."
I adjusted the mechanism
when it became too speedy
or I needed a smoke break
or an elevator haul.
Switching empty carts
for full
or vise versa
postponed to the night.
Near the window where the light was
dust particles sparkled
all that history
what was it worth?
On the assembly line
at the old factory
where I worked for nearly a decade.
Before I jumped the fence
before they chained the gates
each day was basically the same.
The belt was moving fast
I registered,
poured a coffee
and punched a code on the buttons
on that heavy green machine.
Waited for the conveyor belt
to roll down
another bale of cotton.
Shipping through the device
bale after bale
passes through.
On a twelve hour shift
I'd stand and watch them
roll past
from one to the other.
Winter of 1984-85
was a cold one.
Just the mention of those digits
take me back
in fascination
on that dark infatuation
of that era.
Visions of boots
stomping in the mud
the belt was moving fast
moving like it should.
I registered
and poured a coffee
punched a code on the buttons
on that heavy green machine.
First minutes of the year 1985
and we saw Tom Snelling
swung in a Judo move
by a Denny's waitress.
The girl indeed knew her moves
Tom on the carpet
we all laughed with kudos
and took a booth
in the Smoking Section.
Later back at the Mill
as the hours passed
slowly on a graveyard shift
to keep the mechanism moving.
Fascination or discovery
everything was ordered.
Then I left
and took the future with me.
-Will Dockery 1977/2019
ME
2019-12-06 20:55:17 UTC
Permalink
Post by Michael Pendragon
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
Topic Fascination/infatuation
Stop
by ME
I knew what was wanted before the call
and knew Maker's Mark provided the balls
to even ask.
Tonight marks the end and from afterlife
a bloody sheet will cover that plea
that went silent after my plea to stop.
Add a "the" before "afterlife" and it's perfect!
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
Robert Burrows
Until obliterated by the light
Darkness is infatuated with dawn
She thinks that she loves the night
But when she opens her eyes it's gone
------------------------------------------------------------
Spending Place
by Dental River
Arcadia was an architecture
left unattended
where wolfpacks used to intersect.
Philosopher, why do we still pay rent?
This has been nobody's but our own
subterfuge,
in the cultivation of veins
sent to battle a forest of fascination.
Why should this world turn one more
corner West?
All efforts run it to ground ever faster,
new gravities cannot lift it afresh.
A window open to God knows what
confesses,
Arcadia was saved in its rags
by the One disinterested in reason.
--------------------------------------------------------------
Long Long Time
by Will Dockery
In my upstairs work area
at the old Jordan Mill
looking out the window
overlooking the river.
I heard the siren blow
I saw the black funnel crossing over
with a howling sound
like "Here comes my train."
The storm was blasting
outside of the second floor.
The dust then circled
and settled on the floor.
The ceiling spun
into chopped hunks
busted at my feet.
Whatever was happening
the chaos was complete.
So I left
and took the future with me.
The winds were huffing
sideways wet air all about,
I sat in the smoking booth
on the second floor looking out.
Shipping through the device
bale after bale
passes through.
On a twelve hour shift
I'd stand and watch them roll past
from one hopper
to the other.
I'd been up and down old Broadway
trying to sell my wares,
while the ladies have no time for me
or for any of my cares.
So I left
and took the future with me.
Te orange of the sun
shined down on the Earth
through black clouds
and more of that sideways rain.
"The Devil's beating his wife."
I adjusted the mechanism
when it became too speedy
or I needed a smoke break
or an elevator haul.
Switching empty carts
for full
or vise versa
postponed to the night.
Near the window where the light was
dust particles sparkled
all that history
what was it worth?
On the assembly line
at the old factory
where I worked for nearly a decade.
Before I jumped the fence
before they chained the gates
each day was basically the same.
The belt was moving fast
I registered,
poured a coffee
and punched a code on the buttons
on that heavy green machine.
Waited for the conveyor belt
to roll down
another bale of cotton.
Shipping through the device
bale after bale
passes through.
On a twelve hour shift
I'd stand and watch them
roll past
from one to the other.
Winter of 1984-85
was a cold one.
Just the mention of those digits
take me back
in fascination
on that dark infatuation
of that era.
Visions of boots
stomping in the mud
the belt was moving fast
moving like it should.
I registered
and poured a coffee
punched a code on the buttons
on that heavy green machine.
First minutes of the year 1985
and we saw Tom Snelling
swung in a Judo move
by a Denny's waitress.
The girl indeed knew her moves
Tom on the carpet
we all laughed with kudos
and took a booth
in the Smoking Section.
Later back at the Mill
as the hours passed
slowly on a graveyard shift
to keep the mechanism moving.
Fascination or discovery
everything was ordered.
Then I left
and took the future with me.
-Will Dockery 1977/2019
Thanks again Michael.

Ok will, here’s my poem. Why not give it a read and comment?
ME
2019-12-06 21:04:32 UTC
Permalink
Post by ME
Post by Michael Pendragon
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
Topic Fascination/infatuation
Stop
by ME
I knew what was wanted before the call
and knew Maker's Mark provided the balls
to even ask.
Tonight marks the end and from afterlife
a bloody sheet will cover that plea
that went silent after my plea to stop.
Add a "the" before "afterlife" and it's perfect!
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
Robert Burrows
Until obliterated by the light
Darkness is infatuated with dawn
She thinks that she loves the night
But when she opens her eyes it's gone
------------------------------------------------------------
Spending Place
by Dental River
Arcadia was an architecture
left unattended
where wolfpacks used to intersect.
Philosopher, why do we still pay rent?
This has been nobody's but our own
subterfuge,
in the cultivation of veins
sent to battle a forest of fascination.
Why should this world turn one more
corner West?
All efforts run it to ground ever faster,
new gravities cannot lift it afresh.
A window open to God knows what
confesses,
Arcadia was saved in its rags
by the One disinterested in reason.
--------------------------------------------------------------
Long Long Time
by Will Dockery
In my upstairs work area
at the old Jordan Mill
looking out the window
overlooking the river.
I heard the siren blow
I saw the black funnel crossing over
with a howling sound
like "Here comes my train."
The storm was blasting
outside of the second floor.
The dust then circled
and settled on the floor.
The ceiling spun
into chopped hunks
busted at my feet.
Whatever was happening
the chaos was complete.
So I left
and took the future with me.
The winds were huffing
sideways wet air all about,
I sat in the smoking booth
on the second floor looking out.
Shipping through the device
bale after bale
passes through.
On a twelve hour shift
I'd stand and watch them roll past
from one hopper
to the other.
I'd been up and down old Broadway
trying to sell my wares,
while the ladies have no time for me
or for any of my cares.
So I left
and took the future with me.
Te orange of the sun
shined down on the Earth
through black clouds
and more of that sideways rain.
"The Devil's beating his wife."
I adjusted the mechanism
when it became too speedy
or I needed a smoke break
or an elevator haul.
Switching empty carts
for full
or vise versa
postponed to the night.
Near the window where the light was
dust particles sparkled
all that history
what was it worth?
On the assembly line
at the old factory
where I worked for nearly a decade.
Before I jumped the fence
before they chained the gates
each day was basically the same.
The belt was moving fast
I registered,
poured a coffee
and punched a code on the buttons
on that heavy green machine.
Waited for the conveyor belt
to roll down
another bale of cotton.
Shipping through the device
bale after bale
passes through.
On a twelve hour shift
I'd stand and watch them
roll past
from one to the other.
Winter of 1984-85
was a cold one.
Just the mention of those digits
take me back
in fascination
on that dark infatuation
of that era.
Visions of boots
stomping in the mud
the belt was moving fast
moving like it should.
I registered
and poured a coffee
punched a code on the buttons
on that heavy green machine.
First minutes of the year 1985
and we saw Tom Snelling
swung in a Judo move
by a Denny's waitress.
The girl indeed knew her moves
Tom on the carpet
we all laughed with kudos
and took a booth
in the Smoking Section.
Later back at the Mill
as the hours passed
slowly on a graveyard shift
to keep the mechanism moving.
Fascination or discovery
everything was ordered.
Then I left
and took the future with me.
-Will Dockery 1977/2019
Thanks again Michael.
Ok will, here’s my poem. Why not give it a read and comment?
Bumped for will
Michael Pendragon
2019-12-03 21:32:47 UTC
Permalink
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
Robert Burrows
Until obliterated by the light
Darkness is infatuated with dawn
or

Darkness is infatuated with dawn
Until obliterated by the light

Ending with darkness' "death" (obliteration) is stronger... and it opening the poem with an awkward prepositional phrase.
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
She thinks that she loves the night
But when she opens her eyes it's gone
Hmm... these two lines are a bit anticlimactic, and seem to be in conflict with darkness' previously noted infatuation with the dawn.

Perhaps you could make the last to lines mirror the opening two by switching the positions of darkness and dawn?

Darkness is infatuated with dawn
Until obliterated by the light.
Dawn, too, thinks that she loves the night
But when she opens her eyes it's gone
Michael Pendragon
2019-12-04 14:01:08 UTC
Permalink
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
Topic Fascination/infatuation
Spending Place
by Dental River
Arcadia was an architecture
left unattended
where wolfpacks used to intersect.
Philosopher, why do we still pay rent?
As expected, the DR entry is enigmatic to the point of frustration.

This week I've adapted my "critique" to simply reflect my thoughts as I work my way through the overlapping images that may or may not be connected to one another -- symbolically or otherwise.

So... which "Arcadia" are we talking about: Greece, Philadelphia or the rustic ideal? The wolf packs seem to indicate the latter, although it could also refer to a group of teenage delinquents, bikers, or German U-boats. The only thing I know for certain is that it was *not* an architecture.

What "Philosopher" is being addressed? Rousseau? Thoreau? Or is this a generic "philosopher" (perhaps, even a sarcastic form of address)? Who knows? I don't pay rent in any case (I make monthly mortgage payments).
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
This has been nobody's but our own
subterfuge,
And this has been an uncharacteristically awkward passage for a DR poem: "nobody's" should be replaced with "no one's" and the inversion should be abandoned:

"This has been no one's subterfuge but our own..."

It's bad enough when a neophyte turns to an inversion to force a meter or rhyme, but this is free verse, for cryin' out loud.
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
in the cultivation of veins
sent to battle a forest of fascination.
Veins of ore? Are we miners?

Or is this a misspelling of vines? This option would, at least make some degree of sense, as the idea of vintners impinging upon the rustic ideal of Arcadia would fit in with the supposed content we've unraveled thus far.

Wine making is also associated with the Greeks and the availability of wine could even serve as a motivation for the congregated wolfpacks to invade the idyllic scene.
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
Why should this world turn one more
corner West?
AFAIK this world revolves in an elliptical orbit without making any turns whatsoever.

Of course, we could be talking about the dominance (arguably) of Western Civilization which is traditionally said to have sprung from Ancient Greece. In this case, the question would be one of "Why should we force our culture on some non-westernized "corner" like Tibet or Bangladesh? (Or whatever names these countries are currently going by.)
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
All efforts run it to ground ever faster,
new gravities cannot lift it afresh.
Run it to THE ground, Barry! T-H-E!

Sorry about that, Chief, but I just had to let it out.

This appears to be an attempt at continuing the previous metaphor by describing the spread of Western culture in astronomical terms.

Or not.

I'm so lost at this point that it really doesn't make a lick of difference.
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
A window open to God knows what
confesses,
The window is confessing?

A Confessional booth has a tiny "window," of course, but I've yet to hear one confess.
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
Arcadia was saved in its rags
by the One disinterested in reason.
All hail Rousseau! Or Thoreau! Or some generic philosopher! Or does the capitalization of "One" refer to Jesus or Buddha? Or perhaps even a self-proclaimed "Dharma Bum" who has quit the modern world to live in a wall-less tent!

DR crptopoems are always impenetrable (from my vantage point), but they're usually well-written. This one lacks the smooth-flowing stream of language that whisks us from one associative image to the next.
Michael Pendragon
2019-12-04 14:13:38 UTC
Permalink
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
Topic Fascination/infatuation
Long Long Time
by Will Dockery
Long, long plod. An endless series of prepositional sentence fragments chopped up to resemble a poem.

The line reading "I adjusted the (obligatory) mechanism," leads one to suspect this had been intended for the previous Sampler, but failed to meet the deadline.

The final stanza beginning with "Fascination or discovery" leads one to suspect that it was further modified to meet the criteria for the current Sampler.

The dates following the author's sign-off, "1977/2019," lead one to suspect that the author cobbled the above modifications onto an early poem in order to make it fit both Samplers' topics.

What can one say constructive about such an approach, other than that it's always a bad idea to force new, criteria-determined passages onto an existing work?
Will Dockery
2019-12-04 16:30:51 UTC
Permalink
Thanks for reading and commenting, Pendragon. Yes, the poem is one of mine from 1977 that I revised, originally for last week's mechanism" topic, and later for the "fascination" topic requirement.

;)
Edward Rochester Esq.
2019-12-04 16:36:09 UTC
Permalink
Post by Will Dockery
Thanks for reading and commenting, Pendragon. Yes, the poem is one of mine from 1977 that I revised, originally for last week's mechanism" topic, and later for the "fascination" topic requirement.
;)
Do you want to revise one poem for all topics?

How about you send in a new one on 'Stars' which is the next topic.

You are a poet, after all.
Will Dockery
2019-12-04 16:44:38 UTC
Permalink
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
Do you want to revise one poem for all topics?
No, not all topics, but I did want to use the poem I used, and did.

I didn't use the same poem twice, by the way... the poem I used last week was:

https://groups.google.com/d/msg/alt.arts.poetry.comments/eTyW7IJOJlA/rs9iWrJVCQAJ

Transmission

My mechanism receives
vibes like Morse code signals.
To the rhythm of these messages
Juliette taps her tambourine.

Her eyes
are closed now.
She chants a tune
like a radio to my soul.

Hieroglyphics and haiku
carry the unhappy news.
My mobile gizmo
is a haunted mechanism.

I'm posting this Instagram
like a message in a bottle.
Hearing her melody
in chains of this wild war.

-Will Dockery

;)
Edward Rochester Esq.
2019-12-04 16:47:15 UTC
Permalink
Post by Will Dockery
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
Do you want to revise one poem for all topics?
No, not all topics, but I did want to use the poem I used, and did.
https://groups.google.com/d/msg/alt.arts.poetry.comments/eTyW7IJOJlA/rs9iWrJVCQAJ
Transmission
My mechanism receives
vibes like Morse code signals.
To the rhythm of these messages
Juliette taps her tambourine.
Her eyes
are closed now.
She chants a tune
like a radio to my soul.
Hieroglyphics and haiku
carry the unhappy news.
My mobile gizmo
is a haunted mechanism.
I'm posting this Instagram
like a message in a bottle.
Hearing her melody
in chains of this wild war.
-Will Dockery
;)
'Yes, the poem is one of mine from 1977 that I revised, originally for last week's mechanism" topic, and later for the "fascination" topic requirement.'

??
Will Dockery
2019-12-04 16:50:03 UTC
Permalink
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
Post by Will Dockery
https://groups.google.com/d/msg/alt.arts.poetry.comments/eTyW7IJOJlA/rs9iWrJVCQAJ
Transmission
My mechanism receives
vibes like Morse code signals.
To the rhythm of these messages
Juliette taps her tambourine.
Her eyes
are closed now.
She chants a tune
like a radio to my soul.
Hieroglyphics and haiku
carry the unhappy news.
My mobile gizmo
is a haunted mechanism.
I'm posting this Instagram
like a message in a bottle.
Hearing her melody
in chains of this wild war.
-Will Dockery
;)
'Yes, the poem is one of mine from 1977 that I revised, originally for last week's mechanism" topic, and later for the "fascination" topic requirement.'
??
I'm not sure what you don't understand about that?
Edward Rochester Esq.
2019-12-04 16:52:58 UTC
Permalink
Post by Will Dockery
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
Post by Will Dockery
https://groups.google.com/d/msg/alt.arts.poetry.comments/eTyW7IJOJlA/rs9iWrJVCQAJ
Transmission
My mechanism receives
vibes like Morse code signals.
To the rhythm of these messages
Juliette taps her tambourine.
Her eyes
are closed now.
She chants a tune
like a radio to my soul.
Hieroglyphics and haiku
carry the unhappy news.
My mobile gizmo
is a haunted mechanism.
I'm posting this Instagram
like a message in a bottle.
Hearing her melody
in chains of this wild war.
-Will Dockery
;)
'Yes, the poem is one of mine from 1977 that I revised, originally for last week's mechanism" topic, and later for the "fascination" topic requirement.'
??
I'm not sure what you don't understand about that?
Yes, I'm sure you don't.
Will Dockery
2019-12-04 17:01:06 UTC
Permalink
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
Post by Will Dockery
I'm not sure what you don't understand about that?
Yes, I'm sure you don't.
Post by Will Dockery
https://groups.google.com/d/msg/alt.arts.poetry.comments/eTyW7IJOJlA/rs9iWrJVCQAJ
Post by Will Dockery
Transmission
My mechanism receives
vibes like Morse code signals.
To the rhythm of these messages
Juliette taps her tambourine.
Her eyes
are closed now.
She chants a tune
like a radio to my soul.
Hieroglyphics and haiku
carry the unhappy news.
My mobile gizmo
is a haunted mechanism.
I'm posting this Instagram
like a message in a bottle.
Hearing her melody
in chains of this wild war.
-Will Dockery
Are you unable to come up with new poetry for a given topic?
The above is a new poem, but the rules do state:

3.New poems preferred, old accepted.

So why are we apparently having a problem, here?

And, by the way, the poem I used was an old one that has never been posted online or published, rewritten, so it is new in that aspect.
ME
2019-12-04 17:19:04 UTC
Permalink
Post by Will Dockery
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
Post by Will Dockery
I'm not sure what you don't understand about that?
Yes, I'm sure you don't.
Post by Will Dockery
https://groups.google.com/d/msg/alt.arts.poetry.comments/eTyW7IJOJlA/rs9iWrJVCQAJ
Post by Will Dockery
Transmission
My mechanism receives
vibes like Morse code signals.
To the rhythm of these messages
Juliette taps her tambourine.
Her eyes
are closed now.
She chants a tune
like a radio to my soul.
Hieroglyphics and haiku
carry the unhappy news.
My mobile gizmo
is a haunted mechanism.
I'm posting this Instagram
like a message in a bottle.
Hearing her melody
in chains of this wild war.
-Will Dockery
Are you unable to come up with new poetry for a given topic?
3.New poems preferred, old accepted.
So why are we apparently having a problem, here?
And, by the way, the poem I used was an old one that has never been posted online or published, rewritten, so it is new in that aspect.
It’s just another, of many, things that prove what a pathetic fraud you are pissbum.

You’ve claimed, since I’ve arrived here, that my Only reason here was you.
That’s been proven a lie, many times over.
Then, there was your insistence that I prove myself worthy, as a poet, of staying here.
I’ve also risen to that challenge.
But now it’s, once again, been proven that your accusations against ME are nothing but baseless lies. You’ve been intimated by ME from my first post on Topix and you still continue to be.
You couldn’t bully ME away back then and now you just look like a scared, pathetic bum that’s holding on by his nasty fingernails to a sad, nonexistent life of nothing.
Will Dockery
2019-12-04 17:31:46 UTC
Permalink
Post by ME
Post by Will Dockery
3.New poems preferred, old accepted.
So why are we apparently having a problem, here?
And, by the way, the poem I used was an old one that has never been posted online or published, rewritten, so it is new in that aspect.
It’s just another, of many, things that prove
https://groups.google.com/d/msg/alt.arts.poetry.comments/eTyW7IJOJlA/rs9iWrJVCQAJ
Post by ME
Post by Will Dockery
Post by Will Dockery
Transmission
My mechanism receives
vibes like Morse code signals.
To the rhythm of these messages
Juliette taps her tambourine.
Her eyes
are closed now.
She chants a tune
like a radio to my soul.
Hieroglyphics and haiku
carry the unhappy news.
My mobile gizmo
is a haunted mechanism.
I'm posting this Instagram
like a message in a bottle.
Hearing her melody
in chains of this wild war.
-Will Dockery
The above was a new poem, for the record.
Adding an old poem to the topic is fine.....revamping an old poem for inclusion is not...
No one but you seems to get it..
I get it now, but did not see that from the rule listed:

"3.New poems preferred, old accepted."

I'm clear on it, now.

HTH & HAND.
Z***@none.i2p
2019-12-06 21:10:12 UTC
Permalink
Will Dockery wrote on Wed, 04 December 2019 17:01
Post by Will Dockery
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
Post by Will Dockery
I'm not sure what you don't understand about that?
Yes, I'm sure you don't.
Post by Will Dockery
https://groups.google.com/d/msg/alt.arts.poetry.comments/eTyW7IJOJlA/rs9iWrJVCQAJ
Post by Will Dockery
Transmission
My mechanism receives
vibes like Morse code signals.
To the rhythm of these messages
Juliette taps her tambourine.
Her eyes
are closed now.
She chants a tune
like a radio to my soul.
Hieroglyphics and haiku
carry the unhappy news.
My mobile gizmo
is a haunted mechanism.
I'm posting this Instagram
like a message in a bottle.
Hearing her melody
in chains of this wild war.
-Will Dockery
Are you unable to come up with new poetry for a given topic?
3.New poems preferred, old accepted.
So why are we apparently having a problem, here?
And, by the way, the poem I used was an old one that has never been posted online or published, rewritten, so it is new in that aspect.
This will not be allowed any more.......

NEW poems only now.....!!
Michael Pendragon
2019-12-06 22:01:15 UTC
Permalink
Post by Z***@none.i2p
Will Dockery wrote on Wed, 04 December 2019 17:01
Post by Will Dockery
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
Post by Will Dockery
I'm not sure what you don't understand about that?
Yes, I'm sure you don't.
Post by Will Dockery
https://groups.google.com/d/msg/alt.arts.poetry.comments/eTyW7IJOJlA/rs9iWrJVCQAJ
Post by Will Dockery
Transmission
My mechanism receives
vibes like Morse code signals.
To the rhythm of these messages
Juliette taps her tambourine.
Her eyes
are closed now.
She chants a tune
like a radio to my soul.
Hieroglyphics and haiku
carry the unhappy news.
My mobile gizmo
is a haunted mechanism.
I'm posting this Instagram
like a message in a bottle.
Hearing her melody
in chains of this wild war.
-Will Dockery
Are you unable to come up with new poetry for a given topic?
3.New poems preferred, old accepted.
So why are we apparently having a problem, here?
And, by the way, the poem I used was an old one that has never been posted online or published, rewritten, so it is new in that aspect.
This will not be allowed any more.......
NEW poems only now.....!!
Don't be so stupid, Stink.

ME has simply bumped the current Sample for Will to comment on.

But since we all know that Will is incapable of commenting (yourself included) you are making an obvious and desperate attempt to run interference for him.

ME's poem isn't very long. Why not let Will take a stab at it?
Z***@none.i2p
2019-12-06 23:27:34 UTC
Permalink
Michael Pendragon wrote on Fri, 06 December 2019 22:01
Post by Michael Pendragon
Post by Z***@none.i2p
Will Dockery wrote on Wed, 04 December 2019 17:01
Post by Will Dockery
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
Post by Will Dockery
I'm not sure what you don't understand about that?
Yes, I'm sure you don't.
Post by Will Dockery
https://groups.google.com/d/msg/alt.arts.poetry.comments/eTyW7IJOJlA/rs9iWrJVCQAJ
Post by Will Dockery
Transmission
My mechanism receives
vibes like Morse code signals.
To the rhythm of these messages
Juliette taps her tambourine.
Her eyes
are closed now.
She chants a tune
like a radio to my soul.
Hieroglyphics and haiku
carry the unhappy news.
My mobile gizmo
is a haunted mechanism.
I'm posting this Instagram
like a message in a bottle.
Hearing her melody
in chains of this wild war.
-Will Dockery
Are you unable to come up with new poetry for a given topic?
3.New poems preferred, old accepted.
So why are we apparently having a problem, here?
And, by the way, the poem I used was an old one that has never been posted online or published, rewritten, so it is new in that aspect.
This will not be allowed any more.......
NEW poems only now.....!!
Don't be
Please call me General Zod, fuckhead.....!!
ME
2019-12-04 16:51:33 UTC
Permalink
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
Post by Will Dockery
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
Do you want to revise one poem for all topics?
No, not all topics, but I did want to use the poem I used, and did.
https://groups.google.com/d/msg/alt.arts.poetry.comments/eTyW7IJOJlA/rs9iWrJVCQAJ
Transmission
My mechanism receives
vibes like Morse code signals.
To the rhythm of these messages
Juliette taps her tambourine.
Her eyes
are closed now.
She chants a tune
like a radio to my soul.
Hieroglyphics and haiku
carry the unhappy news.
My mobile gizmo
is a haunted mechanism.
I'm posting this Instagram
like a message in a bottle.
Hearing her melody
in chains of this wild war.
-Will Dockery
;)
'Yes, the poem is one of mine from 1977 that I revised, originally for last week's mechanism" topic, and later for the "fascination" topic requirement.'
??
Will you be using it (reworked, of course) for another SS?
Will Dockery
2019-12-04 17:06:02 UTC
Permalink
Post by ME
Post by Will Dockery
https://groups.google.com/d/msg/alt.arts.poetry.comments/eTyW7IJOJlA/rs9iWrJVCQAJ
Transmission
My mechanism receives
vibes like Morse code signals.
To the rhythm of these messages
Juliette taps her tambourine.
Her eyes
are closed now.
She chants a tune
like a radio to my soul.
Hieroglyphics and haiku
carry the unhappy news.
My mobile gizmo
is a haunted mechanism.
I'm posting this Instagram
like a message in a bottle.
Hearing her melody
in chains of this wild war.
-Will Dockery
Will you be using it (reworked, of course) for another SS?
I don't think I will, but you do know the rules, correct?

https://groups.google.com/d/msg/alt.arts.poetry.comments/eTyW7IJOJlA/BNUa4_QoCQAJ

3.New poems preferred, old accepted.
W***@none.i2p
2019-12-05 00:48:54 UTC
Permalink
ME[8
Post by ME
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
Post by Will Dockery
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
Do you want to revise one poem for all topics?
No, not all topics, but I did want to use the poem I used, and did.
https://groups.google.com/d/msg/alt.arts.poetry.comments/eTyW7IJOJlA/rs9iWrJVCQAJ
Transmission
My mechanism receives
vibes like Morse code signals.
To the rhythm of these messages
Juliette taps her tambourine.
Her eyes
are closed now.
She chants a tune
like a radio to my soul.
Hieroglyphics and haiku
carry the unhappy news.
My mobile gizmo
is a haunted mechanism.
I'm posting this Instagram
like a message in a bottle.
Hearing her melody
in chains of this wild war.
-Will Dockery
;)
'Yes, the poem is one of mine from 1977 that I revised, originally for last week's mechanism" topic, and later for the "fascination" topic requirement.'
??
Will you be using it (reworked, of course) for another SS?
No, since Rochester just declared new poems only form now on.

:)
Zod The Mighty
2019-12-07 01:12:05 UTC
Permalink
Post by Will Dockery
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
Do you want to revise one poem for all topics?
No, not all topics, but I did want to use the poem I used, and did.
https://groups.google.com/d/msg/alt.arts.poetry.comments/eTyW7IJOJlA/rs9iWrJVCQAJ
Transmission
My mechanism receives
vibes like Morse code signals.
To the rhythm of these messages
Juliette taps her tambourine.
Her eyes
are closed now.
She chants a tune
like a radio to my soul.
Hieroglyphics and haiku
carry the unhappy news.
My mobile gizmo
is a haunted mechanism.
I'm posting this Instagram
like a message in a bottle.
Hearing her melody
in chains of this wild war.
-Will Dockery
;)
Good poem, Doc....!!

ME
2019-12-04 16:38:40 UTC
Permalink
Post by Will Dockery
Thanks for reading and commenting, Pendragon. Yes, the poem is one of mine from 1977 that I revised, originally for last week's mechanism" topic, and later for the "fascination" topic requirement.
;)
You reworked it for one SS and then later, for another SS.
But, you’re just here for the poetry,right?
You’re such a fucking joke, pissbum.
As I, and others have suggested to you, get your fucking blog.
Will Dockery
2019-12-04 16:48:09 UTC
Permalink
Post by ME
You reworked it for one SS and then later, for another SS.
I only used the poem once, I used a completely different poem last week:

https://groups.google.com/d/msg/alt.arts.poetry.comments/eTyW7IJOJlA/rs9iWrJVCQAJ

:)
Edward Rochester Esq.
2019-12-04 16:49:18 UTC
Permalink
Post by Will Dockery
Post by ME
You reworked it for one SS and then later, for another SS.
https://groups.google.com/d/msg/alt.arts.poetry.comments/eTyW7IJOJlA/rs9iWrJVCQAJ
:)
Yes, the poem is one of mine from 1977 that I revised, originally for last week's mechanism" topic, and later for the "fascination" topic requirement.
NancyGene
2019-12-04 19:31:09 UTC
Permalink
Post by Michael Pendragon
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
Topic Fascination/infatuation
Long Long Time
by Will Dockery
Long, long plod. An endless series of prepositional sentence fragments chopped up to resemble a poem.
The line reading "I adjusted the (obligatory) mechanism," leads one to suspect this had been intended for the previous Sampler, but failed to meet the deadline.
The final stanza beginning with "Fascination or discovery" leads one to suspect that it was further modified to meet the criteria for the current Sampler.
The dates following the author's sign-off, "1977/2019," lead one to suspect that the author cobbled the above modifications onto an early poem in order to make it fit both Samplers' topics.
What can one say constructive about such an approach, other than that it's always a bad idea to force new, criteria-determined passages onto an existing work?
Long Long Time
by Will Dockery
In my upstairs work area
at the old Jordan Mill
looking out the window
overlooking the river.
You are using “looking” too much in this sentence fragment. Also, this is the first of two instances that you use “looking out” in the poem. If you repeat words, there should be some reason for that use, other than that you can’t think of another word.
Post by Michael Pendragon
I heard the siren blow
I saw the black funnel crossing over
with a howling sound
like "Here comes my train."
Two consecutive lines start with “I.”
Post by Michael Pendragon
The storm was blasting
outside of the second floor.
First of two mentions of “second floor.” Was the wind just outside the second floor or was it outside the entire building?
Post by Michael Pendragon
The dust then circled
First mention of “dust.” More to come.
Post by Michael Pendragon
and settled on the floor.
Two mentions of “floor.”
Post by Michael Pendragon
The ceiling spun
into chopped hunks
busted at my feet.
Whatever was happening
the chaos was complete.
The rhymes of feet and complete do not seem to fit into the rhythm of the rest of the poem.
Post by Michael Pendragon
So I left
and took the future with me.
First use of this refrain.
Post by Michael Pendragon
The winds were huffing
sideways wet air all about,
I sat in the smoking booth
on the second floor looking out.

More “second floor” and second mention of “looking out.” Note that in the previous stanza, you had left the building.
Post by Michael Pendragon
Shipping through the device
bale after bale
passes through.
Another refrain introduced. This could be a Greek chorus in the background.
Post by Michael Pendragon
On a twelve hour shift
I'd stand and watch them roll past
from one hopper
to the other.
This is a third refrain introduced.
Post by Michael Pendragon
I'd been up and down old Broadway
trying to sell my wares,
while the ladies have no time for me
or for any of my cares.
Another rhyme is introduced (wares/cares), but the stanza has nothing to do with the poem. We could see “maybe” if this was meant to say that you had been looking for another job, but it seems to say that you had been looking for a job as a gigolo (unless it was a door-to-door salesman).
Post by Michael Pendragon
So I left
and took the future with me.
Third use of the initial refrain.
Post by Michael Pendragon
Te orange of the sun
You are writing in Spanish?
Post by Michael Pendragon
shined down on the Earth
through black clouds
and more of that sideways rain.
"The Devil's beating his wife."
The sun was shining through heavy rain?
Post by Michael Pendragon
I adjusted the mechanism
Isn’t there a more precise term to use than “mechanism?" We understand that this poem was a possible candidate for last week’s Sunday Sampler, but for this week there is no reason to keep mechanism in the line.
Post by Michael Pendragon
when it became too speedy
We paused at this word. Is “too speedy” a calibration measurement? It also reminds us of Speedy Gonzales.
Post by Michael Pendragon
or I needed a smoke break
or an elevator haul.
Too many “or’s” in a row. When you re-read a poem, consider it visually for words that repeat at the start of lines.
Post by Michael Pendragon
Switching empty carts
for full
or vise versa
Wrong word.
Post by Michael Pendragon
postponed to the night.
This makes no sense.
Post by Michael Pendragon
Near the window where the light was
dust particles sparkled
Second mention of dust.
Post by Michael Pendragon
all that history
what was it worth?
This would be a good time in the poem to tell the reader what it was worth.
Post by Michael Pendragon
On the assembly line
at the old factory
where I worked for nearly a decade.
This is a sentence fragment, but one of many in the poem.
Post by Michael Pendragon
Before I jumped the fence
before they chained the gates
each day was basically the same.
It seems like this stanza should be elsewhere in the poem.
Post by Michael Pendragon
The belt was moving fast
I registered,
poured a coffee
and punched a code on the buttons
First of two mentions of “punched a code on the buttons.” Also the first mention of “I registered, poured a coffee,” which becomes the fourth refrain in the poem.
Post by Michael Pendragon
on that heavy green machine.
Waited for the conveyor belt
to roll down
another bale of cotton.
Shipping through the device
bale after bale
passes through.
Another round of the second refrain.
Post by Michael Pendragon
On a twelve hour shift
I'd stand and watch them
roll past
from one to the other.
Third refrain, repeated for a second time. This is an odd placement, since it occurs immediately after the second refrain.
Post by Michael Pendragon
Winter of 1984-85
was a cold one.
This comes out of nowhere.
Post by Michael Pendragon
Just the mention of those digits
take me back
Check your subject/verb agreement.
Post by Michael Pendragon
in fascination
on that dark infatuation
of that era.
“On” should not follow “infatuation.” “With” would be correct. “Of” should not follow “infatuation” in this instance. You could use “with” or “for” or “infatuated by.”
Post by Michael Pendragon
Visions of boots
stomping in the mud
the belt was moving fast
moving like it should.
Day-dreaming on the line?
Post by Michael Pendragon
I registered
and poured a coffee
punched a code on the buttons
Second use of “punched a code on the buttons.”
Post by Michael Pendragon
on that heavy green machine.
First minutes of the year 1985
and we saw Tom Snelling
swung in a Judo move
by a Denny's waitress.
There is no reason for this aside to be in the poem.
Post by Michael Pendragon
The girl indeed knew her moves
Tom on the carpet
we all laughed with kudos
“Kudos” is used wrong. It could be “we gave him kudos” but people don’t laugh with kudos.
Post by Michael Pendragon
and took a booth
in the Smoking Section.
Again, no reason for including this break in the poem.
Post by Michael Pendragon
Later back at the Mill
as the hours passed
slowly on a graveyard shift
to keep the mechanism moving.
Another mention of “mechanism.” What was the real name of the device?
Post by Michael Pendragon
Fascination or discovery
everything was ordered.
Then I left
and took the future with me.
Fourth use of this refrain.

In reading the poem, we thought it was intended to be lyrics of a song, with all the repeat words and the four refrains. That may work in a song for emphasis, but in a poem it is jarring and irritating. Another thought we had was that the lines were supposed to describe how monotonous and mind-numbing the mill work was, with each day the same as the previous one, and thus the repetition. However, that theme was lost in all the extraneous asides and lines. Perhaps if the poem were to be restructured, that theme would be stronger. We are reminded of one of Michael’s favorite songs, “Round and Round” by Perry Como as a template.

The poem started out as a tale of a tornado at the mill. There were a couple of stanzas about that, with the second floor and dust being important for some reason, but that theme was abandoned. The foray into the coffee shop added nothing. We didn’t see how the poem related to the week’s theme of “infatuation/fascination.” What was the speaker infatuated with (even though the words were included in the poem)? Infatuation with the years 1984/1985? The poem was supposedly started in 1977, so how did the writer know what was going to happen 7-8 years in the future?

Bottom line is that there is too much repetition, the poem meanders for no purpose, and it isn’t about the topic of the week.
Will Dockery
2019-12-04 19:49:13 UTC
Permalink
Post by NancyGene
The poem was supposedly started in 1977, so how did the writer know what was going to happen 7-8 years in the future?
That's why the years 1977/2019 are given. The poem is a rewrite/update/revision of an earlier poem.
NancyGene
2019-12-04 21:47:06 UTC
Permalink
Post by Will Dockery
Post by NancyGene
The poem was supposedly started in 1977, so how did the writer know what was going to happen 7-8 years in the future?
That's why the years 1977/2019 are given. The poem is a rewrite/update/revision of an earlier poem.
You rewrote/updated/and revised it so that it didn't make sense in any timeline.

What do you have to say about the other points we made about your poem?
Michael Pendragon
2019-12-04 21:58:34 UTC
Permalink
Post by NancyGene
Post by Michael Pendragon
Post by Edward Rochester Esq.
Topic Fascination/infatuation
Long Long Time
by Will Dockery
Long, long plod. An endless series of prepositional sentence fragments chopped up to resemble a poem.
The line reading "I adjusted the (obligatory) mechanism," leads one to suspect this had been intended for the previous Sampler, but failed to meet the deadline.
The final stanza beginning with "Fascination or discovery" leads one to suspect that it was further modified to meet the criteria for the current Sampler.
The dates following the author's sign-off, "1977/2019," lead one to suspect that the author cobbled the above modifications onto an early poem in order to make it fit both Samplers' topics.
What can one say constructive about such an approach, other than that it's always a bad idea to force new, criteria-determined passages onto an existing work?
Long Long Time
by Will Dockery
In my upstairs work area
at the old Jordan Mill
looking out the window
overlooking the river.
You are using “looking” too much in this sentence fragment. Also, this is the first of two instances that you use “looking out” in the poem. If you repeat words, there should be some reason for that use, other than that you can’t think of another word.
I doff my cap to you, NancyGene. I could never have made it through the first stanza while affecting an impartial, constructive tone.
Post by NancyGene
Post by Michael Pendragon
I heard the siren blow
I saw the black funnel crossing over
with a howling sound
like "Here comes my train."
Two consecutive lines start with “I.”
"Blow" is also redundant. Since he'd heard the siren, the more astute readers can surmise that he'd heard it making one of the typical siren noises.
Post by NancyGene
Post by Michael Pendragon
The storm was blasting
outside of the second floor.
First of two mentions of “second floor.” Was the wind just outside the second floor or was it outside the entire building?
Just the second floor. The twister hadn't yet reached ground level.
Post by NancyGene
Post by Michael Pendragon
The dust then circled
First mention of “dust.” More to come.
Post by Michael Pendragon
and settled on the floor.
Two mentions of “floor.”
Post by Michael Pendragon
The ceiling spun
into chopped hunks
busted at my feet.
Whatever was happening
the chaos was complete.
The rhymes of feet and complete do not seem to fit into the rhythm of the rest of the poem.
Yes, the rhymes read like those in a typical children's book.

However, "The ceiling spun into chopped hunks busted at my feet" is easily the best line in the poem.

Granted, it's a little confusing, what with the ceiling spinning at his feet and all, but in its own crude way, it captures the force of the tornado tearing the mill to shreds.
Post by NancyGene
Post by Michael Pendragon
So I left
and took the future with me.
First use of this refrain.
It's a bit ostentatious, considering that he was just running away from a storm, but why waste a snappy line?
Post by NancyGene
Post by Michael Pendragon
The winds were huffing
sideways wet air all about,
I sat in the smoking booth
on the second floor looking out.
More “second floor” and second mention of “looking out.” Note that in the previous stanza, you had left the building.
I like the oblique reference to "The Three Little Pigs" in this passage: the wind was huffing and Will was puffing away at his Marlboro in the smoking booth.
Post by NancyGene
Post by Michael Pendragon
Shipping through the device
bale after bale
passes through.
Another refrain introduced. This could be a Greek chorus in the background.
I'm afraid that I'm unable to make any sense of the above fragment.
Post by NancyGene
Post by Michael Pendragon
On a twelve hour shift
I'd stand and watch them roll past
from one hopper
to the other.
This is a third refrain introduced.
He appears to be reminiscing about his daily work tasks during the middle of a tornado. "Sure am gonna miss me them con-vey-yer belts."
Post by NancyGene
Post by Michael Pendragon
I'd been up and down old Broadway
trying to sell my wares,
while the ladies have no time for me
or for any of my cares.
Another rhyme is introduced (wares/cares), but the stanza has nothing to do with the poem. We could see “maybe” if this was meant to say that you had been looking for another job, but it seems to say that you had been looking for a job as a gigolo (unless it was a door-to-door salesman).
Perhaps the entire poem rhymed in one of its earlier drafts?

The implied comparison to Simple Simon marks an instance of self-awareness that is rare in Will's body of work.
Post by NancyGene
Post by Michael Pendragon
So I left
and took the future with me.
Third use of the initial refrain.
Post by Michael Pendragon
Te orange of the sun
You are writing in Spanish?
Post by Michael Pendragon
shined down on the Earth
through black clouds
and more of that sideways rain.
"The Devil's beating his wife."
The sun was shining through heavy rain?
While "shined" is a past-tense for of "shine," "shone" would be the correct one to use in this instance.
Post by NancyGene
Post by Michael Pendragon
I adjusted the mechanism
Isn’t there a more precise term to use than “mechanism?" We understand that this poem was a possible candidate for last week’s Sunday Sampler, but for this week there is no reason to keep mechanism in the line.
Post by Michael Pendragon
when it became too speedy
We paused at this word. Is “too speedy” a calibration measurement? It also reminds us of Speedy Gonzales.
Hmm... either the mill wasn't too concerned with explaining its mechanisms, gizmos and doohickeys to its laborers, or Will never actually worked there.
Post by NancyGene
Post by Michael Pendragon
or I needed a smoke break
or an elevator haul.
Too many “or’s” in a row. When you re-read a poem, consider it visually for words that repeat at the start of lines.
It seems that while hiding from the tornado in the smoking booth, young Will recalled how he would often duck out of work by hanging out in the smoking booth.
Post by NancyGene
Post by Michael Pendragon
Switching empty carts
for full
or vise versa
Wrong word.
Post by Michael Pendragon
postponed to the night.
This makes no sense.
Post by Michael Pendragon
Near the window where the light was
dust particles sparkled
Second mention of dust.
Now if those dust particles were to sparkle *like stars,* Will could recycle this poem for Sampler #3.
Post by NancyGene
Post by Michael Pendragon
all that history
what was it worth?
This would be a good time in the poem to tell the reader what it was worth.
This would be an even better place to tell the read what history is being referred to.

The "history" of Will's time in the smoking booth, elevator rides and adjusting the thingamabobbers on assorted mechanisms? Or the history of the mill that was being sucked over the rainbow?

Good thing Will had really left the building and was only thinking about how he might reminisce about smoking were he actually hiding out in the smoking booth.
Post by NancyGene
Post by Michael Pendragon
On the assembly line
at the old factory
where I worked for nearly a decade.
This is a sentence fragment, but one of many in the poem.
Damn! They do start 'em out young down South.

Apparently Will had been working in a factory from the age of nine.
Post by NancyGene
Post by Michael Pendragon
Before I jumped the fence
before they chained the gates
So... is the factory Old Jordan Mill? Or is it a different factory? And did the factory close because their best worker, 9-year old Willie, jumped the fence?
Post by NancyGene
Post by Michael Pendragon
each day was basically the same.
It seems like this stanza should be elsewhere in the poem.
Let's chalk it up to stream of consciousness, or one too many revisions.
Post by NancyGene
Post by Michael Pendragon
The belt was moving fast
I registered,
poured a coffee
and punched a code on the buttons
First of two mentions of “punched a code on the buttons.” Also the first mention of “I registered, poured a coffee,” which becomes the fourth refrain in the poem.
Is this 9-year old Willie swigging coffee in the factory, or 19-year old Will swigging coffee in the mill?

Either way, it sheds new light on Will's claim that he's working when swilling coffee at the local coffee house.
Post by NancyGene
Post by Michael Pendragon
on that heavy green machine.
Yep, that big, ol' chunky green whatchmacallit that does the thingamajigger for the whosit while going 'wwwwwhhhiiiirrrrlllll-gggagggagggagggagaa-kachop!'
Post by NancyGene
Post by Michael Pendragon
Waited for the conveyor belt
to roll down
another bale of cotton.
This stanza is obviously from the original version. Back in the 70s, Will only wrote sentence fragments that contained verbs but lacked nouns; whereas today, his fragments contain nouns but lack verbs.
Post by NancyGene
Post by Michael Pendragon
Shipping through the device
bale after bale
passes through.
Another round of the second refrain.
"All in all you're just another bale in the device."
-- Roger Waters (early draft of "The Wall")
Post by NancyGene
Post by Michael Pendragon
On a twelve hour shift
I'd stand and watch them
roll past
from one to the other.
Third refrain, repeated for a second time. This is an odd placement, since it occurs immediately after the second refrain.
IIRC, this is a common occurrence in Will's songs. As each song draws to a close, the various refrains are simply repeated in clusters. It's a lazy approach to padding out the lyric.
Post by NancyGene
Post by Michael Pendragon
Winter of 1984-85
was a cold one.
This comes out of nowhere.
The last ten stanzas (no, I haven't actually counted them) came out of nowhere. What happened to the tornado? Where's Professor Marvel? Where are all the Munchkins?
Post by NancyGene
Post by Michael Pendragon
Just the mention of those digits
take me back
Check your subject/verb agreement.
You're getting way ahead of him, NancyGene. First he's got to look up "subject/verb agreement," then he's got to get Dr. Schwimmer to explain the explanation to him, then he's got to come back here and insist that his grammar is correct.
Post by NancyGene
Post by Michael Pendragon
in fascination
on that dark infatuation
of that era.
“On” should not follow “infatuation.” “With” would be correct. “Of” should not follow “infatuation” in this instance. You could use “with” or “for” or “infatuated by.”
Post by Michael Pendragon
Visions of boots
stomping in the mud
the belt was moving fast
moving like it should.
Day-dreaming on the line?
Or day-dreaming during the tornado about how he used to daydream on the line.

It looks like the cold, cold winter of 1984-85 blew over without any significance.
Post by NancyGene
Post by Michael Pendragon
I registered
and poured a coffee
punched a code on the buttons
Second use of “punched a code on the buttons.”
Post by Michael Pendragon
on that heavy green machine.
First minutes of the year 1985
My bad.
Post by NancyGene
Post by Michael Pendragon
and we saw Tom Snelling
swung in a Judo move
by a Denny's waitress.
There is no reason for this aside to be in the poem.
You just had to be there.
Post by NancyGene
Post by Michael Pendragon
The girl indeed knew her moves
Tom on the carpet
we all laughed with kudos
“Kudos” is used wrong. It could be “we gave him kudos” but people don’t laugh with kudos.
The kudos were given to the waitress. And if the kudos were laughing, there's no reason why Will and his friends couldn't have joined them.
Post by NancyGene
Post by Michael Pendragon
and took a booth
in the Smoking Section.
Again, no reason for including this break in the poem.
I'm starting to get it now. The poem isn't about the mill being blown away by a tornado, or the monotonous nature of factory work, or even of the need for child labor laws in Georgia -- it's about smoking cigarettes and drinking coffee.

The smoking booth at Denny's parallels the smoking booth in the mill where Will sat out the tornado, and the smoking booth at the factory were 9-year old Willie used to hang out during work hours.
Post by NancyGene
Post by Michael Pendragon
Later back at the Mill
as the hours passed
slowly on a graveyard shift
to keep the mechanism moving.
Another mention of “mechanism.” What was the real name of the device?
You've missed the point -- the factory/mill is symbolic of the "mechanism" of the labor force that enslaves us from childhood in repetitive, boring jobs.

We are the mechanism.
Post by NancyGene
Post by Michael Pendragon
Fascination or discovery
everything was ordered.
And we are fascinated with the mechanism because Will missed the deadline for Sampler #1 and had to modify his poem to fit the topic of Sampler #2.
Post by NancyGene
Post by Michael Pendragon
Then I left
and took the future with me.
Fourth use of this refrain.
Will is paying homage to the children's classic, "Harold and the Purple Crayon," which contains the oft-repeated line "And the moon went with him."
Post by NancyGene
In reading the poem, we thought it was intended to be lyrics of a song, with all the repeat words and the four refrains. That may work in a song for emphasis, but in a poem it is jarring and irritating. Another thought we had was that the lines were supposed to describe how monotonous and mind-numbing the mill work was, with each day the same as the previous one, and thus the repetition. However, that theme was lost in all the extraneous asides and lines. Perhaps if the poem were to be restructured, that theme would be stronger. We are reminded of one of Michael’s favorite songs, “Round and Round” by Perry Como as a template.
All of Will's poems are song lyrics waiting for a melody (which the Conleys, more or less, supply).
Post by NancyGene
The poem started out as a tale of a tornado at the mill. There were a couple of stanzas about that, with the second floor and dust being important for some reason, but that theme was abandoned. The foray into the coffee shop added nothing. We didn’t see how the poem related to the week’s theme of “infatuation/fascination.” What was the speaker infatuated with (even though the words were included in the poem)? Infatuation with the years 1984/1985? The poem was supposedly started in 1977, so how did the writer know what was going to happen 7-8 years in the future?
Bottom line is that there is too much repetition, the poem meanders for no purpose, and it isn’t about the topic of the week.
That's how Fragmentist Poetry works. It's like stream of consciousness, only chopped up, tossed in the air and randomly arranged with a good chunk of the narrative (and any semblance of coherence) swept under the carpet.
General Zod
2019-12-04 23:48:31 UTC
Permalink
Post by NancyGene
Bottom line is that there is too much repetition, the poem meanders for no purpose, and it isn’t about the topic of the week.
I found the topic to be represented by that poem.....
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