POETRY SWAP MEET: Poetry we don't usually know about, or?
Belly Kisses by Rachel Wiley
https://www.facebook.com/watch/?mibextid=rS40aB7S9Ucbxw6v&v=409378931467864
https://www.facebook.com/watch/?mibextid=rS40aB7S9Ucbxw6v&v=409378931467864
Kinkpoet said:Belly Kisses by Rachel Wiley
https://www.facebook.com/watch/?mibextid=rS40aB7S9Ucbxw6v&v=409378931467864
God I love Rachel Wiley. Thanks for giving this a spotlight 👌🏻
https://www.facebook.com/watch/?mibextid=rS40aB7S9Ucbxw6v&v=409378931467864
God I love Rachel Wiley. Thanks for giving this a spotlight 👌🏻
THE SADDEST MAN ON EARTH…
ignored how the rain felt
as he left home
for the last time
Wore down
his boot heels
searching for the woman
of his dreams,
but never understood
that life is a woman
Lived in a town
where sadness was illegal
and where grinning
cops ticketed his face
so often
that he lost his license
to cry
The Saddest man
on earth
tuned guitars
but couldn’t play them,
cheated the IRS
of his own refund,
fathered a child
who thought she saw
him in perfect strangers
yet didn’t recognize
him face to face
I met him once
in a bar
toasting the mirror
with his stare
He had come
south to start
life over
He was a
Mozart of silence
(by Paul Mansfield)
From "The Outlaw Bible of American Poetry"
ignored how the rain felt
as he left home
for the last time
Wore down
his boot heels
searching for the woman
of his dreams,
but never understood
that life is a woman
Lived in a town
where sadness was illegal
and where grinning
cops ticketed his face
so often
that he lost his license
to cry
The Saddest man
on earth
tuned guitars
but couldn’t play them,
cheated the IRS
of his own refund,
fathered a child
who thought she saw
him in perfect strangers
yet didn’t recognize
him face to face
I met him once
in a bar
toasting the mirror
with his stare
He had come
south to start
life over
He was a
Mozart of silence
(by Paul Mansfield)
From "The Outlaw Bible of American Poetry"
One true thing
let the hounds come
the hounds with red eyes
red tongues
let them come
bring snow, hail, storm
let the cosmos loose
all the bolts that wound
or test the heart
bring fire
bring loneliness
bring death
and still the hare of me
with flare across this quickening field
belly to the wet black earth
nose to the wide and changing sky
and know this to be home, this
and you whome Ive never left, my twin
slipstreaming as we were fom the beginning
in the constelations` wake -
and love the one true thing
by Roselle Angwin
sharing a poem by Mina Loy
There is no life or death
only activity
and in the absolute
is no declivity
only propensity
is a nonentity
there is no first or last
only equality
and who would rule
joins the majority
there is no space or time
only intensity
and tame things
have no immensity
There is no life or death
only activity
and in the absolute
is no declivity
only propensity
is a nonentity
there is no first or last
only equality
and who would rule
joins the majority
there is no space or time
only intensity
and tame things
have no immensity
@Anne-Ri
… can we just take a second for “there is no life or death, only activity” .. *mindblown*
I was having this interesting conversation with a friend of mine a few weeks back, and he was saying how a poem only has a split second to grab somebody’s attention and tell you that it has something to say. This is such a perfect example of this.
… can we just take a second for “there is no life or death, only activity” .. *mindblown*
I was having this interesting conversation with a friend of mine a few weeks back, and he was saying how a poem only has a split second to grab somebody’s attention and tell you that it has something to say. This is such a perfect example of this.
Northern_Soul said:@Anne-Ri
… can we just take a second for “there is no life or death, only activity” .. *mindblown*
I was having this interesting conversation with a friend of mine a few weeks back, and he was saying how a poem only has a split second to grab somebody’s attention and tell you that it has something to say. This is such a perfect example of this.
Yes thats a great observation, Mina Loy isnt for the faint at heart,some of her poems are very intellectual and take time to land down. Even for me some of her stuff is difficult to read. Im not saying I am an intellectual thats not what I mean. But she also wrote some pretty quirky stuff.
… can we just take a second for “there is no life or death, only activity” .. *mindblown*
I was having this interesting conversation with a friend of mine a few weeks back, and he was saying how a poem only has a split second to grab somebody’s attention and tell you that it has something to say. This is such a perfect example of this.
Yes thats a great observation, Mina Loy isnt for the faint at heart,some of her poems are very intellectual and take time to land down. Even for me some of her stuff is difficult to read. Im not saying I am an intellectual thats not what I mean. But she also wrote some pretty quirky stuff.
I recently fell head over heels for some of the poetry of Tomaž Šalamun a Slovakian poet\edit he is born in Croatia but raised in Slovenia.
Here is one of his poems translated into English
Title, the deer
Awe-inspiring cliff, white desire,
water springing forth from blood,
let my form narrow, let it crush my body,
so that everything is one: slag and skeletons, fistful of earth.
You drink me, draining off the color of my soul.
You lap me up, like a fly in a tiny boat.
My head is smeared, I see how
mountains were made, how stars were born.
You pulled your brow out from under me. There I stand.
Look, in the air. Within you, drained, all
mine. Golden roofs bend up under us,
small pagoda leaves. I'm in silken candies,
gentle and tenacious. I funnel the fog into your
breath, and your breath into the godhead of my garden, the deer.
Translation: Michael Biggins
Here is one of his poems translated into English
Title, the deer
Awe-inspiring cliff, white desire,
water springing forth from blood,
let my form narrow, let it crush my body,
so that everything is one: slag and skeletons, fistful of earth.
You drink me, draining off the color of my soul.
You lap me up, like a fly in a tiny boat.
My head is smeared, I see how
mountains were made, how stars were born.
You pulled your brow out from under me. There I stand.
Look, in the air. Within you, drained, all
mine. Golden roofs bend up under us,
small pagoda leaves. I'm in silken candies,
gentle and tenacious. I funnel the fog into your
breath, and your breath into the godhead of my garden, the deer.
Translation: Michael Biggins
