"Born-Again" Collaboration

However we define the madness -  original written  by Jolais  :   http://deepundergroundpoetry.com/poems/30731-however-we-define-the-madness/


It's freezing out here
though the wind's best for drying on days like this.
when the sun plays hide and seek
using the grey clouds as cover.

I sometimes wonder if it laughs at me
when I look up to find it
sitting snug behind fort walls of cloud.

My fingers ache from this cold and damp.      
They slow as if they've hypothermia.

all my blue pegs keep
breaking.

Only blue,

My counting of crows is back as well.
I've always thought them to be horrible creatures.

They circle and caw every time I step out.
maybe they're trying to tell me something
or they're telling each other
stories of my less than stable moments
where I'd shout made up words  
to be rid of them even for just a while.
       
Goddammit, these blue pegs are useless.

...............
     
There's an odd romance in washing glass with a cloth      
instead of the defined shape of a sponge.      
dishwater can wrap a cloth like ribbon swimming thick in limbo
as it would a mermaid's hair,
gathering and letting go.
pushing and pulling shiny little bubbles.
     
And oh, the drama! the anime
lost in its being pulled up from the liquid
to drip its soapy dollops on the surface.      
I plunge it back in then swirl it round to my humming.      
It does dance a little bit like Cinderella.

doesn't it?

fluid and free with a type of easy going
softly flowing movement.
I always feel a little twinge when the plug is pulled
and the cloth is wrung out then placed rigid and dry
onto the tray beside the hot tap

................    

At night, the cogs keep running
through all of the important things.      
Half asleep.
I never dream and always seem to re-invent
at least one part of the day
that should have gone that bit better
or at least might have
if I'd had the benefit of hindsight.      
     
....................          
     
The crows will tell me more tomorrow
or they'll have more stories
to tell themselves.      
     
And I'll buy more pegs      
but not blue..      

Now this is off to a better start than I expected. If you don't feel like putting the original poem here, that is also fine as long as you give me a link to it somewhere in the post. Man I have inadvertently doubled the amount of reading that I'll have to do to judge it. So be it... all the better. Keep em coming, but no rush.

Sorry Bragg, I'll stick a link up for the original post haste. I'll probably be tinkering and tweaking it for the duration too if that's ok.

Tweak away my man, all month if you like. It ain't over till the fat lady sings.

I did this a long time ago, but the original poem isn't posted on the site anymore. I have the original in my files and had permission from the poet at the time. Can I use it for the competition or does it have to be new?

Sure I guess I can loosen the rules. Please post the original with it. I have modified the rules in my original post.

Thanks for the leniency, braggman.

artful liars
by Hemihead

men are artful liars
to themselves
when they see a profile picture
from half a world away
that convinces them
true love
is contained
in distance

forgetting that attraction
is as much about smell
and the falling curve of a waist
into jeans
and the way a women moves
and laughs
and holds a look
somewhere between derision and approval
well enough to make us
try again

how will she respond
to our frictions
and does she work her hair
in the air
enough to make a mans mind
think underwear
and skin to spare
and picture a picture
up here
of down there

only a fool thinks
a man can punch
above his weight
with his fingers
on a keyboard
and ignore the lessons
of a lifetime
caught up in fabrications
of perfection
skewed by the minds
mad moonlight

men’s eyes delight
to fall upon a look
that opens books
of maybes and onedays
and we are always always
fools
for clever fingertips
even when they only
stroke
an inbox


My alteration --

artful liars - de femme
--Thanks to Hemihead for letting me rework his poem "artful liars" from a female's POV.--      

women are artful liars
to themselves
when they read words written
half a world away
that convince them
true love
is alive  
in distance

forgetting that attraction
is as much about scent
and ripple of shoulder movement  
into a spanner
and the way a man rants
and laughs
and turns glance to a gaze
something between frustration and adoration
disarming enough to make us
forget ourselves

will he respond  
to our undertones
and does he touch like he knows
how to slip a woman out of clothes
showing control  
in taking it slow or just smooth enough  
to let our thoughts flow  
in the moment
and not in how far  
we'll let ourselves go

only a fool thinks  
a girl can run
a rigged race
with her fingers
on a keyboard
ignoring the lessons  
of experience
losing her sense in delusions
of perfection
conjured by the mind's
magic malgré lui

women's eyes do light glee
in resting on a face
that helps them brace
for impact of the-next-days
and we are always, always
fools
for fallen fingertips
even when they only
caress
an inbox    

The first section is a poem written by Strider, the rest is where I expanded on it (with his permission)







Thick Brow Blues (by Strider)and Part 2 by Magdalena.



Night after night,
you sit there vainly
plucking your eyebrows,
while, I lay here all alone
wanting to make love to you,
no such luck.
I do it to myself while
you are asleep
looking so pretty.
In the morning,
I’ll put on another dirty shirt, which
you will not notice.
You’ll wear a cleaner outfit than me,
you look scrumptious.
Strange, you would have the
thickest eyebrows if you
only knew how lonely I am.



I  wonder if you notice how hard I try
You stopped telling me I am beautiful
so I put myself through pain plucking
just to look good for you
then maybe just maybe
you will notice me
and stroke my lonely body
the way you stroke your hardness
while you think I am sleeping
You never tell me I look beautiful
so I cover up and hide myself from you
I wish you would stroke my body that way
and then make love to me
I got sick of being your cook and cleaner
so I stopped
I feel so ugly most days
if you only knew how lonely I am.  


Wish I could hear your thoughts
wish you could hear mine
maybe we should talk
over dinner
candle light
and good wine

Braggman, I would like to add this to Ms. Magdalena's submission above...Thanks, Strider!


Yes, I guess we can talk about this
some more behind the closed doors,
let's try us again,
Oh, Sweet Lady.
Please, do
your hair, but,
forget about the eye brow
plucking, there's something
else I'd like to do with you.
We'll sip some Carmenere wine,
chow at eight sharp. You really
are so fine. Are you still mine?
   

It's hardly the hot thread I'd hoped,  but it's moving-along streadilyl

CONFESSIONS(goodest   featuring  jaito)
JAITO
my   mind  was  always  on  my  pen
even  the  days  nobody  knew  my  name
i locked  up  myself   writing  a lot  of  stuff  to  blaze
became   different  than  anybody  else
some  ackowledged   and  praised  my  game
most  loved  to   describe  me  as  stupid  and  insane
others had  simply   cold   blooded  hate
suprisingly  it  started  from  my  friends
i  was  never   appreciated   although  i  was  the  best.

my  mind  is  always   on  my  pen
still  the little  kid,difference   now  is  fame
i  got  huge  numbers   following  me  i  didnt  expect
im  in  the  best  raters  list  plus   a  trophy  ahead
i   proove   each   and  every  word  i  say
haters   can  go    and  burn  themselves  in  hell
this  is  what  i   do,homey  use  your  brain
as  you  hate  me  your   sister  is  crying  for sex
im  hungry   and    will  always   dorminate
this  is  jaito  and i  got  the  bg   fish   goodest  is  next
he  got   so  much   to  cook, let  him  explain...

goodest

my mind will forever be on my pen
describing the way i gets it in
with my brother from a different mother, jaito my friend
we keep it real, ain't ever trying to pretend
as we pass through this Life trying to avoid sin
but every different society has the same blend
for this reason we see it as more than a trend
no matter where we go some will only see our skin
but death to the bigots because they will never win
because they deny the help my complexion tries to extend
simply because they know their woman wants us to bend
them over anything so they can have that passionate grin
that resembles a frown but its the greatest joy there has ever been
& that is the reason my mind stays on my pen

thats right i use a pen but some will use the pencil
as the inspired creative utensil
but no matter what we use
remember that we never lose
as long as the ink hits the paper
to describe another caper
from africa to america
such mass hysteria
loose women in skimpy clothes
& fake men, thats how it goes
but whatever you do please remember this
as long as we Keep God First On The List
that shows us what Life is all about
there will be no problems for neither jaito nor goodest & were out.....

Well Ray never made it in. The more I re-read it the more I think that you did more than just change the gender in the poem Gigi. You dug into some deep and personal issues. The final result is just too hard to ignore.

braggman said:Well Ray never made it in. The more I re-read it the more I think that you did more than just change the gender in the poem Gigi. You dug into some deep and personal issues. The final result is just too hard to ignore.


Awe thank you

I have to say this was more Dp
That's why I wuv the guy
He has the raw talent I can't put into words

Thank you brag xoxox

Thank you for the acknowledgement...and thank you Kitty for allowing me to use her poem. Just__Gigi, congratulations.