the earthling silence as blue

[quaileyedsnowfish]

when i became my own heavenly acquaintance
to the soul that leaps from the mind
like a stoned grashopper drowns in my velvet pen
to wright and sing with an aboriginal chainded sledge
and it developed a second hand kiss
signalling tunes of lightning hous
on the bridge of music searing

you have my heart
like concrete daizy's
taste of a celibate tune
rippled moon gown
imagened in his song
like a story that prayes
on the evening when the dove fell with apple gray grace
on a mountain rouse inflamed the drawning of grace

[Violet]

.. okay.. this had turned into a very very long post.. I am noticing, however, that as I moved along, on other threads I mean -- dealing with the poems of Ren1 & quailieeyedblowfish, that I do hit my stride more.. and so I thought to remove this one, which really just served to get me warmed up, I think.. though I sort of like a good deal of it.. still.. too long winded, I find..

v.

[Ren1]

he got you TWICE! come on, this is a public humiliation and imho is utterly cruel of him. the poems are meaningless and pathetically easy to write. but he can rely on you finding a meaning in random nonsense phrases and will be able to generate as many nonsense pieces as he wishes. .

[Violet]

.. Ren1, surely you're not questioning the alphabetacumloudie of my qualifications as a pome critic!!.. (should have used that on the princess thread).. My god.. I finally find someone able to tap on all of that eruditie (somewhat untidy) sort of training, and someone like you comes along and tries to spoil it. Now, if you'd care to offer something as compelling as these blowfish masterworks, please go right ahead.. I may have to pace myself, of course.. there are the holidays, after all, to have to concern myself with.. but.. I am here, trying to do with this section of the Forum what I believe its founder, Jarkko, had initially intended (before his rather eccentric sexual fixations, and other unspeakable obsessions [probably] took hold)..

.. okay, nuff said.

[Ren1]

.. Ren1, surely you're not questioning the alphabetacumloudie of my qualifications as a pome critic!!.. (should have used that on the princess thread).. My god.. I finally find someone able to tap on all of that eruditie (somewhat untidy) sort of training, and someone like you comes along and tries to spoil it. Now, if you'd care to offer something as compelling as these blowfish masterworks, please go right ahead.. I may have to pace myself, of course.. there are the holidays, after all, to have to concern myself with.. but.. I am here, trying to do with this section of the Forum what I believe its founder, Jarkko, had initially intended (before his rather eccentric sexual fixations, and other unspeakable obsessions [probably] took hold)..

.. okay, nuff said.

"in a dove's ballade about witness of fools", one born every minute and we are the witnesses

Ren1

in a shower of harmony
and a dance of regret
a turtle of parsimony
allow, permit and let
a rainbow of sorrow
a marmite of sweet
crescendo of slavery
forsake us to meet

this is one of the fish's unpublished works, and yet surely one of his best.

[Violet]

.. I shall take this in a while, before responding.. (I do need a bit of time with these, as they work on me subconsciously, it seems)..

But where's your poem, Ren1??

[Violet]

in a shower of harmony
and a dance of regret
a turtle of parsimony
allow, permit and let
a rainbow of sorrow
a marmite of sweet
crescendo of slavery
forsake us to meet

this is one of the fish's unpublished works, and yet surely one of his best.

.. well, just quickly.. there seems to be a sadness, an unrequitedness, even, to these poems..

.. I shall muse on this a bit more.. as I drive upstate..

.. (and as we await a Ren1 effort)..

[Ren1]

when i became my own twirly spaghetti
to the frog that leaps from the bind
like a stoned path to my front door
too right and singe with an original champagned hair-clippers
and it developed a third footed donut
signalling spoons of design hours
on the steering wheel of mustard spearing

you have my jam tart
like concrete post-boxes
waste of a celebrated loon
rippled muscles town
drooping in his thong
like history that praise
on the Steven when the glove fell with apple sauce
on a fountain pen rouse in flames
the drawning of breath

[Violet]

when i became my own twirly spaghetti
to the frog that leaps from the bind
like a stoned path to my front door
too right and singe with an original champagned hair-clippers
and it developed a third footed donut
signalling spoons of design hours
on the steering wheel of mustard spearing

you have my jam tart
like concrete post-boxes
waste of a celebrated loon
rippled muscles town
drooping in his thong
like history that praise
on the Steven when the glove fell with apple sauce
on a fountain pen rouse in flames
the drawning of breath

.. okay.. I'm supposed to be on the road, and yet here I am still, folding clothes.. Speaking of wrinkled laundry.. I do not have the time to do this poem justice at this time.. however, just a quick first impression: I'm noticing, Ren1, certain similarities here with your seeming nemesis, fisheyedblowfish, which could mean one of several things:

1. you are deliberately parodying him;
2. you are unconsciously parodying him;
.. (or, the most interesting choice):
3. sort of combination of 1. and 2. in that, as any even dabbler in Freud knows, the man should probably be avoided altoge-- no, I mean.. you will betray certain things however it is you believe you've masked them.. and so, the astute disassembler of poetic chicanery, as it were, will out with the goods, so to speak.

I shall leave things on this cliff-hangery note for now. If I don't get to this until later, I do hope you sleep well tonight.. I know leaving such things up in the air could prove a bit vexing, but it's the nature of the poetry business, I'm afraid. Indeed, it is not a business to be trifled with -- if, in fact, that is what you think you are doing.

God be with you.