Hey guys lets have some fun with this: lets post a poem a day and put it up for discussion. It could be your own, or it could be from one of the Greats, rather way, discussing poetry could be a world of intrigue. Who will be first?
A poem a day....
- Thread starter Jaz Cashmere
- Start date
What do you mean 'It could be your own, or it could be from one of the Greats'?
I think I feel hurt...lol
I think I feel hurt...lol
Lol didn't mean to offend but when I think of Dante, Borges, Tennyson and the likes, I just think that they have set a standard which we should all strive to achieve. Besides, the Greats were never great until they died so .... Ummm hope you're no longer offended????
So is anyone actually going to post a poem?
Here's the title piece from my chapbook Road Trip and Other Poems
Road Trip
cranked up on gin
taking me along on her 100 miles an hour suicide drive
the cigarette stub
in her mouth
still lit.
3gms of speed in her blood
stream
watching mountains fall behind
us
in parenthesis
and the asphalt bone dry in the heat as cracked lips
stretching to the
distance.
between gas stations and
motels
red-lining the V8 son of a bitch
with soundtrack on the
radio
generation
x.
from Road Trip and Other Poems Erbacce Press (2011).
Here's the title piece from my chapbook Road Trip and Other Poems
Road Trip
cranked up on gin
taking me along on her 100 miles an hour suicide drive
the cigarette stub
in her mouth
still lit.
3gms of speed in her blood
stream
watching mountains fall behind
us
in parenthesis
and the asphalt bone dry in the heat as cracked lips
stretching to the
distance.
between gas stations and
motels
red-lining the V8 son of a bitch
with soundtrack on the
radio
generation
x.
from Road Trip and Other Poems Erbacce Press (2011).
I love the description of an almost dangerous daredevil of a woman leading the passenger along. Something about the imagery makes me anxious... but one cannot ignore the obvious adrenaline rush factor of the ride. Thrilling.
Here's a piece I wrote for a school paper, and over time it became a favourite of mine. Feel free to discuss:
Latrodectus
I feel calm here where his pleas for life have hushed
in this silky crypt that absorbs blood without a stain.
I stole from him his breath and ate his heart
with delight. His innocent soul is my guiltless gain.
Believe the myth I spin: instinctive
murderer with thirsty loins, I consummate
then consume without regret.
Satisfaction paid for in death.
Blood had not yet been shed when, hatched in innocence,
I fed on naught but dreams from stories told.
But dashing thieves nabbed from me the hope
of heaven's gates when they stole a treasure
I had yet to claim.
Pleasure left undefined, I could not see
my worth through a poor reflection formed.
Esteem folded in a shape I could not name,
the search for fulfillment remained.
And in my hunger I smelled blood
as I lay in submission once more.
The wrong soul was killed but provided
a fill I dared not ignore.
No truth is there to find, for it hides in
the selfsame crevice with my lost self.
I yearn for the one who can save me from my
own poison.
Nothing fills the absence of self-love
but the taste of innocent blood.
This is my calling; my comfort,
that every mate must die.
Latrodectus
I feel calm here where his pleas for life have hushed
in this silky crypt that absorbs blood without a stain.
I stole from him his breath and ate his heart
with delight. His innocent soul is my guiltless gain.
Believe the myth I spin: instinctive
murderer with thirsty loins, I consummate
then consume without regret.
Satisfaction paid for in death.
Blood had not yet been shed when, hatched in innocence,
I fed on naught but dreams from stories told.
But dashing thieves nabbed from me the hope
of heaven's gates when they stole a treasure
I had yet to claim.
Pleasure left undefined, I could not see
my worth through a poor reflection formed.
Esteem folded in a shape I could not name,
the search for fulfillment remained.
And in my hunger I smelled blood
as I lay in submission once more.
The wrong soul was killed but provided
a fill I dared not ignore.
No truth is there to find, for it hides in
the selfsame crevice with my lost self.
I yearn for the one who can save me from my
own poison.
Nothing fills the absence of self-love
but the taste of innocent blood.
This is my calling; my comfort,
that every mate must die.