Iamb Paper

[milo]

The Morning Paper



There's nothing like the smell of fresh pressed ink;
the crisp release that's hidden in the fold.
“The pope is dead”, “the world is at the brink
of war”, “we won!” , or “China got the gold”.
How did you think a bicycle was sold?
An iPad cannot line your pigeon's cage.
You cannot roll a kindle up and scold
a dog that's grown incontinent with age -
you can put one thousand stories on one page
but how are we to wrap a fresh caught fish?
I'm not some Luddite relic in a rage.
I won't waste morning coffee on a wish
to see my paper pillowed in the clover - 
no longer black or white or read all over.

[billy]

i see what's appenin

[milo]

i see what's appenin

you may want to get to work then ( hmmm . . scissors, whizzers, fizzers . . .)

[Leanne]

A tribute to the press, now there's the ticket --
intrepid men and women of the word,
bring people news of war and death and cricket
and movie stars of whom they've never heard.
They read us during breakfast and at tea
in order to avoid that small talk farce;
they take us to the loo, religiously,
and in a pinch, we help them wipe their arse.
In truth, it seems the destiny of paper
is: feed the mind and then receive what's due,
for when you've been involved in such a caper,
eventually you'll have to follow through.
Abandon truth, you write to make a sale;
it's taps out, boys, you're at the Daily Mail.

[milo]

Passing of Puff



On Cherry lane a grown up little boy
Has no time left for painted wings or rings
And no time left for fearless roars of joy.
Paper Jackie, once deferred by kings
Abandoned all his sealing wax and strings.
Pirate ships now fly their flags up high
Enough to mock what dragonlessness brings. 
Regret is life lived as a past reply
So, forget your childhood, live the adult lie.
Oh Jackie boy you've been too long from sea.
Never more you get to question why.
Now every ship gets wrecked on Honah Lee
Empty Autumn mists obscure the stones;
The beach is littered with old dragon bones.

[Leanne]

I really can't be bothered with acrostics,
For I have not the patience for such things --
You may have won your place among the gnostics,
Oh sonnetary saint -- here, have your wings,
Unless you'd rather wallow in the mud,
Despite your lofty leanings to the meter;
A place exists, though you may pay in blood,
Resisting exhortations from Saint Peter.
Existence in this plane of foot and ictus
Tips worlds into a bouillabaisse of rhyme
On golden plates, poesie benedictus;
The taste is rare, both vulgar and sublime.
Ride dragons if you must, but bring your pen --
You'll never get a chance like this again.

[billy]

why I won't bother

Why should we write another acrostic
How would it help improve our meagre verse?
You bludgeon poets with a softer stick;
I wonder why, maybe it's just your curse.
What meter madness lives inside your head?
Of iambs jumping fences must you dream,
No poem free of rhyme beside your bed.
The steady stream of sonnets sadly scream.
Beware the written word that likes to sing
Of love and beauty walking in the night.
The pain, the joy, the scheme, the scheme's the thing
Her pattern itches like a bitching mite.
Evolve, go write some lines and leave them blank.
Resolve to stop the form stuff, have a wank

[Leanne]

Bite me :p

[milo]

obviously, the paper thread, i will see if I can fill in my parts from old records

[CRNDLSM]

At a few points in time the site was 'cleared'? A whole sewer dump or two, for space i guess. I shall set out now for three sonnets

[milo]

alright, added my sections of this one back in

the careful observer may notice there are some acrostics mingled in here

[CRNDLSM]

Paper thin

Exercising self control amidst the
Xenolithic comments from my mother
Terrorizing moments over pizza
Right as always even though im butt hurt
Any one could see she really loved us
Saving all her best insults for dinner
Easily the safest time for what was
Never a safe place for little sinners

Survival isn't just for food and water
Imagining if I'd turn out like her
The evil twist of fate that could occur
In making my kids run in fear from father
Vestigial like she's rooted in my dirt
Essential i surrender to succor

[milo]

Paper thin

Exercising self control amidst the
Xenolithic comments from my mother
Terrorizing moments over pizza
Right as always even though im butt hurt
Any one could see she really loved us
Saving all her best insults for dinner
Easily the safest time for what was
Never a safe place for little sinners

Survival isn't just for food and water
Imagining if I'd turn out like her
The evil twist of fate that could occur
In making my kids run in fear from father
Vestigial like she's rooted in my dirt
Essential i surrender to succor

Xenolithic is what mothers say
when melding foreign words to good greek stone
but paper mothers tend to the mache
and tending often means - to leave alone

and paper mothers fixed to crooked hangers
and stuffed with candy like a spoiled brat
so often paper mothers lift their angers
like lifting up a wooden birthday bat

so tie a paper donkey to a tree
and spin me round about without a thought, a
solid crack will teach that "birthday bee"
the difference between flesh and a pinata

so think of this my boy before you steal
the candy covered chocolate from her meal

Not doing any acrostics

[CRNDLSM]

So now I respond to yours?

[milo]

If you wish to stay in paper
Or you can challenge me for rock or scissors
I am the current champion of all 3
By virtue of being still alive