You should attempt to write a poem inspired by this topic -- not a derivative, literal
interpretation of the topic. Create a poem that reflects your own true self.
--> Since the officious rules of PWoF 2016 stipulate that you can submit more than
one poem; may I suggest, if the fit strikes you, that you include, after your major work,
a second poem consisting of a bit of transient doggerel, a limerick, or a trenchant
end-rhyming nonsense poem that somehow reflects the intention of this topic.
(And for anyone who's a bit uncertain about starting out here: Ignore my bullshite and
just string some words together (that's what everybody else is doing ).
Topic 3:
Make what you will of this... and yes, the level of romantic cliché in the video
is painful at times, but the special effects are state-of-the-art and some of
the sequences are, indeed, loaded with enough metaphor to choke an elephant.
(Or just read the lyrics, they're the poetry.)
[Video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=miDlQt90Jk0]
Lyrics:
Lyrics to "A Thousand Kisses Deep" by Leonard Cohen
The ponies run, the girls are young
The odds are there to beat
You win a while and then it's done
Your little winning streak
And summoned now to deal
With your invincible defeat
You live your life as if it's real
A thousand kisses deep
I'm turning tricks, I'm getting fixed
I'm back on boogie street
You lose your grip and then you slip
Into the masterpiece
And maybe I had miles to drive
And promises to keep
You ditch it all to stay alive
A thousand kisses deep
And sometimes when the night is slow
The wretched and the meek
We gather up our hearts and go
A thousand kisses deep
Confined to sex we pressed against
The limits of the sea
I saw there were no oceans left
For scavengers like me
I made it to the forward deck
I blessed our remnant fleet
And then consented to be wrecked
A thousand kisses deep
I'm turning tricks I'm getting fixed
I'm back on boogie street
I guess they won't exchange the gifts
That you were meant to keep
And quiet is the thought of you
The file on you complete
Except what we forgot to do
A thousand kisses deep
And sometimes when the night is slow
The wretched and the meek
We gather up our hearts and go
A thousand kisses deep
The ponies run, the girls are young
The odds are there to beat
You win a while and then it's done
Your little winning streak
And summoned now to deal
With your invincible defeat
You live your life as if it's real
A thousand kisses deep
--------
a brightly colored fungus that grows in bark inclusions
We were working the dogs one night
when our boss dropped in, to dip some
cash from his bags. His kids came
with him, three baby millionaires.
He detailed me to mind them, keep them
safe from the dark tide that churned out
his cash – dog punters, a feared breed.
(Fucking sexist bullshit; just because
I’m a woman, I get to mind the kids.)
We watched a few races. Dogs don’t
do anything interesting, they just run.
The last result may have paid for their
higher education, but that meant nothing.
They’d never seen a cockroach before;
Wentworth Park overflowed with them.
Much more interesting. I showed them
how to squash roaches underfoot with
a tap-dance step, while singing.
I made it into a competition.
The kids had a ball, all talking at once
when he collected them. He shot me
a horrified look from his black
hole-in-the-end-of-a-gun-barrel eyes.
I’ll bet he threw their shoes away
when he got them home.
(09-24-2016, 05:16 PM)just mercedes Wrote: A thousand cockroaches deep
It's like that down here sometimes... but Leanne says hers are bigger.
And you've come in first again! If I was an evil sort, I'd fire off a terrible haiku within
a few minutes of finding out the topic and break your record... but everybody would
see it for what it was and you'd still be thought first and I'd get bad-karma-ed.
a brightly colored fungus that grows in bark inclusions
Death Of A Ladies Man [1977]*
or Don't Go Home With Your Hard-On
I put some money in the box and skip to 'I'm Your Man'— not a very subtle choice, but subtle ain't the plan. With 70s rock star swagger and all dials set to Cool, I walk back to her table then fall off me fucking stool.
*i think Death of a Ladies Man is unfairly treated. at least it doesn't use that fucking drum machine Cohen seems to have committed himself to for the last 25 years. it was also Leonard Cohen's birthday on wednesday.
(09-24-2016, 08:42 PM)shemthepenman Wrote: Death Of A Ladies Man [1977]*
or Don't Go Home With Your Hard-On
I put some money in the box and skip to 'I'm Your Man'— not a very subtle choice, but subtle ain't the plan. With 70s rock star swagger and all dials set to Cool, I walk back to her table then fall off me fucking stool.
*i think Death of a Ladies Man is unfairly treated. at least it doesn't use that fucking drum machine Cohen seems to have committed himself to for the last 25 years. it was also Leonard Cohen's birthday on wednesday.
Like the poem.
And hey, it was the 70's, gotta expect a bit of blow-back.
The drum machine seems to be connected to Buddhism in some way. (Or at least that's
what I read somewhere.) I'm lucky, drum machines don't bother me a lot... or unlucky
cause I don't have the good esthetics to hate them. It's mainly because I've always
been more interested in lyrics than music, so I'll pretty much put up with any music
as long as the lyrics are good... I guess that's why they call it poetry.
I got into Cohen from the poetry (and his novel) end of it. Love his poetry, bought his
books. One day I thought: you know he sings stuff too, probably oughta check that
out.
a brightly colored fungus that grows in bark inclusions
1
It was the sea ---
It was the sea ---
that opened up
for me, that swallowed
the ship what stole
my virtue from my home.
O sister, --- O brother,
We two, We one How i Bleed
tonight, Cybele
Red wounds my womb ---
Homunculus! my Ceyx, if He'd lived,
Your Son
should i bear now
a Lion, a Hive of Honey ---
Hungry ---
Hungry ---
2
or should i regret
the opening of gates
and gifts
O young, and streets
my full of love,
my wretched and seas
seductress ---
(09-25-2016, 12:05 AM)RiverNotch Wrote: The Soldier and the Merchant's Wife
1
It was the sea ---
It was the sea ---
that opened up
for me, that swallowed
the ship what stole
my virtue from my home.
O sister, --- O brother,
We two, We one How i Bleed
tonight, Cybele
Red wounds my womb ---
Homunculus! my Ceyx, if He'd lived,
Your Son
should i bear now
a Lion, a Hive of Honey ---
Hungry ---
Hungry ---
2
or should i regret
the opening of gates
and gifts
O young, and streets
my full of love,
my wretched and seas
seductress ---
Nicely done. It took me a few goes to figure out what the spacing was about.. I'm a bit thick.
Not frozen liquid but amorphous
formed in sheets and glasses, tense, awaiting
its big scene. Quick, quick before
moisture turns show-biz brittleness
into sweet, sagging bubble-film.
Action! See movie-glass
love-cutting sharp
whiskey-bottle hard
worth life and death, blood-drawing
all portrayed by candy glass that
raindrops would melt
tears turn to taffy
and a kiss destroy.
After its big scene, faux shards
lie on the floor around chalk blocking-marks
turning slowly to sweet sticky syrup.
Unless swept up it turns to nutrient
for flies, bacteria. Real life infinitely
more complex than any movie plot
begins to live on dreams.
(09-25-2016, 12:05 AM)RiverNotch Wrote: It was the sea ---
...
Enjoyed... especially the formatting. I'm so used to people running amuck with
white-space punctuation; stuff that makes no logical or esthetic sense. It's
hard to use properly. Yours is consistent, logical, and really makes use of its
ability to provide multi-path narrative; 3-dimensional enjambment. (And it looks
beautiful on the page as well.) While E.E.Cummings was a master at it, he sometimes
screwed it up badly as well (my opinion). As someone who uses a subset of this sort of
punctuation extensively, I can really appreciate it. Well done. - Ray
a brightly colored fungus that grows in bark inclusions
Listing towards the possibility of passion
and the promise of a perfectly held
pause, engulfed in hissing rainfall,
like brushes on a high-hat or sweeping
fingers through soft hair,
he and she begin to rupture.
Tension rises like a bolero back beat,
Whispers at first, then to a chorus, to a shout.
Desire is not smooth, nor meek.
It comes like the slowest surprise,
Like glacial realization
Grinding inevitably to that singular conclusion.
The shattering of poise and decorum
Free the pressing obsession
As longing chokes like a string of pearls
Or the swallowing of glass shards
‘Til the shuddering release,
The final masterful abandon,
Quivering like moonlight on the sea
Or swimming deep through a thousand kisses.
Supporting? Considering the video's mise–en–scène, I'd say it
was the major actor. I really liked how you broke the frame (excuse pun)
by working an element of the special-effects into the narrative.
I actually loved the video (I'm very tolerant of, even enjoy, wretched
excess. Hard to do well.)
Good poem. - ray
P.S. One thing I'd cut in a second was the present-time subplot. It
breaks the continuity of the main plot and adds nothing (in my
opinion). And those actors (Ken and Barbie?), were marginal.
(Though I forgive them as they had such thankless roles to play).
a brightly colored fungus that grows in bark inclusions
Aha - so it's not a Wentworth Park in Auckland or something, but the greyhound racing track. Makes sense, since your boss raced dogs in the poem. Well, the roaches in that part of town can fly...
Aha - so it's not a Wentworth Park in Auckland or something, but the greyhound racing track. Makes sense, since your boss raced dogs in the poem. Well, the roaches in that part of town can fly...
I was a clerk on racetracks in Sydney for some years, penciling for J K Waterhouse. He didn't actually race dogs at all, he collected (and made) bets on dog races. (And trots, and gallops.) That's why he had 'bags' of money - bookie's bags are full of cash. http://www.larosa.com.au/product/bookmakers-bag/
You did it, and that's all that matters. First drafts aren't supposed to be good poems. Rotting peaches is such a sad image for me though. I've just been doing a close reading of Lorine Niedecker's poem You are my friend;
You are my friend--
you bring me peaches
and the high bush cranberry
you carry
my fishpole
you water my worms
you patch my boot
with your mending kit
nothing in it
but my hand
and the peaches are all about sex, all juicy and slippery and sweet ...
). 
